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First Japanese Mission To Guadalcanal August 7, 1942
by Michael Claringbould

It was the very first Japanese aerial mission to Guadalcanal. The Tainan Kokutai Zeros headed towards Guadalcanal in three flights each termed a Chutai in Imperial Navy language. Each Chutai leader's Zero was recognisable by two light blue diagonal stripes across its fuselage, whilst each Shotai leader's bore one. On each tail there was a black letter V, the Tainan Ku identifier, followed by a three‑digit number in the 100s series identifying each aircraft. The Tainan Ku had more than a fair share of discernible and renown personalities, perhaps none more so than among the 1st Chutai. Overall leader and leading this chutai was Tadashi Nakajima, an accomplished leader who had scored his first aerial kill five years previously over Shanghai in the shape of a Martin bomber. Alongside Nakajima flew the enigmatic Hiroyoshi Nishizawa, an aloof loner. Tall and slender, Nishizawa's father had been a sake brewer whose son seemed destined to remain working‑class. After taking up employment in a textile mill, in 1936 Nishizawa had seen a recruiting poster exhorting him to become a Navy flier. Two years later his boyhood dream of becoming such had crystallised. Whilst some interpreted Nishizawa's earthbound aloofness as lack of character, no‑one dared say the same for his aerial eccentricities. Nishizawa had already earned feisty repute for such cowboy antics as victory rolls and gallant manoeuvres. Leading the 2nd Shotai of this lead chutai, Toraichi Takatsuka enjoyed the prestige of having flown the Zero on its first day of combat back on 13th September 1940. On this historic mission he had claimed three Chinese I‑15 fighters. Takatsuka also enjoyed the spirited approval of his comrades for another reason ‑ he was the oldest pilot in the formation, the "old man" of the outfit at 28.

The 2nd Chutai did not lack allure either. Ichirobei Yamazaki had arrived in Rabaul and originally served with the 4th Ku before joining the notorious Tainan clique. Whilst attacking a RAAF Hudson in March 1942 he and his mount had been splashed, but Yamazaki had found his way back to Rabaul and a story to impart to his intrigued fellow fliers. He had been wounded by Airacobra bullets over Port Moresby two months later, followed by another brief convalescence. In this chutai's lead formation, Mototsuna Yoshida had already previously enjoyed the professions of stoker and flight instructor. Wounded at Hankow in 1939, Yoshida had originally been posted to Rabaul's 4th Ku in February 1942. There had been excitement on 23rd February that year when he had single‑handedly attacked and (inaccurately) claimed a B-17 Flying Fortress.[1] This day would be a final one for Yoshida however ‑ he would go missing in the action about to ensue, and history would accord him twelve victories.

Leading the 3rd Chutai, Lieutenant Junichi Sasai held a black belt in Judo and in his early days at the Eta Jima Academy, Japan's Annapolis, earned the nickname "gamecock" because of his stamina and vehemence for life. Among his Tainan equals he was known as "the flying tiger" in a direct reference to the tiger‑head belt buckle he wore always ‑ a gift from his father. In his lodgings he kept an image of Yoshitsune, the legendary Japanese war hero. Sasai was considered an exceptional officer by his subordinates, mainly for his compassionate qualities. In private he ridiculed the inflexibility and austerity of the Navy caste system, a significant point on which to dwell considering the rigid Japanese officer code of the time. Such disdain was demonstrated amply by the level of personal interest he took in his NCO subordinates. It is no exaggeration to state that some of those whom he tended wept openly at his concern for their welfare, these same men who had appetite for battle and would kill without hesitation. However Sasai's personal thoughts were distracted and pensive on this fine but fraught morning. His foremost thought was for his brother‑in‑law Lieutenant‑Commander Yoshio Tashiro, a flying boat commander who had been based at Tulagi. Just prior to takeoff he had referred to his brother‑in‑law in the unmistakable Japanese past tense. Alongside the engrossed Sasai flew wingman Toshio Ota, a farmboy who had been wounded by Flying Fortress guns early in the Philippines campaign. Months in a hospital bed had seen him return to combat with renewed determination, and he had arrived at Rabaul in April 1942 with the rest of the Tainan Ku. Several months prior, Ota had been counselled by superiors after flying a loop over Port Moresby to impress the enemy. Gently nudging the joystick on Sasai's other wing was Masuaki Endo, a 22‑year‑old with a round face and perpetual smile. In the flight behind was another 22‑year old Enji Kakimoto another farmboy who had joined the Navy in 1937 at Sasebo. On the formation's outer wing was Kazushi Uto, one of the first in this gaggle of proficient company to claim an enemy Airacobra over Port Moresby.

Leader of the 2nd Shotai from Zero was Saburo Sakai the Imperial Navy's highest‑scoring ace with forty-eight claimed kills.[2] Sakai had graduated first in his Naval Class at Tsuchiura, thus earning a silver watch presented to him by the Emperor himself. Prior to takeoff he had hurriedly briefed his two wingmen not to break formation at any cost. He was acutely aware that this would be the first time they would meet US Navy carrier pilots, and if Midway were a precedent they would not be a pushover.

Reaching New Georgia, the A6M2 formation set altitude for 20,000 feet. Despite air rushing through the cockpit, Sakai was hot in the exposed cockpit. The unit's departure had been strained and hasty. Forgetting his altitude he opened a bottle of carbonated soda and admonished himself when it sprayed everywhere inside the fighter's canopy. For the next ten minutes or so Sakai's machine wobbled awkwardly between his two wingmen as he sought to clear his canopy and flying goggles from a fine sugarine crust. By Vella Lavella, Sakai had more or less cleaned his canopy. He had never felt more foolish. The matt grey Zeros carried no radios and Sakai's comrades wondered what he was doing.

Tainan Kokutai A6M2 Zero fighter formation
1st Chutai
1st Shotai

Lt. Cdr Tadashi Nakajima
Hiroyoshi Nishizawa
Keisaku Yoshimura
2nd Shotai
Toraichi Takatsuka (damaged)
Sadao Yamashita
Susumu Matsuki
2nd Chutai
1st Shotai

Shiro Kawai
Mototsuna Yoshida (KIA)
Ichirobei Yamazaki
2nd Shotai
Norio Tokushige
Kunimatsu Nishiura (KIA)
Yoshio Oki (aborted mission)
3rd Chutai
1st Shotai

Junichi Sasai
Toshio Ota
Masuaki Endo
2nd Shotai
Saburo Sakai (damaged, WIA)
Enji Kakimoto
Kazushi Uto

Back at Rabaul's bomber strip at Vunakanau, movement in the bomb revetments was brisk as consultations with armourers had forced an executive leadership decision ‑ there was insufficient time to exchange the mixture of 60 kg and 250 kg bombs or torpedoes, so the bomber crews were ordered back into their humid aircraft for a 0806 hours takeoff.[3] Vunakanau suffered the same problem as Lakunai, being excessive volcanic dust on its 5,000 foot runway. The complex was massive and even at this early stage of the war boasted seventy‑four square protective bomber revetments, with smaller ones for fighters.

  The waiting bombers which cast stark shadows over Vunakanau's dusty dispersal areas this fine morning were the pride of the Imperial Navy. Constructed according to demanding and ambitious 1938 Imperial Navy specifications, the massive bombers with an 81‑foot wingspan were designed for range and speed at the cost of protection. Its long range meant it carried a lot of fuel ñ 1,100 gallons per wing to be precise ñ giving it the later Japanese nickname "Type one lighter" which it so richly deserved. Mitsubishi had wanted to make the craft four‑engined, and it was certainly big enough, but bureaucratic infighting had resulted in a compromise which pleased no‑one, least of all its crews which had at first given it the sobriquet "rikko" meaning cigar. This well‑meaning term had been originally earned due to the suchlike shape of its fuselage, but more recently the term had acquired more ominous meaning as the bombers so easily caught fire when attacked. Each machine was built like a battleship and had many British design characteristics, including the fact that the rudder pedals had leather retainer straps.[4] Rikko's controls and machinery were heavy‑duty too, its fuselage and engine nacelles lashed with bulk brass hydraulic accumulators and thick hydraulic hosing. Little wonder that each machine fully‑loaded exceed twenty tons. Rikko was uncommonly fast, and could level out into a torpedo attack at 230 knots. But its vulnerable Achilles heel was unprotected fuel tanks, leaving it exposed as Japanese crews would well discover throughout the forthcoming campaign. Each rikko at Rabaul carried a three‑digit white number in the three‑hundred series on its tail, preceded by the letter F which denoted the 4th Ku. Crews boarded through inward‑opening small circular doors to the rear of the fuselage, each door neatly circumscribed by a red hinomaru.

The 2nd Ku, also based at Rabaul, was similarly equipped with Zeros. They were of the later Type 32 variety which although equipped with a more powerful engine, lacked the range of its earlier A6M2 counterparts. It was decided that this units' fighters should fly cover during the departure of the rikkos, twenty‑seven of which now taxied out through the volcanic dust which plagued all Rabaul airfields. Some aircraft commanders chose to open the top hatch and stand as the aircraft taxied, their upper torsos exposed in clear morning sun. The rikkos launched and formed into an arrowhead formation, soon climbing to 16,000 feet. Behind them swirled the rearguard Type 32 Zero fighters, their pilots scanning the skies for American intruders.

Halfway down the Solomons slot, the rikko crews ate carefully‑packed picnic lunches and excitedly discussed what they might find at Guadalcanal, or Guadukanaru as they pronounced the island in Japanese. Like their Zero counterparts, the rikkos also formed into three Chutais each of nine aircraft, the first led by overall commander Renpei Eguchi, the second by Kashiwao Fujita and the third by Masanao Sasaki.[5] Just behind Eguchi's rikkos, Nakajima's Tainan fighters carefully positioned themselves ‑ the 1st Chutai to the right, and the 3rd Chutai just below the lead bomber. Kawai's six 2nd Chutai fighters cruised substantially above this combined formation. Formed into one giant arrow‑head pointed at the enemy, Rabaul's A‑Team were as prepared as they could be, albeit one fighter less, anticipating jeopardy over Guadalcanal with forty‑four aircraft.

4th Kokutai G4M1 Betty bomber formation
1st Chutai
1st Shotai

Lt. Cdr Renpei Eguchi
Tadao Morinaga [1]
Ryousuke Konami
2nd Shotai
Shigeji Katsuta
Kozo Miyazaki [4]
Teiji Watanabe
2nd Shotai
Satoru Yoshida
Koji Meada
Shinzo Morisaku
2nd Chutai
1st Shotai

Kashiwao Fujita
Wataru Kawanishi [3]
Noboru Miyazaki [2]
2nd Shotai
Takabumi Sasaki [3]
Shoji Kaneko
Shigeo Honda
3rd Shotai
Seizaburoh Masubuchi
Umeo Adachi [3]
Kiyomitsu Tsuchimoto
3rd Chutai
1st Shotai

Masanao Sasaki
Keiji Ozawa [4]
Shoichi Imai
2nd Shotai
Nobuo Haraguchi [4]
Kaoro Hattori
Seiji Sekine [4]
3rd Shotai
Tadashi Isogai
Mitsuru Suematsu
Yoshiyuki Sakamoto [3]

Notes: 1. Emergency landed at Buka
2. Emergency landed at Vunakanau
3. Shot down   4. crew members injured

As Rabaul's finest settled in to a monotonous cruise, pilot'Pug' Southerland and his flight relaxed and ate lunch below in Saratoga wardroom, after an uneventful strafing mission over Lunga Field. Above on the pitching flightdeck, aircraft came and went in a never‑ending procession of military bustle. The carrier captains were exercised by the hectic strike schedules ‑ the most chaotic in memory ‑ but Southerland's men quietly rested and constantly monitored their watches for their next scheduled takeoff at 1315 hours. A messenger with an urgent message found Southerland's boys joking and hungrily eating sandwiches and enjoying hot coffee in the wardroom ‑ enemy aircraft were on the way and they were to launch now, an hour earlier. [6]

While this intelligence warning could be viewed as a Godsend, to the three carrier captains it merely supplemented the severe pressure under which they laboured. Defence of the carriers took priority of course, but there were still worthwhile transports requiring protection too. Worst of all, at this juncture the ground‑strike SBDs were in the process of returning, and they had the potential and easy ability to tie up valuable launch time on the flight decks (a basic artifice of WW2 carrier operations was that it was difficult to launch or retrieve aircraft on demand). Southerland rushed from the wardroom warning trailing fellow fliers that the situation "looked like the real McCoy" and that once airborne their first priority was to stay together. Anticipating a fight, he strapped on his Colt 45 on impulse. Southerland's hurried flight of four ‑ SCARLET TWO ‑ launched from Saratoga about fifteen minutes after midday to conduct a protective Combat Air Patrol (CAP) mission.[7] Fellow pilots Robert "Bob" Price (replacing Eichenberger who had spilled overboard on takeoff that morning), Charles "Tab" Tabberer and Donald Innis fell into formation. Along with a subsequent CAP flight, SCARLET EIGHT (Herbert Brown, Foster Blair, William Holt and Joseph Daly), Southerland's flight shared the most burdensome of responsibilities ‑ protection of Nimitz' precious carriers. With only four Wildcats in SCARLET EIGHT, welfare of the priceless carriers now relied on the protection of a total of eight fighters, led by Southerland.

After the successful departure of both the Tainan and 4th Kokutais from Rabaul, Rear‑Admiral Yamada had decided to commit a belated aerial force to what he considered would be a decisive opening battle. He held a quick conference with Fumito Inoue, Commander of the 2nd Ku, a unit which was equipped with both Zeros and Aichi Type 99 dive‑bombers.[8] Yamada ordered Inoue to take nine of the Aichis, unescorted and with insufficient return range, into the fledgling battlefield. Instead of coming back to Rabaul, incredibly Yamada planned for the Aichis to ditch near seaplane tender Akitsushima, soon to be waiting off the Shortland Islands along with a large flying boat to tend to the needs of the ditched crews and return them to Rabaul. Thus Yamada knew he would lose all nine Aichis, but the Imperial Navy would at least regain their crews if successful. Inoue pointed out that his Type 99s would be difficult to safely ditch, their fixed bulky undercarriages preventing smooth deceleration. Under these parameters Inoue's inflexible dive‑bombers departed Rabaul at 1040 hours and climbed immediately to 10,000 feet. Unlike their predecessors, they flew a route which followed the northern boundary of the Solomon Islands.

2nd Kokutai D3A1 Val dive bomber formation
1st Chutai
1st Shotai

Fumito Inoue [1]
Seiji Sato [2]
Shuzo Tokiwa[3]
2nd Chutai
1st Shotai

Seisuke Nakagaki [3]
Hideichi Kuroda [3]
Masaru Omoto [3]
3rd Chutai
1st Shotai
Gengo Ota [1]
Minoru Iwaka [3]
Koji Takahashi [1]

Notes: 1. Ditched Shortlands
2 Ditched Shortlands but drowned
3 Shot down

Well ahead of the slower Aichis, and now only fifty miles from Guadalcanal, Rabaul's first aerial team could see the wakes of dozens of enemy ships. They were everywhere ñ the first enemy amphibious assault any of the Japanese crews had seen. In the rikkos, aircraft commanders peered through binoculars from behind their pilots into the gathered but distant fleet. To their left a brilliant sun impaired vision, intensifying the blues of the ocean and highlighting Guadalcanal's mountainous spine on the other side. The rikko bombers pushed their noses down and descended to gather speed and release bombs beneath the solid white cumulus which thickened the area.

Inoue's Aichis departed Rabaul just in time. A few hours later around midday, thirteen Fifth Air Force Flying Fortresses from the 19th Bombardment Group led by Lt-Col Richard Carmichael based at Port Moresby appeared high overhead Vunakanau with open bombays. They walked 1,000‑pound bombs over the complex, but the recipients considered the damage slight, and patrolling 2nd Ku Zeros shot down one Fortress, piloted by the young captain who had evacuated General Douglas MacArthur from the Philippines.[9] Despite American claims to have disposed of seven Zeros, Yamada lost no aircraft either airborne or on the ground.[10] Groundcrews worked hard and furiously to repair runway damage before Eguchi's rikkos returned.

At 1315 hours over Savo Island, Southerland received a laconic radio order to nudge left ten degrees. Thick cloud was building and in the way, on a day which commander Simpler described as "one of heavy cumulus clouds that hung in huge lumps ‑ the kind that you can ride around the corner and anything could be right smack in front of you". With startling clarity, Eguchi and company abruptly appeared just off Southerland's left wing, about 200 to 300 feet higher. He briskly counted twenty‑seven bombers and called into his microphone, "Horizontal bombers, three divisions, nine planes each, over Savo, headed for transports. Angels twelve. This division from Pug ‑ drop belly tanks, put gun switches and sight lamps on. Let's go get 'em boys".

Kawai's 2nd Chutai Zeros had pushed ahead of the rikkos, searching for "Grummans', as they commonly termed the Wildcats. In the lead rikko, Eguchi could not see the main body of Zeros and radioed his rearmost bomber to determine their whereabouts. They could not see them either, but regardless Eguchi ordered the attack to proceed. In the Zero cockpits of the other two Chutais, the experienced Tainan cadre became concerned at the intensity of the sun's glare. Enemy fighters could drop from that angle, their attack only seen with squinting difficulty. So it happened one chubby machine, ignoring Nakajima's resolute fighters, tore through the rikkos. It was a Wildcat engaging unspoiled quarry over Guadalcanal, flown by Pug Southerland. Behind him followed Tabberer, Price and Innis in that order, but above them were Kawai's five forward Zeros of the 2nd Chutai. Kawai led them violently downwards and bounced them as they followed Southerland.

In rearmost position, an anxious glance from Innis disclosed that he was a sure target for the guns which lurked under black cowls of incoming grey Imperial fighters. He heaved his Wildcat skywards and exchanged head‑on fire with all five Zeros before one lodged itself on his tail. Innis soon had jagged holes speckle his fighter, but what was more serious was that the control response had become sluggish. As he would later discover, his left elevator had been all but shot away. Innis' sorry Wildcat stole into cloud where it tarried for protection. Innis was lucky. Neither Price, 23 years old, nor Tabberer, three years his senior, were seen again, both subsequently declared Missing in Action. Within seconds, half of Southerland's team had been killed whilst Innis licked his wounds and contemplated how best to return his damaged mount to a moving steel deck.

Behind SCARLET TWO came Pete Brown's four SCARLET EIGHT Wildcats. Brown had witnessed Tabberer and Price cut from the sky, but nevertheless remained determined to hit the rikkos, his first priority. As Brown's team approached the massed target, Nakajima's 1st Chutai broke away and downwards to intercept. Brown and company faced two stark inferiorities ‑ lesser altitude and fewer aircraft. [11] Making a snap decision, Brown ordered wingman Blair to stay with him to defend themselves against the Zeros whilst letting Holt and Daly pursue the rikkos. The former two twisted and climbed, and banked and dove. Brown took hits to his cockpit which left it rancid with smoke. His leg and hip were bloodied and he prepared to bail out by cranking back the tracked canopy. The smoke cleared however and Brown regained composure.

Then it was that one of the day's more remarkable incidents occurred. Brown was amazed to see his opponent draw up alongside his wing. The two foes looked each other over before the goggled anonymous Japanese waved curtly then drew away.[12] As he did Brown loosed several rounds at the tail of the Mitsubishi, but such was the battered condition of his Wildcat that it stalled and fell away. Another Zero crossed his sights as he descended for the cover of cumulus, but Brown had little doubt that his burst was token. The Zero's had not been ‑ an incendiary had entered his thigh, such was the excruciating pain and blood loss that he injected himself with a phial of ammonia to stay awake. As he entered the sanctuary of a fluffy cloud he contemplated in his bloodied cockpit how he too might get home safely.

Whilst Brown and his extravagant adversary had squared matters away, Daly and Holt had time to line up the rikko's left‑hand chutai. Daly was in frustration as his bullets, so clearly led by tell‑tale red tracer lines, took hits on a rikko with no apparent result. Holt was having no luck either, so they broke away together for another frightening pass. Southerland had meanwhile escaped the attention of marauding Zeros, albeit briefly, and he too approached the other side of the rikko V‑formation. As he approached he saw "the open bomb bays, and it looked as though a total of eight to ten medium bombs were lined up fore and aft on either side of the one plane noted in particular. I hit this plane at the forward end of the bomb bay from below and at close range". Southerland had singled out that flown by Tamotsu Sato. He watched jubilant as flames sprouted, just opposite its left Sakae engine. Blair meanwhile witnessed and confirmed the US Navy's first aerial victory of Guadalcanal as Sato's sieved machine fell oceanwards in fierce flames. Southerland's place in Guadalcanal history was now assured, as indeed was that of the unfortunate Sato. Zeros were still tailing him, so Southerland broke left and down but in the process took incendiary hits to the canopy and cockpit, shattering his windscreen. An acrid smell left Southerland calculating how long he could now remain airborne, but he crossed over right for another crack at the rikkos, and pumped .50 calibre lead into that under the command of Yoshiyuki Sakimoto. It fell back, but it was clear that damage rendered was not major, at least not yet. Black flak bursts erupted among the rikkos ‑ US warships had found the range of the approaching enemy formation. Southerland, handicapped by a damaged machine, drew away to preserve himself.

Shortly after flak startled the rikko crews, several of the big bombers took hits. Holes were torn in the starboard engine of one of Eguchi's wingmen and the engine lost power. In Eguchi's own rikko the bombardier crouched on the corrugated aluminium floor and adjusted his sight. It was 1220 hours and the formation was at 12,000 feet when Eguchi's rikko dropped its bombs, the others following suit. Above in his Zero, Saburo Sakai was disgusted to observe the bombs make wide splotches between the enemy vessels below. Not one made a hit, even though the 4th Ku would later claim one destroyer sunk and one transport damaged. Wildcats reappeared to hassle the rikkos. SCARLET EIGHT seemed determined to make the most of the day, much to the distaste of one Japanese aircraft commander who would record their manoeuvres as akin to those of "attacking dogs". Three more rikkos took hits, one streaming white smoke. The remaining formation gingerly turned left, the island of Malaita falling behind to their right.

As he worked over the bombers, Daly saw approaching fighters but they were not Wildcats. He scissored but to no avail, "The whole plane shook as a 20 millimetre shell exploded beneath the cockpit. The next second I was sitting aflame. My clothes were on fire; my pants and shirt were burning: I could see nothing but red fire all around me. I remember vividly the thought that ran through my head: "Sonny boy, you're not going to get out of this ‑ this is it!" Daly dove out of his cockpit at 13,000 feet but delayed opening his chute for fear of being strafed. It nevertheless opened quite high ‑ around 7,000 feet ‑ and Daly splashed off Berande Point, some fifteen miles east of Red Beach where the US landing had occurred that morning. Daly was badly burned all over, and shell fragments had reduced the use of his left leg, but he remained strong enough to set a moderate breaststroke in Guadalcanal's direction. Three US destroyers steamed past nearby, but missed Daly's vigorous waves to attract attention. Finally, close to complete exhaustion, a Curtis SOC‑1 floatplane from VCS‑4 flew overhead. Its pilot recognised a swimmer, so set down, but with pistol drawn just in case. Daly's burns smothered his face and the rescuer was unsure of the swimmer's nationality until select American vernacular from Daly left little doubt. Daly was transferred on board Chicago at a quarter past four that afternoon, a happy ending to what might otherwise have been a flight to oblivion. Daly was soon uncomfortable however, for when he awoke next morning he observed, "my lips were greatly swollen, so that I had to drink my meals through a tube, and my eyes were so puffed up and stuck together that I couldn't see". During the night Daly lay in a bunk in the giant cruiser's sickbay and was jolted as she absorbed one torpedo to the bow and several heavy shell impacts.[13] At Guadalcanal even being rescued, it seemed, could be hazardous.

Throughout the aerial combat Holt meanwhile had tried to stick with Daly where he could, but the 24‑year‑old fell to the Zeros, although no‑one knows exactly how or where, and thus Holt remains classified "Missing‑in‑action'. Innis meanwhile had quietly climbed to 20,000 feet from whence he tailed the rikkos, hopeful of an effective last foray. As Eguchi's V‑formation banked left for home Innis went in and expended his last ammunition. Two Zeros joined him for a game of tag before he lost them in cloud. Innis then headed back to the waiting Saratoga.

Saburo Sakai was among the Zeros which had mixed with SCARLET EIGHT. Afterwards he rejoined Chutai leader Sasai, but in the process had lost his two wingmen, the very ones he had exhorted to stay with him at all times. He finally saw them, or at least thought he did, as two of three Zeros battling a lone Grumman well below. Incredulously, it appeared that the enemy pilot was actually chasing the Japanese by turning into them all the time. Ichirobei Yamazaki had latched his Zero onto the Grumman's tail at about 11,000 feet, and could be seen loosing shot bursts from behind and above. Sakai drew closer to Sasai and signalled for permission to dive into the fray below.

It was Southerland which flew the hunted Grumman. Worst of all, his guns had stopped firing, so he manually tried to recharge them, hoping they had jammed rather than run dry.[14] With self‑preservation in mind he also lowered the seat to take refuge behind the armourplate slab behind.[15] He observed: "a Zero was attacking at this time from my starboard quarter so I pushed over as though trying to escape him, then pulled out immediately, cracking my flaps and whacking off my throttle. He overran as I'd hoped and made a climbing turn to the left. I turned inside easily and had the aviator's dream ‑ a Zero at close range perfectly lined up in my sights for about a quarter deflection shot. However, I pressed my trigger without result and realised sadly that I'd have to fight the rest of the battle without guns". Southerland knew that the enemy were land‑based Zeros, "perfectly capable of running circles around me as I soon discovered."

Whilst Southerland tried to duck Yamazaki's guns, the latter was joined by Kakimoto and Uto to lengthen the odds to three to one. The three Mitsubishis set up attacks from each side, taking turns when necessary. Sakai dived to join his comrades, making a fourth adversary for the troubled American flyer.

Southerland was aware that his major contribution now to the day was now to draw the four Zeros away from the bombers they were meant to protect, and he had determined how best to endure their methodical aggression, "this consisted merely of determining which of the two Zeros, attacking almost simultaneously on either quarter, was about to open fire first, and turning sharply toward him as he opened up. This gave him a full deflection shot so he invariably underled me, riddling my fuselage aft but doing little serious damage. This quick turn also placed the second plane directly behind me so that I was well protected by my armour plate. When runs were not exactly simultaneous, I would rely chiefly on my armor, placing the attackers directly aft in succession as they made their runs". Southerland now had a clear objective ‑ to reach Red Beach where he could bail out within the sanctity of friendly lines. Essentially he was now engaged in a race of time versus risk. The Wildcat took more hits almost every time the Zeros made a pass, the 7.7mm slugs making the loudest sound when they impacted against the armour plate directly behind him. Sometimes a Mitsubishi would overrun and pull out ahead, adding to the frustration of defective guns, but then through his shattered goggles Southerland noticed a fourth Zero join the fight, which led in a burst at long range. Sakai had arrived.

As opposed to the mechanical tactics of his three counterparts, Sakai was determined to latch himself onto the Wildcat's tail using the design advantages of Mitsubishi's fighter. The enemy kept turning into him, but Sakai gradually lessened the distance with the belligerent Grumman, then at last held onto its tail. In the battle of turns the Grumman had gradually run out of altitude and options. Sakai had full confidence in his Zero's ability to destroy the quarry using only his machine guns. He double‑checked that his 20mm cannon was switched off and moved closer. The Wildcat crossed the coast just West of the Bonegi River, still eighteen arduous miles short of Red Beach, but at least over land. Unbeknown to Sakai, his rival had reached the reasoned judgement that it was time to bail out. Sakai was taken by surprise when the Grumman snapped into straight and level flight. He checked his own tail, then closed in. Now closer than he had ever been to a Wildcat, its appearance and the moment moved him sufficiently that he groped for his beloved Leica camera and in a grand example of eccentricity, savoured this moment by taking a photograph for his private collection.[16] Sakai discarded the camera to the side of the cockpit, closed to fifty metres, and fired a stream of 7.7mm projectiles at the Grumman, by his estimate between five to six hundred rounds. Incredibly they had no apparent effect. Sakai at this stage thought it astounding at how a Zero, if subjected to similar punishment, would by now be a ball of flame. He contemplated the Wildcat's rudder, "ripped to shreds, looking like an old torn piece of rag". The steadfast nature of the pursuit and the opportunity to witness a formidable enemy at such close distance briefly lulled the Japanese ace into complacency. He firewalled the Mitsubishi's throttle to get closer, but was startled to find that his eagerness had lurched him ahead of the Grumman. Sakai cringed knowing he had placed himself cleanly in front of six Brownings. But nothing happened and Sakai then realised that at this critical moment that this had been a one‑sided combat ‑ his opponent for whatever reason lacked teeth. He dropped back, this time falling into formation slightly left of the straight‑and‑level Grumman. He had previously savoured the luxury of taking a photograph, now he would go a step further and examine the man in the machine.

  Ahead, Southerland methodically worked through the Navy checklist for bailout ‑ electrical switches off, disconnect microphone and transmitter cords, undo safety harness, open canopy. Alongside flew Sakai, consumed with curiosity and watching Southerland go through his paces. Southerland had time to assess the state of his mount, "my plane was in bad shape but still performing nicely in low blower, full throttle, and full low pitch. Flaps and radio had been put out of commission . . . the after part of my fuselage was like a sieve. She was still smoking from incendiary but not on fire. All of the ammunition box covers on my left wing were gone and 20mm explosives had torn gaping holes in its upper surface . . . my instrument panel was badly shot up, goggles on my forehead had been shattered, my rear view mirror was broken, my Plexiglas windshield was riddled. The leak‑proof tanks had apparently been punctured many times as some fuel had leaked down into the bottom of the cockpit even though there was no steady leakage. My oil tank had been punctured and oil was pouring down my right leg".

Sakai purposefully wound back his canopy and stared into the Grumman's open cockpit. There he saw a man with a round face who he estimated was about seven or eight years older.[17] He watched the American flier, in bloodstained flightsuit, apparently undo his harness. Sakai observed that the Grumman "was a shambles. Bullet holes had cut the fuselage and wings up from one end to another. The skin of the rudder was gone . . . it was incredible that his plane was still in the air". Lifting his goggles, Sakai had the impression that the man was huddled over in prayer, and thought he even tried to wave. For the first time in combat, the Imperial Navy graduate felt a conflicting empathy for the crouched figure, a contrasting emotion brought on due to the worthy nature of his enemy, "but this was no way to kill a man ! Not with him flying helplessly, wounded, his plane a wreck. I raised my left hand and shook my fist at him, shouting uselessly, I wished him to fight instead of just flying along like a clay pigeon. The American looked startled. I had never felt so strange before. I had killed many Americans in the air, but this was the first time a man had weakened in such a fashion directly before my eyes, and from wounds I had inflicted upon him. I honestly didn't know whether or not I should try to finish him off. Such thoughts were stupid of course. Wounded or not, he was the enemy, and he had taken on three of my men a few minutes ago. However, there was no reason to aim for the pilot again. I wanted the airplane, not the man". Time, a decisive indulgence in any combat, was drawing to its limits. Sakai fell in behind to finish off the Grumman. He released the cannon safety switch, aimed for its engine, and gently squeezed the firing button. Several cannon rounds impacted into the top cowl where they flashed as they exploded, cleanly removing two cylinders in the process.[18] It was approximately half‑past one on a hot Guadalcanal afternoon.

Southerland would report, "...at this time a Zero making a run from the port quarter put a burst in just under the left wing root and good old F‑12 finally exploded. I think the explosion occurred from gasoline vapour. The flash was below and forward of my left foot. I was ready for it . . . consequently I dove over the right side just aft of the starboard wing root, head first. My .45 holster caught on the hood track, but I got rid of it immediately, though I don't remember how. I feverently asked God to let me live and pulled the ring just as my head was passing below the starboard wing. The plane did a chandelle to the right and went down in a dive, passing about 15‑20 feet ahead of me."

Caught in this unreal moment, Southerland still had the senses to reflect, "The ring came out so easily in my hand that I immediately assumed my ripcord had been severed by gunfire. All aviators who bail out want to save the ring. This flashed through my mind as I reluctantly hurled it away and started clawing frantically into the webbing trying to locate the release end of the ripcord. At this point the parachute opened and I was floating comfortably about 100‑150 feet above the trees". Chunky yet substantial pieces of his Wildcat tumbled from the sky and into a steep jungle ravine, grown over with dense foliage and large trees. The engine came to rest in a creek bed, whilst the rest of the debris fell through solid foliage, scattered over a length of more than three hundred metres. There they would lie undiscovered to history for nearly fifty‑six years, save passing curiosity by a native hunter.

Southerland fell through trees relatively unscathed and, fearful of being strafed, hit the ground prepared to ditch his chute harness by loosening the straps. He grabbed the upwind shroud and spilled what air he could from the chute, allowing it to fill just above the trees. When he landed his first thought was the trailing Japanese would find his chute an attractive target, so he ran, "100 yards away in 9 seconds flat. My first grateful thought was to thank God that I was alive. I can guarantee that this was a wholly unexpected outcome of the battle". Under cover of nearby trees he counted eleven wounds, including three holes in his right calf, flash burns to his arms and a gaping hole in his right foot, the most painful of all. There was some consolation ‑ the parachute fall through the trees had given him but minor abrasions to the left leg. Southerland next sized up the geography and figured he had touched down about ten miles east of Cape Esperance, four miles inland from the beach.[19]

Sakai noted that in the Grumman's last seconds it rolled away, directly over the coast and headed inland. The last he saw of the pilot was him hanging limply in his chute, then lost him to view. He considered that in the process of conducting his fifty‑ninth kill that his Mitsubishi had flown "much too low for safety".[20] He climbed to rejoin his cheerful companions, Uto, Yamazaki and Kakimoto, and briefly removed his scarf to identify himself. Together the four eased control sticks back for the climb.[21] The Tainan fraternity had just destroyed five of eight VF‑5 Wildcats despatched that morning.

  As the four enemy Zeros which had stalked him banked away and climbed, Southerland took stock of his lonely situation. He was in low rolling hills, covered with thick kunai grass, difficult to traverse. It was sharp too, not to mention the degree to which it made the skin itch. He realised he could not try for friendly lines in a straight line as the undergrowth and jungle in the valleys was too impassable. His best alternative lay with getting to the coast, then following its sandy littoral. Descending down hill crests would be easiest, but this would not always be desirable as the enemy could more easily spot him against such an open background. His right shoe was full of oil, blood and dirt. He removed it and stuffed the oily black sock into the wound to minimise bleeding. Knowing he was in enemy territory and that his bail‑out would probably have been seen, the downed flier's foremost certitude lay with vacating the area. With these thoughts he cautiously hobbled off, fet4ered by discomfort and injury. Southerland's four victors meanwhile traversed Sealark Channel and headed towards the rikkos which were approaching Tulagi on their return to Rabaul. As they eased up through 7,000 feet between fluffy clouds, a projectile streaked through the rear of Sakai's canopy. Angry and humiliated at having been caught unaware, Sakai's four swiftly banked and climbed away to turn the tables on a slower culprit Dauntless flown by Dudley Adams of VS‑71. Sakai now descended high from aside, his first burst causing the SBD to stall and drop away. Japanese barbs had just taken the life of Adams' rear gunner Harry Elliot, and left Adams struggling with excruciating bullet wounds. Adams ditched SBD‑3 fuselage number S‑10 at 1337 hours, and the wounded pilot floated with stinging wounds until collected by US warship Dewey eight minutes later. Satisfied that they had completed another kill, Sakai's four again adjusted their climb towards the rikkos. Approaching 8,000 feet they saw what appeared to be eight Grummans ahead almost begging to be ambushed. Unfortunately for Sakai, the approaching Zeros had been noticed well in advance and Carl Horenburger's eight SBDs closed ranks whilst eight pairs of .30 calibre machine guns beaded sights on the approaching Mitsubishis. Sakai realised his disastrous mistake after he had committed himself to a deflection attack from the rear. To pull away now would mean exposing his Zero side‑on in a manoeuvre from which he would be lucky to emerge alive. The extent of the folly was lost least on Sakai, and in the humiliation of his own culpability, he pressed the attack. Kakimoto stuck with him, but further back Uto and Yamazaki perceived danger and flicked away. Sakai's Mitsubishi was caught in the crossfire of sixteen machine guns at close range, shattering the windscreen and blinding him in one eye. Thrown upside down, the grey fighter passed overhead the SBDs, then dived. Uto tried to catch up with Sakai but could not. With fear in his gullet, he thought he had just witnessed the death of a Tainan warrior. Nishizawa likewise could not find Sakai, and in a rage because of it, became determined to ram the next American he came across. Luckily for the enigmatic Nishizawa such an opportunity failed to materialise so he sullenly turned for home.

Sakai's successful and extraordinary return to Rabaul would pass into aviation folklore ‑ low over the water he somehow pulled out, and hampered by severe pain and weakness nevertheless found his way back to Lakunai on his own. His Zero was recognised in the landing pattern by Sasai, alert with a pair of binoculars. Sakai was surrounded before the engine stopped, and the bloodstained ace was physically pulled from the cockpit by two returnees ‑ Sasai and Nakajima.

Whilst Sakai battled exhaustion through blood‑loss in the confined cockpit of his ruined Zero, the also‑wounded Southerland picked his way deliberately through Guadalcanal jungle. He had no water with which to slake his sweated thirst, and the island's notorious afternoon sun soon took its effect. He gave wide berth to a wooden Japanese observation platform in a tree manned by two laconic soldiers, then continued towards water's edge, "I continued towards the jungle, keeping as well concealed as possible, and crawled into a discouragingly thick and seemingly impenetrable undergrowth. There were masses of thick thorny vines, spider webs with big formidable spiders and unseen but imagined wildlife of all sorts, mostly poisonous snakes and boa constrictors. The imagination really goes to work in a jungle. The going became easier as I worked my way into what appeared to be the dry bed of a small brook... eventually I broke out into some tall grass bordering a coconut grove . . . through this grove appeared to be a deserted Jap camp."

Southerland stumbled into the abandoned enemy encampment. There he souvenired the reflector of an old torch before negotiating a close pebbly beach, from whence he waded into cool seawater. Throughout he "kept as concealed as well as possible, skirted the buildings, and at last made the beach". His right foot still hurt although other pain had abated through numbness. With the aid of the reflector and his yellow Mae West he was able to attract the attention of several SBDs. Several diverted to circle him warily, and being competent in Morse code, Southerland used the former Japanese torch to transmit the message "SOS ‑ send cruiser scout". When the SBDs came closer Southerland waved his yellow lifejacket at them. One of the SBDs dropped a smoke flare before they all turned back to the carriers. By now it was late afternoon, about half past five so Southerland thought.

Whilst Guadalcanal's skies were busy, back at Rabaul Admiral Mikawa listened to the concerns of his staff officers. Several expressed disquiet that the four cruisers would not have sufficient destroyer escorts. Mikawa, by now in excellent humour, dismissed their concerns, and by mid‑afternoon and in presenting himself in dapper uniform, the Imperial Admiral unfurled his battle colours aboard flagship Chokai as she steamed out of the harbour entrance.

Even at this late stage, four VF‑71 Wildcats were meanwhile patrolling Tulagi and descended into an SBD formation to attack, but realised in time that they were friendlies. Thaddeus "Thad' Capowski, in F‑13, lost the others after the pull‑out, so headed south and established Guadalcanal. For some unknown mechanical reason his Wildcat was consuming far more fuel than it should, and it died west of the Matanikau River, well behind enemy lines, when he put down near the treeline on the beach. The fighter slammed into a tree about a hundred yards inland, and although he protected his face with his hand the impact broke four ribs and punctured his left lung. He regained consciousness in an upside‑down wreck, and suspended from his harness. There he stayed until after dark when he thought it safer to move. Capowski made it to the shoreline, crawling, and waded into the water where he now discovered to his alarm that his pistol was missing. In one of the day's more extraordinary moments, a Japanese sentry approached him after dark, but did not see him and walked on. The wounded American, still in tormenting pain, quickly recovered to the shelter of the palms. Unbeknown to Capowski, another American was in the same predicament just a few more miles West. Pug Southerland would later submit that the night he spent on the beach was "cold and windy".

As the American fliers discussed the days events a sorry Saburo Sakai contemplated an uncertain future back in the Navy hospital at Rabaul. With a bloodied swollen face, and having collapsed from anaemia, he had been carried from his shot‑up fighter and man‑handled into the familiar black Ford motor car used by the Tainan fliers as their hack. Despite his condition, Sakai had argued with Nakajima that before doing anything else, it was his duty to officially report to Captain Masahisa Saito, overall Commanding Officer of the Tainan Ku. Nishizawa also tried to persuade him to go straight to hospital, but within minutes Sakai had placed himself at attention in front of Saito who regarded his precarious condition incredulously. Sakai, again, collapsed. Saito dismissed Nishizawa and Ota to transport the obstinate but unconscious aviator to the hospital. In frustrated concern Nishizawa physically removed the waiting driver and sped directly there, whilst Ota and Sasai upheld their wounded comrade in the Ford's back seat. Once deposited on the hospital bed, in resurgent semi‑consciousness, Sakai felt a blade perforate his scalp, near his eyes. After four more days in hospital he was informed that he would be returning to Japan for eye surgery. The evening before departure his superior Sasai bade him farewell at his bedside, along with a huddled elite coterie of the Tainan corps, most of whom were dog‑tired from another long mission over Guadalcanal. Conversation was quiet and subdued, with conversation mostly revolving around matters at home in Japan. A despondent Sakai left Rabaul in a H8K2 flying boat on 12th August, with other passengers mostly war correspondents. The flying boat's destination was Yokohama, with refuelling stops at Truk and Saipan. It landed in Yokohama Harbour early next evening, and Sakai was shocked to discover a bustling city without any apparent care for the seriousness of the war unfolding many miles away to the South. Speakers on every corner blared out news of massive victories in the Solomons. Sakai wondered how two such disparate worlds could co‑exist in such surrealism.

At dawn the morning after Sakai had blasted his Wildcat from the sky, Southerland hobbled along the pebbly coast towards Lunga Point. Villages on the way were unoccupied and it was in one such locale that he found a native canoe. It leaked however, so he returned it and continued onwards. He eventually made the village of Ruijo and its rustic Catholic chapel. There he found two natives whom he befriended and they escorted him back to their village of Mamara. There, for the first time since he had been removed from the sky by Sakai's guns, Southerland relaxed.

One of the natives was Bruno Nana, who as previously described, had worked as a paid porter on the Japanese airfield, "We were very sympathetic towards him so we took him to Tanavasa and cared for him that night. He had a bullet in his foot, so we had to find a way to take him to Lunga Hospital. We could not walk to Lunga because between Lunga and Tanavasa the Japanese occupied the area and we could have been shot doing that". Southerland slept relatively well that night at Tanavasa village and passed the next day, 9th August, in relative peace whilst Bruno and friends discussed ways of getting him back to the Lunga area via Kukum village, where it was known that the Americans had established a first‑aid post. That evening the loud rumble and vibration of naval gunfire kept them awake as the Battle of Savo Island unfurled. Next morning the natives, alarmed at the obvious seriousness of the Japanese Navy from the previous evening, were understandably more nervous about escorting Southerland through enemy territory. Nevertheless the following dawn, the 10th, Jonesi, Bruno Nana, [22] and one other native named Plorentino paddled their European friend in a canoe past the mouth of the Matanikau River, giving wide berth to a Japanese camp complete with roaming soldiers, presumably a reformed unit of Monzen's labourers. The unusual four paddled further towards Kukum where they were approached by men waving rifles at them.

According to Southerland "they wore overalls and helmets similar to those of the Japs, so I didn't know who we were running into. The natives also questioned their identity. Taking faith in the evacuation of the village we had just passed, and realising we just had to be successful in this campaign, I raised up and waved to them. They waved back, which convinced the natives we were old friends, so they paddled rapidly to the beach. What a relief to see our own Marines!" Southerland was laid in a blanket and carried along the beach to Colonel Leroy Hunt of the 5th Marine Regiment, and after profusely thanking Jonas, Bruno and Co, Southerland retired for a well‑earned rest. Two days later he was flown out to Espirito Santo in COMAIRSOPAC 's personal Catalina PBY‑5A, his eventual destination the US Navy hospital at Jacksonville, Florida. The evacuation flight was historic, being the first aircraft to ever land at Henderson Field, named that very day after Major Lofton Henderson, a Marine squadron Commander who had been lost at Midway. [23]

Having deposited Southerland into the safe custody of armed Marines, the teenage Bruno Nana and his two Solomon Islander friends paddled their way back along the coast. When they reached the mouth of the Matanikau River they were halted by armed Japanese who fired on them and destroyed the canoe. With threatening gestures the three were told to get out of the canoe, then led away. Nana recalls, "They took us and interrogated us. We tried to trick them, but someone who had seen us earlier with the American told the Japanese that we were not telling the truth. He explained to them where each one of us had sat in the canoe. He then pointed to me and said I was the one steering the canoe. He was right. They then tied our hands behind our backs and tied us to a big post. For four days we went without food or drink. I thought that was the end of us. One of the soldiers urinated into a tin and then brought it back to me. He forced us to drink it. When I told my friends that it was urine they told me not to drink it, but I answered that they should also drink it, just as Christ had been offered water on the cross. We prayed to God for freedom and that afternoon the sky was so cloudy that you could hardly see anything. At about four o'clock the ropes mysteriously loosened, so I asked my two friends if they had that same experience. They said yes, so I urged all of us to run away. From Matanikau we fled through the bush behind Rove and White River. Finally we arrived home but found no‑one there. Everyone had fled to Veraboli. On the 12th of August we found our people. We had to abandon our home because the Japanese were looking for us. I left to join Father Eneriko at Tangarare with the scouts and soon I was on a government ship."

References
Kodochosho, Tainan Kokutai, August 7, 1942
Kodochosho, 4th Kokutai, August 7, 1942
Kodochosho, 2nd Kokutai, August 7, 1942

Footnotes
[1] The aircraft was B-17E Flying Fortress 41-2446 (aka "Swamp Ghost"). Damaged by Yoshida's bullets and those of other Zeros at 0745 hours, Eaton took extended evasive action which depleted his fuel substantially. The mission had been planned on peace-time fuel calculations and Eaton realised over New Guinea's northern coast that he could not make Port Moresby. He forced-landed the Fortress in Ambiago Swamp, and although none of the crew were injured it took them six weeks to return to duty. The Fortress still lay intact where it came to rest.

[2] Sakai noted this tail number from his log-book entry of the day. He often flew A6M2 Zero Tail V-128 and kept a piece of it as a souvenir when he was evacuated to Japan. He still has it to this day.

[3] Many have speculated the degree to which history might have been changed had the bombers launched low-level torpedoes into the transports on this deciding day. Whilst it is tempting to criticise the Imperial navy decision to keep the aircraft bomb-laden, it is worth considering that there was another pressure bearing on the Japanese flag officers that day - concern that the Americans would conduct a surprise and substantial air-raid on Rabaul to cripple the bombers before they became airborne. Hence the decision to launch the rikkos soonest can be further justified.

[4] This little-known fact was determined by the author in 1997 when examining the wreck of 705 Kokutai G4M1 Betty 1570 Tail 377 shot down into Guadalcanal's jungle on 30th June 1943.

[5] In most cases the aircraft commanders were the pilots flying the rikkos. In some cases more senior officers flew as observers, but because of their seniority were defined as the aircraft commander. The rikko from which Renpei Eguchi commanded the 4th Ku was piloted by Kiyoshi Nishimura. Most rikko crews this day comprised two pilots, two observers, two radio operators and one maintenance officer who manned the tail gun.

[6] Confirmation of the approaching Japanese came from two sources. The first was a TOP SECRET decoded JN‑25b intercept, complemented by a more earthy message from Australian coast-watcher and former plantation owner Paul Mason on Bougainville.

[7] Saratoga's log shows Southerland assigned to Bu 5133 for the mission. However, due to the mission's hurried and unexpected nature he took the foremost aircraft which happened to be Bu 5192.

[8] These type of aircraft would later be given the Allied codename Val.

[9] The Americans actually lost two Fortresses on the day, the first being B-17E #41-2617 on takeoff at Seven-mile strip, Port Moresby. That shot down over Rabaul constituted a significant loss however. B-17E 41-2439 was flown by Captain Harl Pease. His Fortress crashed near the confluence of the Mavlo and Powell Rivers, taking seven crew with it. They were buried behind a kiln in a Christian mission by natives and exhumed in 1946. Pease and crewmember Chikowsky bailed out however, but were captured by the Japanese and transferred to Rabaul on 8th October 1942, where they were forced to work daily on airfield repair work. The details are lost to history, but Pease was shortly thereafter executed, and would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously.

[10] Kenney's memoirs boast "75" Japanese bombers parked wingtip to wingtip" destroyed in Carmichael's raid. In fact less than twenty rikkos remained at Rabaul on the day, mostly assigned to the Chitose Kokutai.

[11] VF-5's Commander Simpler would later compare SCARLET EIGHT 's situation as being thrown into a "Japanese meat-grinder".

[12] History will never know for sure who the pilot was. There are strong arguments however that it was Nishizawa, Nakajima's chosen wingman for the day. The skill and almost chivalrous behaviour of Brown's assailant was in character for Nishizawa who had done similar impulsive things in the past.

[13] After the war Daly would write his memoirs titled "Luck is my Lady".

[14] His guns had in fact jammed. Examination of the wreckage of Southerland's F4F 5192 in February and May 1998 revealed belts of live 50 calibre ammunition in the area.

[15] Southerland would note in a 1943 Navy chronicle that he was "deeply grateful to the manufacturer of the armour plate, for I could hear a steady stream of bullets zinging into it behind me, none of which damaged me in the slightest".

[16] The Leica camera would survive the return journey, but the film was lost back at Rabaul. Sakai had used it many times previous including in the China theatre, to photograph both enemy airfields and aircraft.

[17] Southerland was actually five years older than Sakai.

[18] The removal of two cylinders was determined from an examination of the wreckage of F-12's engine on 13th February 1998, thus also supporting Sakai's claim that he aimed for the engine and not Southerland. Close examination revealed that one of the 20mm projectiles passed cleanly and horizontally through the top section of the fin before hitting the engine - a marvel of Sakai's superior marksmanship or coincidence of the day? One of the propellor tips sports two very close 7.7mm bullet holes.

[19] With the benefit of pinpointing the wreckage of F-12, and with the safe assumption that Southerlandparachuted not more than a mile from his aircraft, one can now be precise and state that he parachuted about two miles inland and fourteen miles East of Cape Esperance. Under the circumstances, Southerland's WWII estimate was a good one.

[20] Ahead of Sakai lay a mountain spine at right-angles to his flightpath, its peaks some 700 feet higher (surveyed by the author at the site on Guadalcanal itself).

[21] Despite Kakimoto's contribution, the records of the Imperial Japanese Navy record the kill equally between Sakai, Uto and Yamazaki.

[22] In 1998 Bruno Nana was living at the village of Leila near Honiara, capital of the Solomon Islands. In an interview with the author he lucidly recalled his meeting and subsequent escort of Southerland through enemy territory. He also provided the names of the other natives which not surprisingly differ slightly from Southerland 's recollections. Nana also published his story in the Honiara Church of England chronicle in 1998.

[23] The PBY was piloted by Lt. W. Simpson, personal aide to Admiral John S. McCain. Simpson had been instructed to land the craft offshore, but feigned an engine failure as an excuse to put down on the field. After arrival, in a spirited move to test the mettle and humour of Marine Corps aviators, he audaciously declared the field "fit for fighters".



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