by James Young
There may have been a more stupid action that the man could have performed, but what he had done was dumb enough. Lt. Commander Freeman never had a chance to give the order, every man with a weapon and clear line of fire unleashing on the survivors. For a full half minute the Nautilus’s deck was a cacophony of small arms fire as the six men were slaughtered.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Chief Pound shouted, finally reaching over and striking one of the Tommy gunners before he the man could finish reloading. The sailor jumped in surprise, dropping the drum magazine over the side with a curse.
Nick looked at the chewed and torn remnants of the wooden flight deck, watching as one of the men who had been actually aboard the wood slipped down into the water leaving a stream of blood. Suddenly, uncontrollably, he felt his breakfast coming up. Leaning over the edge of the conning tower, he was violently sick. Embarrassed, he wiped the back of his mouth as he stood back erect. Looking back towards the bow, Nick saw Chief Pound replicating his action, the grizzled old sailor wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Sir, the other one!” one of the anti-aircraft gunners shouted, shortly before a bullet whined off the conning tower. The horrific scene was repeated with the larger raft, and a stunned silence hung over the Nautilus as the last Japanese sailor slipped beneath the waves.
“What in the Hell is the matter with these people?” Ensign Workman asked plaintively.
“Death before dishonor,” Nick replied. All the men on the bridge turned towards him.
“What did you say, Lieutenant Cobb?” Freeman asked.
“Sir, the Japanese believe in death before dishonor,” Nick explained. “They call it Bushido.”
“Bullshit is more what it seems like, sir,” Workman said angrily.
“Either way, we’re getting out of this debris field. All head slow,” Lt. Commander Freeman said. With a horrible groan and shudder, the Nautilus began edging forward at a stately five knots.
U.S.S. Hornet
1510 Local (1835 Eastern)
“GODDAMMIT!” Eric shouted, punching instrument panel as the Dauntless’s engine refused to turn over for the third time.
“Sir, we’ve got to put her aside and pump out the fuel tanks!” the plane handler standing on his wing said.
Eric could not believe it. The Wright Cyclone had been running like a dream when he’d set down on the deck. Now the bitch was refusing to start despite the best efforts of himself and the plane chief. With the third failed attempt, the air officer had decreed that the aircraft was a “strike,” and would have to be sent below in order to clear the flight deck for other aircraft. The plane’s fuel tanks would be pumped clear of fuel to avoid it becoming a torch should the Hornet be attacked.
Eric fought the urge to let loose with even more curse words. In almost three years of flying he had never had an aircraft crap out on him. Now, on the first day of the war, on something as mundane as anti-submarine patrol, his freakin’ engine had apparently packed up for the day. Nodding at the crew chief’s words, he quickly unstrapped himself and began getting out of the dive bomber.
For a split second he looked to his right at Ensign Read’s aircraft, now being moved forward to spot. It would be completely within his bounds if he bumped Read out of the plane. Fighting the temptation, he shook his head against the plan.
Read needs some more flight hours, Eric thought charitably. It’s going to be a long war. Walking towards the Dauntless, he noted Read was studiously avoiding turning back to meet his gaze.
Doesn’t mean I can’t mess with him some, Eric thought with an mischievous smile. As Eric walked towards the Dauntless, he saw Read take a quick glance into the rearview mirror then quickly look down at his instruments. Read’s gunner, on the other hand, began resignedly unstrapping himself from the aircraft. Eric quickly waved him back down into his seat. Running the last few feet, he jumped up on the dive bomber’s wing and tapped Read on the shoulder. The ensign turned around, his face impassive as he started to unbuckle. Eric placed his left hand on the man’s shoulder then extended his right.
“Good luck, Read,” Eric shouted. “Make sure it’s enemy before you drop a bomb on it…my brother’s a submariner.”
Read looked up at him in surprise, then smiled as he realized what Eric was saying.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, shaking Eric’s hand. Eric hopped back off of the dive bomber’s wing and headed for the island, getting ready to head back to VB-8’s ready room. Brown was waiting for him at the doorway, his chute already off his back.
“Didn’t you think I was going to take the plane from him?” Eric asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, sir, actually I didn’t. He needs the practice,” Brown replied.
Eric’s reply was cut off by the intercom suddenly blaring General Quarters. The two men looked at each other, then up towards the sky. Far above the carrier they could see a division of four fighters streaking off towards the southwest, gaining altitude. Behind them, Read’s Dauntless began its takeoff run, hurtling down the deck and into the sky. Even before it was airborne, the plane handlers were maneuvering two more Wildcats into position for a hurried launch.
Looking around at the vessels on the screen starting to open the distance and begin elevating their guns, both men felt terribly exposed.
“Well, it would probably be a good idea to get the hell off the deck,” Eric muttered.
The Hornet had been outfitted with the latest air search radar prior to her departure for the Pacific. As a result, her fighters had ten minutes more to gain altitude than their comrades flying from the Yorktown, Lexington, and Saratoga that morning. While hardly a tremendous boon for the Wildcats, it was enough to give them a three thousand foot altitude advantage as they began engaging their opposite Japanese numbers. Hornet’s fighter direction officer (FDO), Lieutenant Al Fleming, had been able to talk with some of his British counterparts during his training. One of the men had been a pilot in the First Battle of Britain and a direction officer in the Second. The one lesson that the man had imparted to Fleming was the absolute criticality of fighters being able to attack en masse.
As a result, Fleming took a portion of the extra ten minutes gained by the Hornet’s radar to gather all but four of those fighters currently airborne on Combat Air Patrol. As the enemy strike passed a point forty miles from the Hornet’s deck, he released these fighters to attack the approaching formation. Unwittingly, the Japanese pilots played directly into Fleming’s hands. The Zero and Shiden pilots, believing that the majority of their foes would be still climbing from the deck of their carrier, had just begun to accelerate forward and below their charges when the Hornet’s CAP began streaming down from ahead and above.
Cursing even as another chutai leader called out his sighting of the incoming American fighters, Isoro pulled back hard on his stick. The stubby American fighters were already hurtling over his fighter as they dived, their sights fixed on the accompanying dive bombers. Even as the Shiden’s superior power meant that he and the Akagi’s fighter squadron reacted quicker than the Zeroes, Isoro could tell there was no way they could stop the Wildcats’ initial charge.
For the second time that day, the dive bombers suffered the unbridled onslaught of American fighters. In a ball of fire and flame Akagi’s squadron leader, Lt. Chihaya, was killed by the initial bursts of .50-caliber machine guns. His two wingmen joined him a moment later, as the entire initial rush concentrated on the front of the formation. Revenge was taken on one VF-8 Wildcat, the pilot collecting a tail gunner’s bullet to the head through the top of his canopy.
Isoro was already seeking targets as he finished his half loop, the Grummans that had attacked the dive bombers circling around for another pass. Putting his fighter into a roll, Isoro cut inside a section’s turn, bringing his nose around to try and gain lead. Realizing that Isoro was going to gain sufficient lead, the American attempted to reverse his course. It was a panicked maneuver, and it only made the Wildcat’s imminent destruction t
hat much quicker. Missing with his first burst, Isoro corrected and watched the Grumman’s port wing and tailplane fly off under the four cannons. Isoro immediately pulled up as soon as the enemy fighter was finished, relieved to see Watanabe finishing off his victim’s wingman.
Turning back towards the dive bombers, Isoro was just in time to watch another four Wildcats attacking from the opposite side of the formation. In a beautiful display of deflection gunnery the lead Wildcats each claimed a dive bomber. Cursing in frustration, Isoro went at once for the leader.
That will be your last…
The only warning Isoro received that his chutai was itself under fire was Yoshida’s Shiden exploding in a ball of flame. Rolling, Isoro and his sole remaining wingman avoided a similar fate as two Wildcats hurtled past them, diving for the Pacific below. Isoro put his nose down to follow after checking for any other enemy aircraft. Frustratingly, he found himself unable to close the range as the Americans dived through eight thousand feet back towards their carrier. As black puffs of smoke began to appear around him, Isoro cursed in frustration and pulled up.
I am not flying into anti-aircraft fire for two kills, he thought. Searching around him, he watched as the dive and torpedo bombers hurtled past, their formations showing obvious gaps as a result of the American bounce.
The sixteen fighters of VF-8 had acquitted themselves well while suffering heavy losses. In exchange for eight of their number, the Wildcats had destroyed five dive bombers and four fighters. On the debit side, however, was the fact that they had not managed to completely disrupt the Kido Butai strike. With over four times their number of Japanese fighters seeking to kill them, the Wildcats were all forced to disengage as Isoro’s assailant had. The defensive CAP broken, the Hornet’s final defense was up to her screen.
Unlike the escorts from the morning’s battles, the Hornet’s three cruisers and five destroyers had worked as a team for several months. With not a single vessel over one year of age, CV-8 was surrounded by the best anti-aircraft defenses the USN had to offer. Astern of the carrier, the anti-aircraft cruiser San Diego swung out her five-inch guns, while the light cruisers Denver and Montpelier shifted to the Hornet’s starboard side. The destroyers Fletcher, Radford, Mervine, Quick,and Doyle remained in their diamond formation, their guns also swinging out towards the approaching dive bombers.
The death of Lt. Chihaya was critical to the prosecution of the dive bombing attack. With Commander Fuchida coordinating the torpedo bombers, discipline broke down amongst the disorganized chutai. The predations of the screen’s gunfire only exacerbated this problem, the two of the five dive bombers destroyed or severely damaged prior to pushover being chutai leaders. The tightly disciplined Japanese attack method, while devastating in its effects, did not endure the loss of key leaders very well. Whereas the Kido Butai had launched a tremendous hammer blow, the shaft guiding the hammerhead’s fall began to splinter over the carrier.
Twenty bombers dived on the Hornet in one long undulating column. Seeing the bombers coming, Captain Mitscher ordered the carrier’s helm far over into a tight port turn. Below the island, the gunners on the carrier’s flight deck edge enjoyed the best aiming in the entire task group, each bomber coming down a seemingly straight line right at them. In the VB-8 ready room, Eric listened with a tight grip on his seat as the carrier’s five inchers, 1.1-inch, then 20mm cannon all swelled to a growing crescendo. As the vessel heeled over ever more in her turn, Eric attempted to set a good example for the other two pilots in the room by continuing to read the western paperback someone had left from earlier.
Through a combination of pilot fatigue, Hornet’s evasiveness, and the dense anti-aircraft fire put up by her screening vessels, the first nine dive bombers missed. The following three bombers managed to place their bombs alongside the wildly maneuvering carrier, causing her plates to open and let in the Pacific. It would be the next two bombers that actually damaged the wildly turning carrier. Orphaned when his own carrier was damaged, a Zuikaku chutai leader kicked his rudder to follow the rapidly maneuvering Hornet, determined to get a hit. Pulling out barely four hundred feet above the Pacific, the Japanese lieutenant had just enough time to look in his rearview mirror before a 20mm shell decapitated him.
The dead man’s 250-kg armor piercing bomb slammed through the Hornet’s elevator, the hangar deck, and finally exploded amongst the forward damage control party. In addition to causing twenty-five casualties in the confined space, the bomb destroyed several compartments’ watertight integrity and started a fire. The carrier whipped with the blast, throwing standing men to their knees or to the deck.
Following the example of his leader, the next Val also released at barely one thousand feet, the pilot pulling back on the stick to clear the carrier. The man’s bomb impacted the carrier seventy feet aft of his leader’s, likewise punching down to the third deck and starting a serious fire amidships. Unlike his leader, the Val pilot managed to escape the attentions of the gunners as he attempted to recover his aircraft. The remaining six bombers all placed their bombs close aboard, staving in portions of the carrier’s side and causing casualties amongst her anti-aircraft gunners. In exchange, the guns of the carrier and her escort would damage two more of the enemy aircraft and kill the rear gunner of a third as the dive bombers moved off.
The bombers that did not go after the Hornet had split their attentions amongst the cruisers. Mistaking the long, multi-turreted Denver for a battleship, seven of the Suisei’s dived on the light cruiser. With most of her gunners contributing to the storm of fire above the Hornet, the light cruiser’s defense was in the hands of her captain. It would not be enough, as four semi-armor piercing bombs found her. The first weapon shrugged aside the armor of her No.1 turret and continued on to explode in the handling room. Amidst the chaos of shells exploding in secondary explosions, a brave lieutenant managed to give the order to flood the magazines before being killed by fragments, thus saving the ship from a massive explosion. Even as the man was sacrificing himself, the cruiser’s other hits halved her speed, destroyed her sick bay, and started a serious fire in her hangar.
The Montpelier’s gunners, less devoted to saving the Hornet, put up a storm of anti-aircraft fire that caused all but one of her assailants to miss, albeit several close enough aboard to cause leaks and kill crew topside. The last bomber, a Val, managed to knock out two of the cruiser’s secondary turrets and necessitate the flooding of a magazine. With smoke streaming behind her, the light cruiser continued to keep up with the Hornet as the carrier steamed at full speed.
Anxious to get out of the fire being thrown up the by American task groups, several of the bombers attacked the destroyers among the outer screen. Fast, nimble targets, the five DDs all managed to evade the bombs hurled at them with expert ship handling. Unfortunately, while not nearly as permanent as hits were, these maneuvers had the effect of placing the destroyers out of position as the Kates closed the range.
The synchronization of attacks between the dive bombers and the torpedo bombers was not nearly as smooth as it had been that morning. Part of this was due to the Hornet’s higher speed, while part was due to the efforts of the last fighters to launch from the Hornet. Three of these late Wildcats managed to launch an attack on Commander Fuchida’s group as the twelve Kates were approaching their assault position. Doing no damage, the attack still served to disrupt the attackers’ flow to their drop points. As a result, the U.S. gunners had two brief minutes to depress their guns, take aim, and begin firing at the Kates.
Fuchida’s group had swung to the port of the Hornet, while a mixed bag of nine Kates led by Lieutenant Tomonaga approached from starboard. As the Kates hurtled for their drop point, the entire task force began concentrating their fire on them. Zipping in between the massive geysers of water from the Denver and Montpelier’s quick firing main battery, then pressing on through the storm of tracer fire reaching for them, the Kates unsuccessfully attempted to defy the law of averages. First one from Fuchida’s
group, then two more from Tomonaga’s burst into flames, crashing just inside the destroyers of the outer screen.
The losses caused even the strong Japanese morale to crack. Several of the bombers released their loads early, adrenaline and fear once more convincing several of the pilots that the that the Denver and Montpelier were battleships. In the case of the former, no one saw the torpedoes until it was far too late. One of the deadly missiles passed close astern, the wake being lost in the froth from the cruiser’s own props. The second missile stopped half of those same props a few moments later, slamming into the Denver’s starboard engine room. The blast knocked many of the cruiser’s crew to their knees or to the deck as it extinguished half of the black gang’s lives. Feeling the vibrations and the drop in speed, the cruiser’s captain immediately ordered “all stop” in order to avoid worsening the damage. The Montpelier, once more leading a charmed life, avoided all six of the tin fish headed for her.
Captain Mitscher, his cragged face calm even in the face of the terrible din, had quickly realized the greater danger came from port. Waiting until almost the last moment before the Kates had to release, he calmly ordered the Hornet’s helm kept over to port in order to give Fuchida’s eleven remaining Kate’s a narrower target. As the carrier finished what was the tightest circle she’d ever made, her crew watched as several tin fish headed for her side.
Below Mitscher, in the ready room, Eric found himself understanding the terrifying aspect of being aboard a ship under air attack. While there had been a short respite, the continued cacophony of gunfire told him that the Hornet was still under attack.
Torpedo bombers, he thought grimly. Looking at his companions, he calmly put the book down, slipped out of his seat, and lay flat on the deck. The two other men, in a scramble of chairs that was almost comical, quickly mirrored his actions.