The P26 had a top speed of 234 mph while the Mavis has a top speed of 220 mph. Twin .30 s are sufficient to shoot down the sea plane
December 7, 1941. The Day Japan Attacked the Panama Canal
- Thread starter YYJ
- Start date
If it flies several tens of meters above the surface, it is difficult to exploit this weakness...
There were a dozen P 26 operational with the Philippines Air Force On Dec 10, 4 P26 took off and confronted a force of Mitsubishi G 3M and A6M Zero were credited with 3 Zero and 1 G3M They fought on for the next 2 weeks until ordered to destroy their aircraft to prevent capture
My uncle flew P26s as an enlisted pilot in mid 1930s. The Air Corps decided combat aircraft were to be flown only by commissioned officers and the flying sergeants were assigned to transport aircraft
He noted that the Air Corps did not have funds to fly Pursuit and Bomber aircraft during the depression but the transport had to fly (converted Keystone bombers) and the commissioned aviators sometimes did not get their flight pay. He said that terms used were basically
Commissioned. Aviator
Warrant. Pilot
Sergeants. Airplane Driver
As I may have noted, he spent 32 years in and often changed field on Re-enlistment, always for grade increase until with title as Sergeant Major (no such rank at time) of 40,000 person training command, he went to OTS (where he outranked that training command’s SGM) and retired as LTC of Counter Intelligence at Nuremberg.
He was infantry, horse cavalry, coastal artillery, motorcycle company 1st Sgt, fighter pilot, regimental mess sergeant plus acting platoon leader on 2nd Yangtze expedition etc with about 10 expert badges from pistol mounted and saber to aerial gunner. He was sent immediately to Inspector General duty since no one can BS a former SGM
with that background. He was somewhat upset that he never served in a combat area.
Like he was at a baseball game
1235 hours local time . Imperial Japanese Navy Type 97 flying boat, over western Gatun Lake, Panama Canal Zone.
The Type 97 was not a fast aircraft, but this run-in felt exhilarating to Takeda. 160 knots was only 20 knots slower than the plane’s top speed. At an altitude of 20 meters, the water below rushed past in a blur, as did the jungle close by his left wing. He noticed, as they flew past, first one and then another earthen dam in the saddles between hills, that served to close off side watercourses and contain the man-made lake. Perhaps those saddle dams would make alternate targets to facilitate draining the lake. On another mission. For another pilot. He was not a mission planner. He was a warrior, and he was utterly committed to this mission, now. The V of spray thrown up by Lt. Hitsuji’s aircraft 7500 meters ahead looked to him like the mist in a traditional sansui water-colour painting of a forest waterfall, he thought. The green of the jungle glowed in infinite variability. All the details of this world looked vivid and precious, he marveled, since he was certain that within five minutes he would be going to join his ancestors.
The lake was dotted with forested islands. Hitsuji’s lead plane kept to the left of all of them. The navigator on Takeda’s flight deck glanced up out his side window, then back down at his chart, and called out course corrections. Takeda was reassured that the navigator’s instructions kept him pinned to Hitsuji’s tail. “11,000 meters to target!” called out the navigator. At this speed the plane ate up 1000 meters in 12 seconds. Ahead, three oceangoing freighters sat on the lake surface, apparently stationary. Hitsuji’s plane passed to the left of a final group of islands.
“That is Lion Hill, the turn point when we reach it,” called the navigator, then a moment later, “10,000 meters to target!”
Hitsuji’s plane banked sharply to the left, in order to round jungle-covered Guarapo Island. This island currently blocked Takeda’s view of the target. Takeda saw Hitsuji make a violent maneuver to avoid hitting the masts of a freighter that had been hidden in the lee of the island. Hitsuji leveled off and began his torpedo run, then disappeared behind the terrain.
“6000 meters!”
The massive structure of the Gatun Locks of the Canal appeared ahead. Beyond was the silver expanse of Limon Bay and the Caribbean Sea. A freighter looked to be just entering the uppermost western lock from the lake side. East of the lock complex was a town of wide red-tile roofed buildings, a railway running on a causeway, a lighthouse tower, some industrial buildings with tall smokestacks, and a pair of large metal truss structures he knew were the emergency dams for the upper locks.
“5000 meters!”
Takeda looked to his right, as they raced past a group of hilly islands. He was surprised to see, on one of the islands, an anti-aircraft battery, barely 1000 meters away. Four large guns and their support equipment were dug into sandbagged positions on a hilltop clearing. The gunners, wearing old doughboy helmets, were just as aghast as he was at this turn of events. Some stood watching Hitsuji’s plane shrinking in the distance, some pointed and shouted at his passing plane, but the crew on the guns were wildly turning the elevation and traverse handles, trying to train on his close, fast moving aircraft. Things were happening very quickly.
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, movement to his left, and so turned his head just in time see two water columns rising from the target, which had just now emerged from behind Guarapo Island.
“4000 meters to target! Turn in twelve seconds!” shouted the navigator.
The water columns continued climbing towards the sky, masking the target with spray.
“Two hits!” Called out the copilot. They now heard the blast of the torpedo explosions, even above their four roaring engines, and they felt a bump from the shock wave. Hitsuji’s plane was climbing away beyond the target, flying down the path of the river that was fed by the spillway outflow. Tracer bullets rose up after the fleeing Type 97. The larger anti-aircraft guns were just starting to come into action, and black puffs appeared in the air around Hitsuji’s plane. The initial shots were off by a wide margin. The water columns from Hitsuji’s torpedo explosions succumbed to the force of gravity, and fell back into the lake. As soon as they landed the rings of disturbed water were drawn over the spillway and the lake surface remained taut as a drum skin.
Takeda could now see the target. It appeared to his eye like a perfectly semi-circular bite had been taken out of the lake surface, as the dam spillway was level with the top of the lake. The spillway structure looked to him like a geometric engineering marvel, and as far as he could tell from this angle, completely undamaged. Between him and the target, directly in front of this concrete spillway, another structure was built, looking like a train roadbed sitting on top of the lake. This construction had a jagged piece missing, and it continued to shed debris into the current as he watched. To the right side, a pair of construction barges were moored. One of them was rapidly capsizing, and the equipment on deck toppled into the water piece by piece.
“Hitsuji’s torpedeos were right on target,” Takeda yelled, “Yet they struck the superfluous.”
On either side of the dam was an entrenched anti-aircraft battery. The battery to the left was focused on hammering away at Hitshuji’s shrinking aircraft, with increasing accuracy. The battery on the right of the dam seemed to have its attention on Takeda. He saw muzzle flashes, and puffs of black smoke appeared around his plane. He also noticed several rows of floats in front of the spillway, looking to all the world like they supported multiple layers of torpedo nets. Takeda expressed some particularly unkind words for the intelligence officers who had dreamed up this mission.
“3000 meters!” yelled the navigator. “Initiate turn!”
A shell burst close by, and fragments shattered the copilot’s windscreen and ripped holes in the fuselage around them. Takeda completed the 105 degree left turn, then immediately had to take evasive action to avoid the masts of a freight liner moored right on the path of his torpedo run. The perfectly white stern of the ship was painted with Quirigua – New York, and the Stars and Stripes rippled straight out from the jack staff in the wind of his passing. The close presence of the American freight liner did not dissuade the antiaircraft gunners. Shells continued to burst around his plane, and he saw fragments striking the ship and raising splashes in the water around her.
“Number Four engine is on fire!” called out the flight engineer.
“Two thousand meters!” yelled the navigator.
“Flood the fuel tanks with CO2,” ordered Takeda, and the copilot pulled a handle on the overhead console. Near misses now constantly shook the plane. Fragments pinged around the flight deck, and daylight steamed in through new holes in the airplane’s skin.
“We are leaking fuel!” announced the flight engineer. An orange glow lit the flight deck. “The leaking fuel has caught fire! We are leaving a trail of fire behind us! Attempting to isolate the ruptured tank!”
“Navigator! Call out release point at 1000 meters!” Takeda ordered.
“The navigator is dead, sir,” responded the flight engineer.
Red tracers from machine gun fire rose up towards the plane from the dam ahead.
“Gunners! Suppress the antiaircraft guns!” The bow machinegun in front of Takeda’s windscreen opened fire and poured a stream of tracers back at the battery to their right. More tracers came from the waist and top gunners. They were close enough to see the American gunners hunker down behind their concrete emplacements and sandbags, but the rate of anti-aircraft fire did not slacken.
The spillway was looming up at him, and when he reached what he thought looked like 1000 meters he ordered. “Torpedo launch!” The copilot pulled the release handles
The aircraft jumped, as 1600 kilograms of weight was dropped. Directly ahead, the lake fell through four open gates in the spillway, raising a huge cloud of spray. The four open gates were raised in their tracks, contained by a semicircular line of concrete towers, joined by elevated walkways. The remaining ten closed gates were submerged and invisible from the lake side. Takeda reached for the throttles.
The copilot was just backing off the throttle of burning engine four. Takeda jammed the other three throttles to emergency full power. The Type 97 rocketed over the spillway and passed through the spray cloud. The river below was a white roiling churning mass of turbulence. The roar of the spillway discharge temporarily drowned out the sound of shells exploding around them. They passed over a bridge, then the river escaped the confines of its concrete channel, gradually slowed and assumed the character of a bucolic jungle river. Perhaps, Takeda thought, he would live. Maybe even long enough to observe his torpedoes hit, 35 seconds after they were launched.
“The spray cloud has put out the fire!” yelled the flight engineer jubilantly.
“I count seven batteries of guns firing on us,” yelled the tail gunner thought his voice tube, laughing with disbelief. “Hit!” he yelled, like he was at a baseball game. “Torpedo hit right on the gates! Another hit! I can’t tell what that one got.” A moment later he yelled, “Oh! The first gate has collapsed!” The crew managed a cheer.
The plane was still surrounded by black bursts of exploding shells. Then there was a tremendous bang, and the flight deck was filled with smoke. Takeda was almost deafened, but he could immediately tell that the engine note had changed.
“Engines one and two are losing revolutions,” announced the copilot with resignation. “We are going down.”
The aircraft was far too low to bail out. The river might be wide enough to land on, if he found a straight stretch. But even that seemed to be asking too much, as the plane barely responded to the controls, and was rapidly losing altitude. An escarpment rose to his left, threatening destruction. He crossed a loop of the river, ending up to its west side. The Kawanishi passed directly over a wooden fishboat, and he saw faces staring up at him. Now he heard swooshing and scraping, as treetops brushed against the underside of the hull. Takeda pulled back on the yoke, and his battered aircraft appeared to be performing a water landing, only on the green surface of the jungle canopy. That illusion was quickly replaced by an enveloping green blur as the plane sank into the forest, and the next few moments were a seemingly endless series of jarring impacts accompanied by the sound of snapping branches.
Some photos of the Gatun Lake Spillway with SIP-9 defensive trestle in place, although in these post-war photos the construction buildings on and around the dam are absent. I believe that the zigzag structure immediately to the east of the trestle are for storage of the temporary gates for the trestle, not AA gun emplacements as the photographer guessed.
Here is another post-war photo showing those revetments containing some kind of racks, which I am guessing support the temporary gate panels.
The Type 97 was not a fast aircraft, but this run-in felt exhilarating to Takeda. 160 knots was only 20 knots slower than the plane’s top speed. At an altitude of 20 meters, the water below rushed past in a blur, as did the jungle close by his left wing. He noticed, as they flew past, first one and then another earthen dam in the saddles between hills, that served to close off side watercourses and contain the man-made lake. Perhaps those saddle dams would make alternate targets to facilitate draining the lake. On another mission. For another pilot. He was not a mission planner. He was a warrior, and he was utterly committed to this mission, now. The V of spray thrown up by Lt. Hitsuji’s aircraft 7500 meters ahead looked to him like the mist in a traditional sansui water-colour painting of a forest waterfall, he thought. The green of the jungle glowed in infinite variability. All the details of this world looked vivid and precious, he marveled, since he was certain that within five minutes he would be going to join his ancestors.
The lake was dotted with forested islands. Hitsuji’s lead plane kept to the left of all of them. The navigator on Takeda’s flight deck glanced up out his side window, then back down at his chart, and called out course corrections. Takeda was reassured that the navigator’s instructions kept him pinned to Hitsuji’s tail. “11,000 meters to target!” called out the navigator. At this speed the plane ate up 1000 meters in 12 seconds. Ahead, three oceangoing freighters sat on the lake surface, apparently stationary. Hitsuji’s plane passed to the left of a final group of islands.
“That is Lion Hill, the turn point when we reach it,” called the navigator, then a moment later, “10,000 meters to target!”
Hitsuji’s plane banked sharply to the left, in order to round jungle-covered Guarapo Island. This island currently blocked Takeda’s view of the target. Takeda saw Hitsuji make a violent maneuver to avoid hitting the masts of a freighter that had been hidden in the lee of the island. Hitsuji leveled off and began his torpedo run, then disappeared behind the terrain.
“6000 meters!”
The massive structure of the Gatun Locks of the Canal appeared ahead. Beyond was the silver expanse of Limon Bay and the Caribbean Sea. A freighter looked to be just entering the uppermost western lock from the lake side. East of the lock complex was a town of wide red-tile roofed buildings, a railway running on a causeway, a lighthouse tower, some industrial buildings with tall smokestacks, and a pair of large metal truss structures he knew were the emergency dams for the upper locks.
“5000 meters!”
Takeda looked to his right, as they raced past a group of hilly islands. He was surprised to see, on one of the islands, an anti-aircraft battery, barely 1000 meters away. Four large guns and their support equipment were dug into sandbagged positions on a hilltop clearing. The gunners, wearing old doughboy helmets, were just as aghast as he was at this turn of events. Some stood watching Hitsuji’s plane shrinking in the distance, some pointed and shouted at his passing plane, but the crew on the guns were wildly turning the elevation and traverse handles, trying to train on his close, fast moving aircraft. Things were happening very quickly.
He saw, out of the corner of his eye, movement to his left, and so turned his head just in time see two water columns rising from the target, which had just now emerged from behind Guarapo Island.
“4000 meters to target! Turn in twelve seconds!” shouted the navigator.
The water columns continued climbing towards the sky, masking the target with spray.
“Two hits!” Called out the copilot. They now heard the blast of the torpedo explosions, even above their four roaring engines, and they felt a bump from the shock wave. Hitsuji’s plane was climbing away beyond the target, flying down the path of the river that was fed by the spillway outflow. Tracer bullets rose up after the fleeing Type 97. The larger anti-aircraft guns were just starting to come into action, and black puffs appeared in the air around Hitsuji’s plane. The initial shots were off by a wide margin. The water columns from Hitsuji’s torpedo explosions succumbed to the force of gravity, and fell back into the lake. As soon as they landed the rings of disturbed water were drawn over the spillway and the lake surface remained taut as a drum skin.
Takeda could now see the target. It appeared to his eye like a perfectly semi-circular bite had been taken out of the lake surface, as the dam spillway was level with the top of the lake. The spillway structure looked to him like a geometric engineering marvel, and as far as he could tell from this angle, completely undamaged. Between him and the target, directly in front of this concrete spillway, another structure was built, looking like a train roadbed sitting on top of the lake. This construction had a jagged piece missing, and it continued to shed debris into the current as he watched. To the right side, a pair of construction barges were moored. One of them was rapidly capsizing, and the equipment on deck toppled into the water piece by piece.
“Hitsuji’s torpedeos were right on target,” Takeda yelled, “Yet they struck the superfluous.”
On either side of the dam was an entrenched anti-aircraft battery. The battery to the left was focused on hammering away at Hitshuji’s shrinking aircraft, with increasing accuracy. The battery on the right of the dam seemed to have its attention on Takeda. He saw muzzle flashes, and puffs of black smoke appeared around his plane. He also noticed several rows of floats in front of the spillway, looking to all the world like they supported multiple layers of torpedo nets. Takeda expressed some particularly unkind words for the intelligence officers who had dreamed up this mission.
“3000 meters!” yelled the navigator. “Initiate turn!”
A shell burst close by, and fragments shattered the copilot’s windscreen and ripped holes in the fuselage around them. Takeda completed the 105 degree left turn, then immediately had to take evasive action to avoid the masts of a freight liner moored right on the path of his torpedo run. The perfectly white stern of the ship was painted with Quirigua – New York, and the Stars and Stripes rippled straight out from the jack staff in the wind of his passing. The close presence of the American freight liner did not dissuade the antiaircraft gunners. Shells continued to burst around his plane, and he saw fragments striking the ship and raising splashes in the water around her.
“Number Four engine is on fire!” called out the flight engineer.
“Two thousand meters!” yelled the navigator.
“Flood the fuel tanks with CO2,” ordered Takeda, and the copilot pulled a handle on the overhead console. Near misses now constantly shook the plane. Fragments pinged around the flight deck, and daylight steamed in through new holes in the airplane’s skin.
“We are leaking fuel!” announced the flight engineer. An orange glow lit the flight deck. “The leaking fuel has caught fire! We are leaving a trail of fire behind us! Attempting to isolate the ruptured tank!”
“Navigator! Call out release point at 1000 meters!” Takeda ordered.
“The navigator is dead, sir,” responded the flight engineer.
Red tracers from machine gun fire rose up towards the plane from the dam ahead.
“Gunners! Suppress the antiaircraft guns!” The bow machinegun in front of Takeda’s windscreen opened fire and poured a stream of tracers back at the battery to their right. More tracers came from the waist and top gunners. They were close enough to see the American gunners hunker down behind their concrete emplacements and sandbags, but the rate of anti-aircraft fire did not slacken.
The spillway was looming up at him, and when he reached what he thought looked like 1000 meters he ordered. “Torpedo launch!” The copilot pulled the release handles
The aircraft jumped, as 1600 kilograms of weight was dropped. Directly ahead, the lake fell through four open gates in the spillway, raising a huge cloud of spray. The four open gates were raised in their tracks, contained by a semicircular line of concrete towers, joined by elevated walkways. The remaining ten closed gates were submerged and invisible from the lake side. Takeda reached for the throttles.
The copilot was just backing off the throttle of burning engine four. Takeda jammed the other three throttles to emergency full power. The Type 97 rocketed over the spillway and passed through the spray cloud. The river below was a white roiling churning mass of turbulence. The roar of the spillway discharge temporarily drowned out the sound of shells exploding around them. They passed over a bridge, then the river escaped the confines of its concrete channel, gradually slowed and assumed the character of a bucolic jungle river. Perhaps, Takeda thought, he would live. Maybe even long enough to observe his torpedoes hit, 35 seconds after they were launched.
“The spray cloud has put out the fire!” yelled the flight engineer jubilantly.
“I count seven batteries of guns firing on us,” yelled the tail gunner thought his voice tube, laughing with disbelief. “Hit!” he yelled, like he was at a baseball game. “Torpedo hit right on the gates! Another hit! I can’t tell what that one got.” A moment later he yelled, “Oh! The first gate has collapsed!” The crew managed a cheer.
The plane was still surrounded by black bursts of exploding shells. Then there was a tremendous bang, and the flight deck was filled with smoke. Takeda was almost deafened, but he could immediately tell that the engine note had changed.
“Engines one and two are losing revolutions,” announced the copilot with resignation. “We are going down.”
The aircraft was far too low to bail out. The river might be wide enough to land on, if he found a straight stretch. But even that seemed to be asking too much, as the plane barely responded to the controls, and was rapidly losing altitude. An escarpment rose to his left, threatening destruction. He crossed a loop of the river, ending up to its west side. The Kawanishi passed directly over a wooden fishboat, and he saw faces staring up at him. Now he heard swooshing and scraping, as treetops brushed against the underside of the hull. Takeda pulled back on the yoke, and his battered aircraft appeared to be performing a water landing, only on the green surface of the jungle canopy. That illusion was quickly replaced by an enveloping green blur as the plane sank into the forest, and the next few moments were a seemingly endless series of jarring impacts accompanied by the sound of snapping branches.
Some photos of the Gatun Lake Spillway with SIP-9 defensive trestle in place, although in these post-war photos the construction buildings on and around the dam are absent. I believe that the zigzag structure immediately to the east of the trestle are for storage of the temporary gates for the trestle, not AA gun emplacements as the photographer guessed.
Here is another post-war photo showing those revetments containing some kind of racks, which I am guessing support the temporary gate panels.
Great update.
So they hit the target, more or less. But how much impact did it really have on Gatun Lake?
So they hit the target, more or less. But how much impact did it really have on Gatun Lake?
Ramontxo
Donor
“Hit!” he yelled, like he was at a baseball game. “Torpedo hit right on the gates! Another hit! I can’t tell what that one got.” A moment later he yelled, “Oh! The first gate has collapsed!” The crew managed a cheer.
Looks like a major propaganda/psychological victory but not lasting damage, similar to Doolittle Raid
That was one intense trench run. Seems Takeda managed to get at least one torpedo through the hole Hitsuji created. Gripping, can't wait until we see just how bad the damage is.
I'm curious if any Japanese prisoners will be taken. Did the 20mm tail gunners manage to damage any AA emplacements?
I'm curious if any Japanese prisoners will be taken. Did the 20mm tail gunners manage to damage any AA emplacements?
Only if they're unconscious or otherwise incapacitated, I'd say. They'd typically either shoot themselves or try to go down fighting.
Not to overstate things too much, but it's worth remembering that the Doolittle Raid did manage one bit of damage that was not quite inconsequential: a 500lb bomb hit (along with about 30 incendiaries) on the IJN light carrier Ryūhō, in its final stage of completion in drydock at the Yokosuka Naval Arsenal. The damage was not critical but it was enough to slow its deployment by a couple months to November 30. Ryūhō promptly drew a torpedo (that actually worked) from USS Drum, and had to go back to dock for repairs for a few months . . . but the point is, imagine it had not been hit by Doolittle, and had therefore been available to deploy to the Solomons by October. How much difference would one more light carrier have made to the campaign? I would not want to get too carried away, but the balance of forces at that stage around Guadalcanal was knife edge enough that Halsey was surely grateful that he never had to find out the answer to that.
To be sure, though, the real impact of the Doolittle raid was moral.
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