The way to victory is long. The going will be hard. We will do the best we can with what we've got. We must have more planes and ships- at once. Then… - Ernest King

On the afternoon of 28 February 1939 King and Halsey went together on board Houston where some twenty or more flag officers of the United States Fleet had been summoned to pay their respects to the Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy. President Roosevelt was in high spirits, for he loved the Navy and always visibly expanded when at sea. As the admirals greeted him, he would have some pleasant, half-teasing personal message for each. King, when his turn came, shook hands and said that he hoped the President liked the manner in which naval aviation was improving month by month, if not day by day. Mr. Roosevelt seemed pleased by this, and, after a brief chat, admonished King, in his bantering way, to watch out for the Japanese and the Germans. King made no attempt to hold further conversation with the President, even though Admiral Bloch urged him to do so. He had never "greased" anyone during his forty-two years of service and did not propose to begin, particularly at a moment when many of the admirals were trying so hard to please Mr. Roosevelt that it was obvious. He had paid his respects civilly; he was in plain sight, and felt that the President could easily summon him if there were anything more to say. He believed that his record would speak for itself, and that it was not likely to be improved by anything that he might say at this moment. It seemed that the die was already cast, although the President's decision would not be made known for some weeks.

During the war I kept neither a diary nor notes. I had then neither the time nor the inclination, and like most sailors, who through necessity "travel light," I have not accumulated any substantial body of personal papers. Since my relief as Chief of Naval Operations on 15 December 1945, I have spent many hours in recalling the events of World War II and of my earlier life in the Navy. My source has been my memory, verified and supplemented by references to official records and by the recollections of officers who assisted me in my wartime duties. The reader must therefore take this book on faith, for its statements are not bolstered by citations of numerous documents. I must ask him to believe, however, that I have made a sincere and conscientious effort to avoid the inspiration of hindsight and to record matters as they seemed at the time.

The final phase of the Pacific naval war commenced with the assault on Iwo Jima in February 1945, closely followed by that on Okinawa in April. These two positions were inner defenses of Japan itself; their capture by United States forces meant that the heart of the Empire would from then on be exposed to the full fury of attack, not only by our carrier aircraft but also by land-based planes, the latter in a strength comparable to that which wreaked such devastation against the better protected and less vulnerable cities of Germany. After Okinawa was in our hands, the Japanese were in a desperate situation, which could only be alleviated if they could strike a counterblow, either by damaging our fleet or by driving us from our advanced island positions. The inability of the Japanese to do either was strong evidence of their increasing impotence and indicated that the end could not be long delayed.