Note that the police station in question is in the Republic of Panama, not the Canal Zone.
December 7, 1941. The Day Japan Attacked the Panama Canal
- Thread starter YYJ
- Start date
But it will take 2 hours for them to get to the phone. Then goodness only knows how long to get through to someone in authority - an hour if they're lucky? If the phone is working as someone pointed out upthread. The attack will be over by that time.
BorderLeiscester
Banned
Those 2 hours by donkey depend a lot on the donkey and state of the roads. Anyway without radio it means by the time they get to the Police the attack will be happening already.
The biggest issue from this will likely be the 3 dead passengers. None are American, 2 peruvians and a colombian. This means that 2 complete neutral parties just had their citizens killed by a undeclared sneak attack. You can bet your bottom dollar that is gonna put the South Americans on a real sour note towards Japan.
Colombia was friendly to the Allies already, and they would likely be playing a hand in the aftermatch to the attack anyway. Peru is actually the more important one here: they are currently at war with Equador over border issues, with a cease fire in place but no peace until IOTL January 1942 when a formal protocol would be signed. I do not know nearly enough about it to day how the attack might cause ripples there but it might end up meaning more of the pacific war takes place off the south american side of the ocean.
Also you forgor to add the threadmarker mr author just thought you should know.
The biggest issue from this will likely be the 3 dead passengers. None are American, 2 peruvians and a colombian. This means that 2 complete neutral parties just had their citizens killed by a undeclared sneak attack. You can bet your bottom dollar that is gonna put the South Americans on a real sour note towards Japan.
Colombia was friendly to the Allies already, and they would likely be playing a hand in the aftermatch to the attack anyway. Peru is actually the more important one here: they are currently at war with Equador over border issues, with a cease fire in place but no peace until IOTL January 1942 when a formal protocol would be signed. I do not know nearly enough about it to day how the attack might cause ripples there but it might end up meaning more of the pacific war takes place off the south american side of the ocean.
Also you forgor to add the threadmarker mr author just thought you should know.
The 1942 Río Protocol can now be enforced a bit more forcefully in favor of Peru, with American arbitration being more closely followed. It's likely to butterfly away the 1981 Falso Paquisha conflict and the 1995 Cenepa war.
There were 6 civilian aircraft airborne over Oahu that morning
5 were attacked 2 being shot down, 3 pilots MIA
https://www.flightjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/SundayRide.pdf
BorderLeiscester
Banned
Another thing that just occured to me: given the economic realities of air travel and south america at the time those 3 dead from south america have a disproportionate chance of being important, as in "known to people who work in the government" important. Like a brother in law of a politician or the member of a family big in the local economy.
It's bad enough when a civilian dies, it hits different when the civilian is the guy who was hired by your vice president's mom to put her dentures in. If you catch my drift.
It's bad enough when a civilian dies, it hits different when the civilian is the guy who was hired by your vice president's mom to put her dentures in. If you catch my drift.
I Have Just Declared War
Dec 7, 1941. 1135 hours local time. Imperial Japanese Navy Type 97 flying boat, over rural Veraguas Province, Republic of Panama.
“I have just declared war on the United States of America,” said Lt Commander Takeda to his copilot.
The American plane had fallen out of the sky in flames, and disappeared into the clouds, without making a radio transmission. Meaning his presence here was still undetected, he hoped. Takeda would have liked to see the plane impact the ground with his own eyes, but the cloud layer below prevented that. If he circled back and descended to find the crash site to confirm, he could draw more attention to his aircraft, throw himself off his timetable, and critically, could become lost, since the navigator had no reference points to reestablish their course. So, he continued onward.
Takeda still had 40 minutes flying time until the rendezvous point and an hour to the target. This encounter could spoil his surprise, and ruin his mission. Yet, the American had not managed a distress call, and, when he could see the ground below it looked to be wilderness, with a scattering of subsistence farms. If he was lucky, his surprise may hold, long enough.
The cloud ceiling above was still at 2500 meters. It had begun to rain. Below, another cloud layer had established itself at about 1000 meters. He avoided the regional capital city of Santiago by flying to its west. The lower slopes of the Tabasara mountains rose before him, and Takeda turned eastward, flying between the two cloud layers.
“This course should keep us away from population centers,” Takeda said, optimistically. When there was a break in the clouds, ten minutes later, he looked down and was horrified to see the whitewashed towers of a cathedral, facing a town square, and the red tile roofs of a provincial town.
“I think that is Penemone,” the navigator called from his station. “We are too far south. But, now we know exactly where we are. In three minutes we should turn due north, to pass over the lowest point in the continental divide. I will call out the turn.”
At this moment, Takeda’s aircraft was passing within 20 nautical miles of two US Army Airforce fields, Aquadulce and Rio Hato. The Japanese did not know these bases existed, and the Type 97 was hidden in the clouds, and so they continued on their way without incident, and at 1148 hours, turned north.
From this point onward, breaks in the clouds below showed a lush jungled wilderness. The terrain was broken, with local high spots that could not really be called mountains, none more than 1500 meters above sea level. Streams ran in winding ravines south towards the Pacific, then moments later, north towards the Caribbean.
“Aha!” exclaimed the radio operator. “I have the Colon radio station.” He turned on the speaker, and samba music filled the flight deck. He adjusted his equipment. “I have a directional fix.”
“When the radio signal is at 045 degrees, we should turn onto that heading,” said the navigator.
“Esa es la querida brasileña favorita de todos, Carmen Miranda, con Chica Chica Boom Chic. Estás escuchando cinco sesenta Radio Colón.,” said a Spanish voice on the radio. The signal returned to music, big band with a Latin flavor.
Ten more minutes passed. “Turn to heading 045 degrees,” instructed the navigator. The plane banked to the right. Another ten minutes later, through a hole in the clouds, Takeda saw a body of water to the east, a long blue stripe showing between green canopied hilltops.
“Gatun Lake, western reaches,” announced Takeda. “We will circle here for the others to catch up. I would prefer to stay up in the clouds, but Hitsuji and Yamada have to find us. Under no circumstances will we break radio silence, so we have to be visible. Air gunners, arm your weapons. Be prepared to defend the aircraft.” The hatch on the nose ahead of Takeda slid back, and the bombardier deployed his machinegun from its stowed position. Behind on the tail boom, he knew another gunner was doing the same. The cloud layer here was at about 2000 meters, and he kept below it. Beneath was more of the same jungle. Several rivers wound through the rich green forest, emptying into the lake that flooded their former courses. On the eastern apex of his holding orbit, the crew saw the thatch roofs of a fishing village on the lakeshore in the distance.
Takeda was almost beside himself with the stress of waiting. He flew a circle of two nautical miles diameter, taking three minutes to make one orbit. Each circle felt like an eternity. He imagined American fighter planes swarming towards him, about to arrive any second. Just starting his third orbit, the tail gunner called, “Aircraft!” Followed almost immediately by “Type 97.” The new arrival fell into formation. It was Lt. Hitsuji’s plane. Takeda’s aircraft were all painted up exactly the same, but Hitsuji came alongside and flew close enough to be recognized. The pilots communicated by hand signal.
It had been pre-arranged that Hitsuji, with the most successful torpedo practice record, would attack first, and that Takeda would attack last and clean up, striking the final blow at the target, as befitted the senior officer. The last attacker was also taking the most dangerous position, since the American air defences would be at an increased level of alert.
Now they were only waiting for Yamada. The two planes circled. Six minutes passed, the earliest time that Yamada could arrive, if he kept to the interval in the flight briefing. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. Takeda glanced at his Seiko Tensoku wristwatch. The watch read 1231 hours. He made noises of frustration.
The radio operator still had the Colon radio station playing low on the flight deck. “Aquí está Sammy Kaye, con Hawaiian Sunset,” said the announcer. An anodyne popular song followed, a foxtrot with the air of a hula. After a lengthy instrumental intro with lap steel guitar, the vocalist began to sing.
“Hawaiian Sunset, blue shadows falling,
Hawaiian magic and lovely you.
Hawaiian Sunset, When night is calling
an isle of magic beyond the blue."
“Turn that off,” ordered Takeda. “We have waited too long already. Yamada, you have four more more minutes, or we go without you.” Four minutes passed. Yamada did not appear.
Takeda made a hand signal to Hitsuji. The younger pilot acknowledged, and peeled off in the direction of Gatun Lake. Takeda followed. The two aircraft descended, and lined up on the west arm of the lake. Hitsuji accelerated up to 160 knots and continued to descend until his aircraft was flying a mere 20 meters above the surface of the water. Takeda, by looking at landmarks on the shore of the bay, adjusted his pace and allowed Hitsuji to draw ahead, so that Takeda was a minute and a half behind the lead aircraft. Hitsuji’s twin-tailed Type 97 shrank to a small shape in the middle distance, 7500 meters ahead.
Forested banks swept by on both sides of the waterway, the canopy reaching out at the passing aircraft from the variegated shoreline. An eagle circled overhead, silhouetted against the grey clouds above. Flocks of birds rose. At first, they were flying down what was obviously a flooded river valley, and had to weave to avoid the winding shoreline, but soon the vista opened up, and widened into a proper lake. They flew past the shacks of a lakeside fishing village. Some fishermen were out in wooden boats, with nets in the water. The adults stared as the two planes raced past, but the children stood and waved.
“Air gunners,” he ordered. “Prepare to suppress enemy anti-aircraft guns.”
View from Takeda's cockpit, more or less.
www.google.com
“I have just declared war on the United States of America,” said Lt Commander Takeda to his copilot.
The American plane had fallen out of the sky in flames, and disappeared into the clouds, without making a radio transmission. Meaning his presence here was still undetected, he hoped. Takeda would have liked to see the plane impact the ground with his own eyes, but the cloud layer below prevented that. If he circled back and descended to find the crash site to confirm, he could draw more attention to his aircraft, throw himself off his timetable, and critically, could become lost, since the navigator had no reference points to reestablish their course. So, he continued onward.
Takeda still had 40 minutes flying time until the rendezvous point and an hour to the target. This encounter could spoil his surprise, and ruin his mission. Yet, the American had not managed a distress call, and, when he could see the ground below it looked to be wilderness, with a scattering of subsistence farms. If he was lucky, his surprise may hold, long enough.
The cloud ceiling above was still at 2500 meters. It had begun to rain. Below, another cloud layer had established itself at about 1000 meters. He avoided the regional capital city of Santiago by flying to its west. The lower slopes of the Tabasara mountains rose before him, and Takeda turned eastward, flying between the two cloud layers.
“This course should keep us away from population centers,” Takeda said, optimistically. When there was a break in the clouds, ten minutes later, he looked down and was horrified to see the whitewashed towers of a cathedral, facing a town square, and the red tile roofs of a provincial town.
“I think that is Penemone,” the navigator called from his station. “We are too far south. But, now we know exactly where we are. In three minutes we should turn due north, to pass over the lowest point in the continental divide. I will call out the turn.”
At this moment, Takeda’s aircraft was passing within 20 nautical miles of two US Army Airforce fields, Aquadulce and Rio Hato. The Japanese did not know these bases existed, and the Type 97 was hidden in the clouds, and so they continued on their way without incident, and at 1148 hours, turned north.
From this point onward, breaks in the clouds below showed a lush jungled wilderness. The terrain was broken, with local high spots that could not really be called mountains, none more than 1500 meters above sea level. Streams ran in winding ravines south towards the Pacific, then moments later, north towards the Caribbean.
“Aha!” exclaimed the radio operator. “I have the Colon radio station.” He turned on the speaker, and samba music filled the flight deck. He adjusted his equipment. “I have a directional fix.”
“When the radio signal is at 045 degrees, we should turn onto that heading,” said the navigator.
“Esa es la querida brasileña favorita de todos, Carmen Miranda, con Chica Chica Boom Chic. Estás escuchando cinco sesenta Radio Colón.,” said a Spanish voice on the radio. The signal returned to music, big band with a Latin flavor.
Ten more minutes passed. “Turn to heading 045 degrees,” instructed the navigator. The plane banked to the right. Another ten minutes later, through a hole in the clouds, Takeda saw a body of water to the east, a long blue stripe showing between green canopied hilltops.
“Gatun Lake, western reaches,” announced Takeda. “We will circle here for the others to catch up. I would prefer to stay up in the clouds, but Hitsuji and Yamada have to find us. Under no circumstances will we break radio silence, so we have to be visible. Air gunners, arm your weapons. Be prepared to defend the aircraft.” The hatch on the nose ahead of Takeda slid back, and the bombardier deployed his machinegun from its stowed position. Behind on the tail boom, he knew another gunner was doing the same. The cloud layer here was at about 2000 meters, and he kept below it. Beneath was more of the same jungle. Several rivers wound through the rich green forest, emptying into the lake that flooded their former courses. On the eastern apex of his holding orbit, the crew saw the thatch roofs of a fishing village on the lakeshore in the distance.
Takeda was almost beside himself with the stress of waiting. He flew a circle of two nautical miles diameter, taking three minutes to make one orbit. Each circle felt like an eternity. He imagined American fighter planes swarming towards him, about to arrive any second. Just starting his third orbit, the tail gunner called, “Aircraft!” Followed almost immediately by “Type 97.” The new arrival fell into formation. It was Lt. Hitsuji’s plane. Takeda’s aircraft were all painted up exactly the same, but Hitsuji came alongside and flew close enough to be recognized. The pilots communicated by hand signal.
It had been pre-arranged that Hitsuji, with the most successful torpedo practice record, would attack first, and that Takeda would attack last and clean up, striking the final blow at the target, as befitted the senior officer. The last attacker was also taking the most dangerous position, since the American air defences would be at an increased level of alert.
Now they were only waiting for Yamada. The two planes circled. Six minutes passed, the earliest time that Yamada could arrive, if he kept to the interval in the flight briefing. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen minutes passed. Takeda glanced at his Seiko Tensoku wristwatch. The watch read 1231 hours. He made noises of frustration.
The radio operator still had the Colon radio station playing low on the flight deck. “Aquí está Sammy Kaye, con Hawaiian Sunset,” said the announcer. An anodyne popular song followed, a foxtrot with the air of a hula. After a lengthy instrumental intro with lap steel guitar, the vocalist began to sing.
“Hawaiian Sunset, blue shadows falling,
Hawaiian magic and lovely you.
Hawaiian Sunset, When night is calling
an isle of magic beyond the blue."
“Turn that off,” ordered Takeda. “We have waited too long already. Yamada, you have four more more minutes, or we go without you.” Four minutes passed. Yamada did not appear.
Takeda made a hand signal to Hitsuji. The younger pilot acknowledged, and peeled off in the direction of Gatun Lake. Takeda followed. The two aircraft descended, and lined up on the west arm of the lake. Hitsuji accelerated up to 160 knots and continued to descend until his aircraft was flying a mere 20 meters above the surface of the water. Takeda, by looking at landmarks on the shore of the bay, adjusted his pace and allowed Hitsuji to draw ahead, so that Takeda was a minute and a half behind the lead aircraft. Hitsuji’s twin-tailed Type 97 shrank to a small shape in the middle distance, 7500 meters ahead.
Forested banks swept by on both sides of the waterway, the canopy reaching out at the passing aircraft from the variegated shoreline. An eagle circled overhead, silhouetted against the grey clouds above. Flocks of birds rose. At first, they were flying down what was obviously a flooded river valley, and had to weave to avoid the winding shoreline, but soon the vista opened up, and widened into a proper lake. They flew past the shacks of a lakeside fishing village. Some fishermen were out in wooden boats, with nets in the water. The adults stared as the two planes raced past, but the children stood and waved.
“Air gunners,” he ordered. “Prepare to suppress enemy anti-aircraft guns.”
View from Takeda's cockpit, more or less.
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Wolf1965
Donor
Very good build-up on the tension and I am impressed that you manage to churn out quality pieces of decent length at this pace., keep it up please. I am very impressed by the depth of the research. We might never know if this were possible in RL, but you certainly avoided all obvious and less obvious obstacles. Given that I read a bit about the German plans to attack the Canal I would say you did a better job than the German staff.
I am not sure about the absence of any English speaker on board of the planes. Given that the idea was to pose as an American airliner and that English was even back then common for aviators, one would think they would include one in the crew. On the other hand, we are talking about operation shoestring here, so it would be understandable.
I am not sure about the absence of any English speaker on board of the planes. Given that the idea was to pose as an American airliner and that English was even back then common for aviators, one would think they would include one in the crew. On the other hand, we are talking about operation shoestring here, so it would be understandable.
BorderLeiscester
Banned
The idea was to not speak at all so the lack of english speakers wouldn't be a issue.
Yamada might be missing for now but ironically that could end up helping the Japanese as if he arrives just late enough he might end up catch the Canal people flat footed again from thinking the attack is over and damage the preliminary attempts at damage report and relief.
Yamada might be missing for now but ironically that could end up helping the Japanese as if he arrives just late enough he might end up catch the Canal people flat footed again from thinking the attack is over and damage the preliminary attempts at damage report and relief.
Got lost, and is continuing to wander, maybe found a mountainside in the clouds.
Pangur
Donor
Not so sure about that, after the first attack the birds in the sky best be careful let alone an aircraft
Especially aircraft and naval units that were in chronic short supply early on OTL
That is indeed the most likely benefit of this attack. It's not nothing.
Nah
Dec 7, 1941. 0915 local time. Naval Intelligence Office, 15th Naval District Headquarters, Balboa, Panama Canal Zone.
“I got the daily log of Chitose doing her radio check and position report,” said South American Analyst Lieutenant Geraldo Reyes. “Decoded.”
“Uh-huh,” responded his superior Lt. Commander Dale Cooper, his voice entirely lacking in enthusiasm. This daily report had become something of a running joke with the men, as the Japanese Navy seaplane carrier crawled across the southern Pacific at a snail’s pace. “Where is she now?”
“240 Nautical Miles east of where she was yesterday,” this was no revelation. The carrier kept a constant speed of 10 knots, conserving her fuel across the vast ocean. “22 degrees 26 minutes South by 106 degrees 17 minutes West. So about 350 Nautical Miles North North-East of Easter Island. That was the position Chitose reported, and it is confirmed by direction finding.”
“I sent a cable to Captain Brown on USS Richmond two days ago,” said Cooper. “Captain John Brown. Glory Halleluiah. Richmond is on her way to Valparaiso right now. Brown intends to refuel and head west to meet Chitose as soon as she enters the Neutrality Zone west of the Juan Fernandez Islands. They should meet December 10 or shortly after. Richmond carries a pair of SOC Seagull float planes, so she can scout a 600 mile diameter circle. Then we can shadow Chitose wherever she goes.”
“So, as screwy as this Mavis delivery to Argentina sounds,” said Reyes, “It looks like they are at least doing what they said.”
“Yeah, looks like they are,” Cooper agreed, “So far.”
***
1143 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Taboga Island, Pacific Ocean on the south coast of Panama.
“Is that something there?”
“Where?”
“I thought I saw a contact, to the west, over the mountains. But now it’s not there anymore.”
“Range and bearing?”
The other operator answered, as best he could, at a contact that was no longer registering. “About 70 miles, 300 degrees, give or take…”
“That is well inside the Republic of Panama. And that bearing has us looking right over top of La Chorrera Field. 30th Pursuit Squadron is based there, since last month, with whatever supply and liaison flights support them.”
The two operators adjusted the equipment, and watched carefully for the next few minutes. “Nothing now. Should we call it in?”
“Nah.”
***
December 7, 1204 hours. Office of the Governor, Administration Building, Quarry Heights, Canal Zone.
The office of the Governor was not open on Sunday, but some staff was nevertheless in the office, catching up on the heavy workload created by the war preparations. As it turned out, the junior clerk was the ranking officer in the building at this hour, and so he was delivered the diplomatic telegram that had arrived at the Communications Office.
It read: “The government of Ecuador wishes to lodge a protest against unannounced flights by American aircraft over Ecuadorean airspace, and unannounced landing by American seaplanes in Ecuadorean territorial waters this Sunday December 7th. We are aware that a treaty is being negotiated to allow American military aircraft to use the Galapagos Islands and other specified areas of sovereign Ecuadorean territory for aerodromes. Until these treaties are finalized and ratified by our respective governments, we require, as per the existing temporary agreement, that each and every visit by American aircraft be announced and approved through the appropriate channels.
Without prejudice,
Enrique Zambrano,
Ecuadorean Foreign Ministry, Department of Inter-American Affairs.
“What is he talking about?” asked the clerk, but none of the other staff had any idea either.
“I will make sure the Director gets this tomorrow. He can talk to the Air Force or the Navy or whoever.”
***
1210 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field, Balboa, Canal Zone
“Hello, this is Sergeant Ormsby at the Canal Police headquarters. We just received a call from the Panamanian National Police. A truck driver reported he thought he saw an airplane falling out of the sky in flames, at about 11:45 this morning. The trucker said he was between El Prado and Tolé, in Veraguas Province, and the plane fell well to the north of his location. We thought it might be one of yours.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said the duty officer. “Did you get a latitude and longitude, or a distance in miles from his location?”
“No. Sorry,” replied the Police sergeant. “That is the best I’ve got. The story was already third hand by the time I heard it.” He hung up the phone.
The duty officer stood up and called over to the Communications desk. “We need to send a Notice to Airmen. Be on the lookout for an air crash in the general area of…” he looked at the big map on the wall “80 degrees – 15 minutes north by 34 degrees – 58 minutes west. There was apparently a fire. And we should call to see if aircraft are missing. Radio checks all round.”
“There is a B-18 from the 74th Bombardment Squadron on coastal patrol in that area,” said the communications officer. “I can send them inland to look for a wreck. I will get in touch with Pan Am to see if they have anyone overflying. Or, I guess if they are missing anyone.”
***
1212 hours. US Army Coastal Artillery AA Searchlight Battery. Co-located with Battery G, 72nd AA Regiment, Gatun Dam.
“I can hear an aircraft out there,” said the sound locator truck operator. “To the south west.” He pivoted the giant sound accumulating horn apparatus several points to the left. “Definitely something. I am at the limit of my range, but I can hear a plane.” He listened intently for another minute. “It sounds like it is circling. Oh… Now I hear two.” He got the attention of the phone talker. “Call Fort Sherman, tell them to see what they can get on the radar. The contact is at 225 degrees from our position.”
***
1220 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Fort Sherman, Caribbean Sea on the north coast of Panama.
“A sound locator on Gatun Dam says they can hear an aircraft circling at 225 degrees from him. He wants a confirmation. Rotate the antenna to train.” There was a whining sound and the 30 foot tall flat cage antenna slowly pivoted as its electric motor swung the turntable around.
“Yep, there they are. Two contacts just west of Gatun Lake. Range Nineteen Nautical Miles. Now twenty. Looks like they are circling. Oh, there is another one at thirty-nine miles.” He called out some numbers and another technician marked the contacts down on the plotting table. “And looking at the filed flight plans we have…” The operator rustled through a stack of paperwork, “Nothing. Nobody is supposed to be there right now. Better call up Albrook Field and have them dispatch an inspection flight.”
***
1224 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field.
“Hi guys, this is Pan American Airlines Albrook Field, just across the way. Our 11:40 flight out of Panama City was due to arrive at David at 12:10, but is now overdue. We can’t raise them on the radio. Last contact was at 11:20 when they were over Santiago. I was hoping you can put out an NTA, and maybe get some of your aircraft to go look and see.”
***
1225 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field.
“The radar operators at Fort Sherman have a couple of flying contacts that need an inspection flight. Sound the alert.” A bell rang in the pilot’s mess of the 24th Pursuit Squadron.
The two pilots who were doing their rotation on alert duty sat playing cards in their flight suits and Mae Wests. When the bell rang, they grabbed their parachutes and jogged out to the waiting pair of P-40C Warhawks. The mechanics performed the starting procedure and the Allison V-12 engines roared into life, snorting and blowing flames from their fishtail exhausts stacks. Each aircraft had the leaping tiger squadron emblem painted on their engine cowlings, and was fitted with a centerline drop tank to extend their patrol range. The fighter planes trundled down the concrete apron out to the runway, their engine notes rose to take off pitch, and were both airborne by 1238 hours. Then they banked to the north, in the direction of Gatun Lake and Colon City.
***
1230 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Fort Sherman
“Oh, where did those contacts go? They just disappeared.”
***
1246 hours.
The two P-40s from 24th Pursuit Squadron, flying a direct path from Albrook Field, arrived over the west end of Lake Gatun, where they had been vectored, and found empty sky.
Neutrality Zone
en.wikipedia.org
“I got the daily log of Chitose doing her radio check and position report,” said South American Analyst Lieutenant Geraldo Reyes. “Decoded.”
“Uh-huh,” responded his superior Lt. Commander Dale Cooper, his voice entirely lacking in enthusiasm. This daily report had become something of a running joke with the men, as the Japanese Navy seaplane carrier crawled across the southern Pacific at a snail’s pace. “Where is she now?”
“240 Nautical Miles east of where she was yesterday,” this was no revelation. The carrier kept a constant speed of 10 knots, conserving her fuel across the vast ocean. “22 degrees 26 minutes South by 106 degrees 17 minutes West. So about 350 Nautical Miles North North-East of Easter Island. That was the position Chitose reported, and it is confirmed by direction finding.”
“I sent a cable to Captain Brown on USS Richmond two days ago,” said Cooper. “Captain John Brown. Glory Halleluiah. Richmond is on her way to Valparaiso right now. Brown intends to refuel and head west to meet Chitose as soon as she enters the Neutrality Zone west of the Juan Fernandez Islands. They should meet December 10 or shortly after. Richmond carries a pair of SOC Seagull float planes, so she can scout a 600 mile diameter circle. Then we can shadow Chitose wherever she goes.”
“So, as screwy as this Mavis delivery to Argentina sounds,” said Reyes, “It looks like they are at least doing what they said.”
“Yeah, looks like they are,” Cooper agreed, “So far.”
***
1143 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Taboga Island, Pacific Ocean on the south coast of Panama.
“Is that something there?”
“Where?”
“I thought I saw a contact, to the west, over the mountains. But now it’s not there anymore.”
“Range and bearing?”
The other operator answered, as best he could, at a contact that was no longer registering. “About 70 miles, 300 degrees, give or take…”
“That is well inside the Republic of Panama. And that bearing has us looking right over top of La Chorrera Field. 30th Pursuit Squadron is based there, since last month, with whatever supply and liaison flights support them.”
The two operators adjusted the equipment, and watched carefully for the next few minutes. “Nothing now. Should we call it in?”
“Nah.”
***
December 7, 1204 hours. Office of the Governor, Administration Building, Quarry Heights, Canal Zone.
The office of the Governor was not open on Sunday, but some staff was nevertheless in the office, catching up on the heavy workload created by the war preparations. As it turned out, the junior clerk was the ranking officer in the building at this hour, and so he was delivered the diplomatic telegram that had arrived at the Communications Office.
It read: “The government of Ecuador wishes to lodge a protest against unannounced flights by American aircraft over Ecuadorean airspace, and unannounced landing by American seaplanes in Ecuadorean territorial waters this Sunday December 7th. We are aware that a treaty is being negotiated to allow American military aircraft to use the Galapagos Islands and other specified areas of sovereign Ecuadorean territory for aerodromes. Until these treaties are finalized and ratified by our respective governments, we require, as per the existing temporary agreement, that each and every visit by American aircraft be announced and approved through the appropriate channels.
Without prejudice,
Enrique Zambrano,
Ecuadorean Foreign Ministry, Department of Inter-American Affairs.
“What is he talking about?” asked the clerk, but none of the other staff had any idea either.
“I will make sure the Director gets this tomorrow. He can talk to the Air Force or the Navy or whoever.”
***
1210 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field, Balboa, Canal Zone
“Hello, this is Sergeant Ormsby at the Canal Police headquarters. We just received a call from the Panamanian National Police. A truck driver reported he thought he saw an airplane falling out of the sky in flames, at about 11:45 this morning. The trucker said he was between El Prado and Tolé, in Veraguas Province, and the plane fell well to the north of his location. We thought it might be one of yours.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said the duty officer. “Did you get a latitude and longitude, or a distance in miles from his location?”
“No. Sorry,” replied the Police sergeant. “That is the best I’ve got. The story was already third hand by the time I heard it.” He hung up the phone.
The duty officer stood up and called over to the Communications desk. “We need to send a Notice to Airmen. Be on the lookout for an air crash in the general area of…” he looked at the big map on the wall “80 degrees – 15 minutes north by 34 degrees – 58 minutes west. There was apparently a fire. And we should call to see if aircraft are missing. Radio checks all round.”
“There is a B-18 from the 74th Bombardment Squadron on coastal patrol in that area,” said the communications officer. “I can send them inland to look for a wreck. I will get in touch with Pan Am to see if they have anyone overflying. Or, I guess if they are missing anyone.”
***
1212 hours. US Army Coastal Artillery AA Searchlight Battery. Co-located with Battery G, 72nd AA Regiment, Gatun Dam.
“I can hear an aircraft out there,” said the sound locator truck operator. “To the south west.” He pivoted the giant sound accumulating horn apparatus several points to the left. “Definitely something. I am at the limit of my range, but I can hear a plane.” He listened intently for another minute. “It sounds like it is circling. Oh… Now I hear two.” He got the attention of the phone talker. “Call Fort Sherman, tell them to see what they can get on the radar. The contact is at 225 degrees from our position.”
***
1220 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Fort Sherman, Caribbean Sea on the north coast of Panama.
“A sound locator on Gatun Dam says they can hear an aircraft circling at 225 degrees from him. He wants a confirmation. Rotate the antenna to train.” There was a whining sound and the 30 foot tall flat cage antenna slowly pivoted as its electric motor swung the turntable around.
“Yep, there they are. Two contacts just west of Gatun Lake. Range Nineteen Nautical Miles. Now twenty. Looks like they are circling. Oh, there is another one at thirty-nine miles.” He called out some numbers and another technician marked the contacts down on the plotting table. “And looking at the filed flight plans we have…” The operator rustled through a stack of paperwork, “Nothing. Nobody is supposed to be there right now. Better call up Albrook Field and have them dispatch an inspection flight.”
***
1224 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field.
“Hi guys, this is Pan American Airlines Albrook Field, just across the way. Our 11:40 flight out of Panama City was due to arrive at David at 12:10, but is now overdue. We can’t raise them on the radio. Last contact was at 11:20 when they were over Santiago. I was hoping you can put out an NTA, and maybe get some of your aircraft to go look and see.”
***
1225 hours. US Army Air Force Operations Center, Albrook Field.
“The radar operators at Fort Sherman have a couple of flying contacts that need an inspection flight. Sound the alert.” A bell rang in the pilot’s mess of the 24th Pursuit Squadron.
The two pilots who were doing their rotation on alert duty sat playing cards in their flight suits and Mae Wests. When the bell rang, they grabbed their parachutes and jogged out to the waiting pair of P-40C Warhawks. The mechanics performed the starting procedure and the Allison V-12 engines roared into life, snorting and blowing flames from their fishtail exhausts stacks. Each aircraft had the leaping tiger squadron emblem painted on their engine cowlings, and was fitted with a centerline drop tank to extend their patrol range. The fighter planes trundled down the concrete apron out to the runway, their engine notes rose to take off pitch, and were both airborne by 1238 hours. Then they banked to the north, in the direction of Gatun Lake and Colon City.
***
1230 hours. US Army Signals Corps SCR-271 Radar Station, Fort Sherman
“Oh, where did those contacts go? They just disappeared.”
***
1246 hours.
The two P-40s from 24th Pursuit Squadron, flying a direct path from Albrook Field, arrived over the west end of Lake Gatun, where they had been vectored, and found empty sky.
Neutrality Zone
Neutrality Patrol - Wikipedia
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