by Kevin Miller
Two more amber flight decks to the north: four carriers! On Kaga he made out a red dot on the bow. The Japanese rising sun. The rest of the deck was all but empty. Maybe they were recovering; he scanned the sky again. Nothing. Were the Japs already headed for Enterprise? Damn, did we get here too late?
McClusky transmitted his intention to Skipper Gallaher. “Follow me down, Earl.”
Kroeger heard no instructions for Skipper Best as he watched him stretch his neck up to assess the scout formation that was coming closer. They, too, were setting up, but in echelon. Kaga turned through west and the other carrier turned south. That one must be Akagi – the flagship. With a little Jap admiral on it. About the size of Enterprise. From his trail position, Kroeger couldn’t see the skipper’s head anymore, only his gunner scanning from one side to the other. Best’s voice then filled his earphone.
“Attacking according to doctrine…”
Yes, the trailer, big fella Kaga, while the Sails go for the far ship. Kaga slid toward his left wing as Kroeger approached, and he was surprised to see only a single Zero parked aft. Far to the right, Akagi’s deck was clear. Maybe a few planes, but only a few. We missed ’em!
“Take the one on the right…”
McClusky and the Sails headed for Akagi. The timing would be textbook. Sun over their right shoulders. Perfect! Best eased his formation left as Kroeger and the others followed, keeping their target visible in front of their wing. It turned toward them now, a turn that would force Kroeger and the others to be steep and minimize ranging error. Steeper is better. Armed. No CAP up here – or anywhere! Light winds…we got ’em! Gotta get a hit. Gotta press it.
Best opened his dive brakes to slow his approach. The perforated flaps across the trailing edge his wing – painted red on the inside – reminded Kroeger of the open maw of a hungry starling waiting to be fed. When lead’s dive brakes opened, Kroeger opened his, as did the eleven remaining SBDs of Bombing Six. Below, Kaga reversed her turn. Kroeger was impatient for Best to dive. Hurry up!
As Best pulled his nose left across the horizon, Kroeger and the others matched him. Cutting the sea and trailing a massive wake as it turned to starboard, Kaga was directly underneath with elevators up and deck clear. Ahead, the CO pulled into it before he pushed over, and Kroeger pulled to…
Whoa!
A Dauntless, brakes open in a vertical dive, shot past the CO as he pushed his nose down. Then another, belly up to Best’s formation. Holy shit! They had almost hit the skipper. Kroeger stayed with the CO and overbanked to follow him down as another SBD whistled past! He whipped his head back in time to see a row of dots in column above, diving down on him. Dammit! Sails are gonna hit us!
Best closed his flaps and waggled his wings as he pulled off right. What is he doing? Kroeger wondered as he matched in a panicked pull that put him underneath Best and his armed 1000-pounder. Kroeger climbed back into position as Best signaled in wild gestures for the rest to abort. Kroeger twisted to look behind him. There’s Fred…but where are the others?
“Halterman, you see where the others went?”
“They’re in their dives, sir!”
Looking back at Kaga, he saw an orderly column of SBDs below, with a swarm of them following from overhead, all diving on the point of water that the great carrier would occupy in thirty seconds. Sonofabitch!
Skipper Best flew toward the other ship, Akagi, as his two wingmen hung on, both gasping lungfuls of air after the near collision with the Sails.
Kroeger, now confused and fearful, scanned for fighters as the three American planes and their slingshot bombs flew toward a duel with Goliath.
Pressed against a window on Akagi’s bridge, Genda couldn’t believe it. More? he thought as yet another formation of Douglas torpedo planes approached CarDiv 2 from the southeast. The CAP would deal with the outclassed Americans as they had since the morning watch, but the tired Zero-sens would have to be recovered at some point, refueled, and rearmed. The Americans were gaining time – time to make repairs at Midway and to gather forces to defend against the next Japanese attack. But this level of opposition? No one had foreseen it in planning. Was there another enemy carrier closer to Midway? My plan didn’t foresee it.
The helmsman kept his eyes to his task while Captain Aoki and the First Air Fleet staff scanned the horizon for additional threats and tried to organize the formation. It had long ago broken down, with the four carriers spread out in a line as screen ships opened up to keep them inside. Gaping holes would allow the Americans to enter unmolested until the CAP showed up.
A lookout shouted into a voice tube. “Enemy dive-bombers high to the south!”
Genda stepped to the port bridge windows with Aoki, Kusaka and Oishi. Even Fuchida pressed close to get a view of this new threat. Yes, Midway still has fight. Dive-bombers in glide attacks had been ineffective and the men searched the skies to the south as Nagumo fumed. Nothing was visible until Fuchida, looking higher than the others, spotted them.
“There, through the clouds…over Kaga.”
Genda easily saw them, a huge formation of Douglas dive-bombers. The numbers in the swarm stunned him. They were high, and the lead aircraft were already in a dive on Kaga some four miles away. This was not a glide bomb attack; these American dives were steep. Professional. Now alarmed, Genda watched as Kaga’s antiaircraft opened up.
Please, no…
McClusky rolled out and bunted, hanging by his lap belt. He was off his seat a bit, as uncomfortable as Gallaher had said he should be. If yer not uncomfortable, yer not steep enough.
He stabilized and put the carrier in his telescopic bombsight, crosshairs on the bow. His goggled eye pressed against the padded end of the tube as he dove on it. The carrier turned to starboard, and he repositioned with aileron to keep the crosshairs on it. No planes on deck, no ack-ack…
“Eight thousand!” Chocalousek called out.
The carrier seemed to float up to him, growing in the bombsight. Lines painted on the yellow deck, a lone Zero parked aft. The big red ball on the bow held his attention as his hands and feet moved the controls in minute corrections to keep the crosshairs on the turning ship. McClusky fought to concentrate as he noticed the powerful wake to port, the shadow from the island sweeping along the deck.
“Six thousand!”
With half of Kaga now in his bombsight, his Dauntless stabilized as his ears popped from the pressure. Centered ball. Keep it centered!
“Four thousand! Thirty-nine hundred, thirty-eight…” On the interphone, Chocalousek now called out every hundred feet to help his pilot.
Muzzle flashes pulsated from the galleries: the light automatics. They see us! Small lights floated up and then rocketed underneath his SBD. The carrier’s turn forced him to bunt and reposition the wings. He felt as if he were on his back, uncomfortable, timbers, yellow tire-stained flight deck timbers…he could almost count them, hovering over the ship with his prop windmilling easy. Hand on the release…
“Three thousand, twenty-nine, twenty-eight…twenty-five hun’rd sir!”
With tension in his voice, Chocalousek kept the calls coming as the altimeter spun past 2,000. Now!
McClusky yanked up on the release handle. The nose quivered and the crosshairs jumped. Damn! I threw it! He felt a familiar jolt, followed by a shudder, as 500 pounds fell away toward the men running across the yellow deck. With the sea rushing toward him, he tensed up his body and pulled.
Nine g’s of crushing force fell on McClusky and Chocalousek, pushing their heads into their shoulders and flattening their legs against the seats. McClusky’s vision grayed and tunneled under the strain as the swells rushed toward him. His heavy left arm struggled under the g to push the throttle to the firewall. Close the dive brakes, nose above horizon, ease the pull… Vision opens and color floods in. Breathe! Run!
McClusky felt the SBD lurch as Chocalousek whipped his seat around to face aft. They came off north, and McClusky scanned fast to get his bearings. Nothing but s
hips to the east, and he snap-rolled hard away from them. Kaga…water curtain next to it, and another plume rising off the far side as a bomber pulled off with streamers from the wingtips.
You threw it, dummy!
An opening in the screen to the southeast. Zeros to the right. They don’t see me. Unload to the deck. Tracers zipped past on the right, splashes. Roll left. Clear. Keep the airplane moving!
Smoke on Kaga! Someone scored! Jink. Head on a swivel. Carrier three miles to port – the one Dick is supposed to hit. Where is he? More flattops on the horizon. Hornet’s group left before we did. Where are those guys? Cruiser firing main battery at something: sudden columns of yellowish water off to starboard.
“Holy shit, sir!”
McClusky looked back to see thick, black smoke rise from fire that lined the length of Kaga’s flight deck. As he did, a muffled flash from inside the ship blew the forward elevator off. He was transfixed for a moment as the huge wafer careened and floated at the apex of its flight hundreds of feet over a towering sheet of flame.
“We got that fat SOB, Commander!”
“Sure did! I got bandits at three! Nose on!”
“I see ’em, sir!”
McClusky and Chocalousek watched them cross aft, then peel off on the trailing SBDs that had just pulled out of their dives above the flaming carrier. Keeping his throttle firewalled, McClusky held his course for the opening in the screen. They’d join on him once clear, and McClusky wasn’t about to feint south. Akagi was turning hard through west. Intact.
Where the hell is Best?
The First Air Fleet staff watched spellbound as a sudden column of water from a near miss shot into the air next to Kaga, then another.
“Thank goodness they are ineffective,” Oishi said. Unconvinced, a pensive Genda looked on. The Americans only had to get lucky once.
A groan went up as an orange flash transformed into a black smudge that bloomed and rose over Kaga. “Blast!” Kusaka cursed, and Genda turned to see Nagumo’s tight lips and fierce eyes fixed on the horizon as Aoki and Masuda shouted orders to their gun crews and lookouts. Another flash and a new column of smoke arose from the forward half of Kaga. Stoic, Genda could only watch as more American planes dove on the wounded carrier. We should have regrouped, Genda thought.
“Hell divers!” a terrified lookout screamed.
Dick Best was almost at full RPM as his two wingmen held on. Kroeger was worried now and guessed Fred was, too. A moment ago they had arrived unmolested over the entire enemy task force with the CO leading them on a textbook run against the biggest Jap carrier in the fleet. Perfect geometry, perfect conditions. It didn’t get any better – not even in training. He was reminded of a routine training attack on Enterprise off Lahaina on a crystal blue morning.
Kroeger thought about their close call. As soon as we entered our dive, the Scouting Six boys cut us out…on our target! Idiots! Lucky we didn’t collide with the dummies. He still couldn’t fathom it. The carrier to the left was ours!
Akagi was ahead, with a Zero in take-off position amidships and two behind. C’mon, Skipper! The planes were not moving, but they would be soon. He hoped the CO would push over a little shallow, to attack ASAP, to get them before they get us. Fishtail signal, get in column, number two again. Trim tabs, carb heat, mixture rich. Kroeger went over checklist again in the seconds left.
“Halterman, ready?”
“Yes, sir! We’re still clean!”
“Good.”
No CAP. Can’t believe it. Cinch belt down… Gonna press it. Only three of us. Gotta get three hits. Damn, how could we have gooned this up?
Best didn’t have time to set up to the south. Doctrine called for simultaneous attack. Kaga was already hit, fore and aft, with more SBDs diving on it in an ordered column. Another hit forward…Wow! Gotta hit this one now. We’re late.
Seconds from their push, Kroeger forced himself to scan a patch of sky for movement. Nothing. The only planes were down there on the surface, some in a loose wedge, others solo. Screen ships were shooting at something, but what? To the northwest were two more carriers, ten miles at least. Kroeger pressed the interphone.
“Halterman, get ready!”
“Yes, sir! All set!”
“Okay, Skipper’s gonna push soon.”
Best came up on the radio: “Don’t let this carrier escape!”
The skipper’s plane slowed again, and the open flaps caused it to almost stop in midair. Kroeger, and Weber in trail, matched him. Far below, Akagi waited, holding her fire. We’re above their range…for the moment.
For the second time in five minutes, Best lifted his plane up then pushed down. Sliding to the inside, Kroeger watched him go and counted.
One potato…two potato…
Still leaning forward from the deceleration, Kroeger pulled, pushed, and kicked, his nose falling through in a tight arc as he dove down on his target. Akagi seemed alone except for the CO in his dive above her. A white wake followed the carrier, a scar on the pristine ocean surface. Airspeed built into a rising crescendo of cold air that shrieked past the open canopy. His pushover, good. Following the skipper was easy. Stabilized at 240 knots, aiming ahead half a ship length. Engine idling and prop blades flickering in the sunlight in front of him. CO holding steady.
Now gunfire, cordite drifting off the galleries. To Kroeger it was silent proof of lost surprise. There goes a Zero. Damn, too late! Red circle on the flight deck forward: huge. Red and yellow timbers. Gaining on the CO…airspeed good. Hold it there…ship’s turning into the crosshairs. Fireflies in the gun sight, a row of them… Ignore them! CO’s bird drifting into view, don’t get in his wash.
“Six thousand, sir!”
Ship’s turning hard to starboard. Lead it… Gonna be a beam attack, dammit! Strange island, strange funnels, all the elevators up. Turn needle, ball. A bit more trim to sweeten. Hold it steady…
“Four thousand!”
CO should come off any second. This is a good one. steady… Just a little aileron to correct…
“Three thousand!”
Damn, Skipper’s pressin’ it! Pull, sir! Nothing but deck and that queer little island. Lay it on the island. Automatic guns blazing, no let up.
“Twenty-three, twenty-two…”
Crossing rows of tracers – Oh, shit!
“Mister Kroe – !”
Kroeger mashed the release button and welcomed the seat-of-the pants jolt as the hooks opened. Tensed and ready, when the bomb swung free at the second jolt, he pulled with both hands into an instant wall of unseen force, squeezing him, crushing him, blinding him as his tunneled vision sped across the blue surface. Behind him, Halterman grunted under the high-g load. Kroeger’s face drooped down and his elbows were pushed into his sides by the 9-g pull. With vision obscured by dark streaks due to the high-g pooling of blood, he strained in desperation to get his nose up. He let off to unload, and his full vision gushed back in. Through his earphones, he heard it: a crackling sound…automatic gunfire! Flaps in… Where’s the skipper? Tracers above. Dammit! Snap right. Balls to the wall and get out of here!
Skipper off right, his prop blades practically in the water. Turn to follow. Clear area southeast. Look for Zeros. Fred?
Kroeger picked up Weber over his right shoulder, and behind him saw something on Akagi’s deck: smoke, but not much. A soaring geyser erupted next to the carrier’s stern – Fred’s bomb.
“I think we hit it, sir!” Halterman crowed.
Kroeger had no time to evaluate; he was keeping sight of the CO, looking for the CAP, and avoiding the defensive screen ships in a frantic effort to break free. He would run out of gas, all of them would, but a water landing far from the enemy vessels would give him a chance.
“WOW!” Halterman shouted.
Chapter 19
Navigation Bridge, HIJMS Akagi, 1023 June 4, 1942
Captain Aoki stuck his head outside the window and picked them up off the port bow. “Right full rudder!”
; Fuchida saw three planes coming at them – at him! An object floated clear of the lead plane. A bomb! Fuchida’s whole being focused on it as it grew larger, silent, not moving off its trajectory toward him.
“Take cover!” someone shouted, and Fuchida curled up next to a mantelet in an absurd yet instinctive effort to save himself. Outside, gunfire, seemingly from everything Akagi had, thundered and chattered amid shouted orders and cries. He felt Genda crouch down behind him as the American bomber pulled off with a fearsome roar that drowned out the cacophony of defensive fire.
A faint whistling sound rose in volume until it became a shriek, and a thundering explosion shook Akagi’s frames as the flagship raced ahead. A giant column of water, accompanied by a rumbling sound none had ever heard before, lifted high over their heads. Seconds later the deluge slammed into the bridge and drenched everyone. Akagi heeled as the rudder bit in. Near miss! We might make it! Fuchida hoped.
Another marrow-rattling roar as the second plane pulled off, followed by another faint whistle. Crouched on the deck, Fuchida’s midsection hurt, and dirty seawater sloshed down the deckplate as his mind struggled to grasp this new sensation amid the piercing scream of the hurtling bomb.
A thunderous explosion erupted from behind as shrapnel lashed the island and tripod mast. Fuchida felt the jolt in his hands and knees as shock from the blow shot through Akagi’s steel decks, and he sensed the flash despite his closed eyes. The men on the bridge were knocked off their feet by the force, then ducked instinctively as another bomb whistled in. It exploded aft and rocked Akagi to the keel. Genda noticed the antiaircraft guns were silent – and wondered about the severity of the hit amidships.
As he rose to his feet, Fuchida was relieved. One hit; not too serious. On the flight deck men ran to the hoses as Masuda shouted, and a hose-team from starboard streamed water on the conflagration. As they crept closer, a thunderclap from below blasted out sections of deck. Men were again knocked off their feet as the shockwave blew through the bridge. With foreboding, both Genda and Fuchida waited for more secondary explosions they knew would follow. On deck, the hose snaked in wild oscillations, the only evidence of the firefighting team mowed down seconds earlier.