Japanese A6M3 Model 32 Zero (3148) Forensics: Part I

We're a little crazy - those of us who are so obsessed with the combat aircraft of Japan during WWII that we dive into our research so deeply that it can only be compared with the work of Egyptologists meticulously dissecting a 4000-year-old mummy.  It's a sickness.  I don't know how I caught it.  All I know is that I've exhibited its symptoms since I was a kid.  I also know that, as an adult, I've witnessed mature and otherwise respectable men almost come to physical blows over differences in interpretation of our research.  I suppose such things happen in every genre' where people become passionate - and, oh yeah, where egos are usually at the helm.  I once found myself in the middle of an online fight over whether Japanese aircraft navigation lights were constructed with a clear light bulb within a translucent colored housing, or a colored light bulb within a clear housing.  People reverted to calling each other names.

I learned to steer clear of certain forums after that.  However: Clear bulb with a colored housing.  And the Japanese didn't use translucent green, they used blue because their 'white' lights were actually yellow.  A little crazy, but I love the subject and the research nonetheless.  

Recently I acquired a significant collection of very rare original parts from a Japanese A6M3 Model 32 Zero - known to the Allies during the war as 'Hamp'.  A very rare aircraft, of which only 343 were ever built, this one having been constructed in September 1942 by Mitsubishi (they were the sole manufacturers of this particular variant).  The Model 32 is most notable for its clipped wing tips, a feature believed by the Allies at the time to provide the aircraft with better low-altitude performance, but was in reality a simple cost saving measure by the Japanese (replacing the Model 22's complex folding wing tips).  Since then I've had a field day studying these parts.

Nothing riles both the appetite and the passions of a Japanese aircraft nut so much as color information, and in spite of over 40 years in the tropics (these parts were recovered from Taroa in the 1980s) there was much to be gleaned from them.

Probably the most elusive color to identify and match among all of the pigments employed by the Japanese has always been the gray used to paint the early Navy fighters.  This is the color that all of the Zeros were painted that attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941 (unlike those portrayed in the Hollywood movie).  Because the Japanese stopped using it in 1943 and began using a very different gray, authentic samples of the early war color have been extremely hard to come by.  For decades historians reverted to eye witness explanations from veterans, and as a consequence came to accept a chalky white color.  Though that shade is still championed by some, who seem inclined to have their declarations in support of it carved upon their gravestones, more recent discoveries of this color on actual pieces of these aircraft reveal something very different and somewhat counter-intuitive.

It has been described as 'olive gray' and 'gray brown'.  Technically it is very close to Federal Standards color number 34201, and it had a high gloss as applied at Mitsubishi factories.  I was happy to discover examples of this paint on samples of material from opposite ends of the same aircraft: from the tail and from the inside of the port wheel well.  The latter example (shown above) was a surprise due to the fact that it has been assumed that the wheel wells of the Zero - all makes and models - were left in the well-known 'Aotake' blue/green primer that commonly adored the internals of most all wartime Japanese aircraft.  The wheel wells being an 'internal' area, it was a reasonable assumption.  But false, at least in the case of this aircraft.  The evidence reveals that the components were painted with primer before assembly, and then received a thick spray-painted coat of gray along with the exterior of the aircraft.  The method and even direction of application can be ascertained, as certain areas that were hard to reach behind structural frames were partly missed, while the paint built up thickly in other areas.  Most importantly, however, the unique color of 'olive gray' so described in recent studies is precisely verified in these examples.

It's a weird color in relation to other 'grays' applied to other military aircraft through the ages, and I suppose for that reason alone it was more logical to adhere to the proven false belief that it was a more logical average 'chalky' gray.  Again, however, an exterior aluminum panel (above), that was once partly covered by a fairing, does reveal the same gray that was encountered in the wheel well.

It's worth repeating that this paint originally was of a high gloss.  It did weather to a dull finish rather quickly if neglected, but many Japanese pilots have testified to the fact that their ground crews took great pride in maintaining this glossy finish. These aircraft were the Samurai swords of the mid-20th Century. They were regarded as the property of the Emperor, bequeathed into the able hands of his subjects in the interests of the Empire.  They were not neglected.  It's also a fact that the Japanese paint and primers used in the construction of these aircraft were the best in the world at the time.  Allied studies during and shortly after the war did not shy away from giving credit where credit was due in this case.  It's also true that, as Charles Darby noted in his 1979 book, 'Pacific Aircraft Wrecks and Where to Find Them', Japanese aircraft tended to far outlast their Allied contemporaries abandoned in the bush and surrendered to the tropical elements. During the war all of this translated into aircraft that stood up better, looked better, resisted chipping and other signs of wear and tear better than anything in the air at the time.  While one might otherwise expect a war-weary looking machine after a short time, Japanese machines were simply better built and better maintained by the men responsible for them.  While these standards of Japanese manufacture and maintenance began to go into decline after 1943 - they held almost religiously true until the fates of war forced a change in priorities.  

- Ron Cole

The Story of a Zero - Japanese Zero A6M3 Mod. 32

In September 1942 a Zero fighter to replace the venerable A6M2 model (which had scorched Pacific skies since Pearl Harbor) rolled off of Mitsubishi's assembly lines and took an ox cart ride to its nearest aerodrome.  This version of the Zero, the A6M3 Model 32, was a big deal from the perspective of the designers and the Navy.  It had a more powerful engine, and it employed some modifications to make production easier and cheaper.  When it came to the folding wingtips of the previous model, for example, Mitsubishi cut them off and stuck an aluminum fairing at each wing tip.  Japanese pilots were not happy with such 'efficiency' measures and grumbled their displeasure across the Pacific.  Allied intelligence contemplated the significance of the clipped wings, theorizing that they might improve low altitude performance.  The Japanese wished!  But the Model 32 was merely a stop-gap machine - a slight improvement over its predecessor until the 'real' replacement was ready to enter production.  That aircraft, the A6M5, would boast an even more powerful engine and an entirely redesigned wing.  Thus Mitsubishi only produced 343 Model 32 aircraft, all from their same production line.

But our little plane that rolled out of the factory in September (and depicted above) was nevertheless destined for a unique life.  Her official name was just a number: 3148.  Whether her sponsors knew her by another, possibly more endearing name, is quite probable but lost to history.  3148's construction was paid for by funds raised by the Manchurian Secondary Schools, and was 'gifted' by schoolchildren to the Japanese Navy.  There would have been a ceremony at the time, with various VIPs from both the Navy and Mitsubishi present, as well as a Shinto priest on hand to bless the aircraft.  A series of ceremonial bowls would have been given to the school and to other key participants in the sponsorship.  The aircraft was adorned with special markings on its fuselage - behind the hinomaru insignia - denoting it as a sponsored aircraft and by whom.  Thus 3148 was a loved and appreciated machine of the sky from the very start.

Just as an enlisted man's life changes after going off to sea, so did the life of 3148.  She was assigned, without any fanfare this time, to the 252nd Kokutai (Navy Air Group) and sent off to the remote Marshall Island airfield of Taroa.  As assignments go, Taroa was regarded at the time as a key outpost that guarded the outermost defensive line of Japan's Pacific empire, but it was also largely ignored by the belligerents until 1944. Therefore, at a time when brand new Zeros were arriving at the front just in time to be destroyed in fierce, increasingly one-sided, battles - 3148 of the Manchurian Middle Schools was living a somewhat charmed life.  Even the Japanese Navy personnel at Taroa came to like the place at that time.  They cared for 3148, and the other aircraft at Taroa, much as fireman do their fire engines during downtime.

But the war did come.  On April 18, 1943, for example, it was very likely Zero fighters from Taroa (and quite possibly 3148) that stumbled upon a lone B-24D and shot it so full of holes that it never flew again, though it miraculously made it back to its base.  Unknown to the Japanese they'd shot up the aircraft of USAAF Lt. Louis Zamperini, an American Olympian who would go on to be the subject of a best selling book, 'Unbroken', and in 2014 a Hollywood film of the same name.

I have portrayed that April 1943 action in my painting above.

As the war in the Pacific increasingly encroached upon Taroa, the life of 3148 became more hazardous. By then one of Japan's best fighter pilots, Isamu Miyazaki, was flying out of the field.  He almost certainly flew 3148 himself at various times in combat.  Taroa was bombed.  Taroa was strafed by carrier-born Hellcat fighters. The respite that the tiny field had enjoyed came to an end.  In the case of Zero 3148, donated by schoolchildren at considerable expense and sacrifice and sent away to war with blessings and to shouts of 'Banzai!' - she was mortally wounded, not in aerial combat, but by bomb splinters that damaged her on the ground and wrecked her vitals beyond that which could be repaired locally.

Though Taroa was never invaded by the Allies, it was cut off from resupply and all of her aircraft were rendered unserviceable.  The war ended, and Taroa was forgotten.

      
Flash forward to the mid-1980s.  The terrible scrap drives of the '60s and '70s, which had decimated the vast majority of surviving WWII aircraft in the Pacific, were over.  They'd been replaced by a fast growing interest in the commercial investment opportunities provided by salvageable 'warbirds' still hiding in the jungles.  Once thought of in terms of their scrap value, something like a Japanese Zero in decent condition could turn into a million dollar restoration and a five million dollar sale at an aircraft auction.  These aircraft became big money, and while that sort of gold rush had its downsides, it probably saved 3148 from certain doom at the hands of aluminum exfoliation; from turning to dust. She was picked to be salvaged and was brought to the United States.  She changed hands many times as some restoration shops were either not up to the task or ran short of funds - familiar stories in the world of high end classic cars and collectible airplanes alike.

But by 2013 she was in the experienced hands of Legend Flyers, the company responsible for building several Messerschmitt Me 262 fighter jets from scratch.  They could do anything, and did!

 

           
A6M3 Model 32 Zero 3148 hasn't looked this good in a very long time!

My own relationship with this aircraft started in mid-2013.  Legend Flyers approached me to commission a painting of their unique two-seat Me 262 'Vera' that was captured in 1945 and test flown as one of Watson's Whizzers.  They restored that aircraft for static display and used its parts as patters for their 'new builds'. When my painting was completed they paid me generously in parts: specifically a full original engine nacelle panel from the Me 262:

I'm still in the process of restoring it and intend to paint it with its original colors and red stenciling, while leaving the inside all original.

Then they asked me if we could make a similar trade for the Zero.  I've loved the Zero fighter since I was a kid!  They sent me some amazing parts from her original airframe:

Some of these pieces I've put into some unbelievably rare and one-of-a-kind displays with my original artwork:

Soon, this Zero will be on display for countless people to see and enjoy.  In the meantime it means a great deal to me that I can possess pieces of this great historical machine, and be in a position as an aviation artist to share these pieces with others out there who can appreciate what a special aircraft old 3148 was, and is.

- Ron Cole