by Kevin Miller
“Had no choice. He was saddled in. But just then the skipper blasts him – boom – I mean, a huge fireball. The other Jap’s eyes must’ve got big cause he took his nose off.” Dibb’s left arm scooped high out in front as he continued.
“Now he’s on me, and the CO has me reverse again, back into him and I’m about, oh, 160…150 knots now, firewalled the whole time, and just as the Jap pulls to align, the CO nails him! Johnny, I’m tellin’ ya, they just explode. You could hit their trim tab, and the damned things just light off.”
Adams nodded. He spotted a metal shard sticking up from the forward expansion joint and pointed at it, a warning for both pilots to avoid it on takeoff. Next to them, plane handlers pushed the Wildcats on the bow back to their start-up spots aft of the island. He saw his plane, F-12, as they pushed it past. Dibb’s hands continued to cut through the heavy air as they walked.
“Then a Jap comes at the CO from his flat side – I’m on the right now – and the CO sees him and pulls to jam him, but he’s in trouble. As the Jap pulls lead on the CO, I’m in on his flat side and he doesn’t see me. The skipper goes up and right in a wingover, and the Jap follows him – right in front of me, practically zero deflection. I mean, I could almost reach over the prop and grab his rudder. So, I pepper him with all six, and Johnny, my whole field of view becomes fire – headin’ right for it – and by reflex I just yanked it up and away. Ya know, it’s something to watch out for if you’re zero deflection, the way they just blow up in front of you.”
The last fighter was pushed aft, and the bow was now clear of planes and debris. Once they rolled past the patch, they’d be safe if they needed the whole deck for takeoff. To the south, the two low slabs of Enterprise and Hornet signified safety. Adams noticed the heat and lack of any breeze. Skipper Thach joined them.
“Boys, if you’ve got 30 gallons or better, take it. Not sure if we’re gonna maintain CAP overhead, or if the captain is just gonna send us down to one of those two ships. Can you tell if they’re flying?”
The men scrutinized the skies around the carriers, down by the hull. None saw any evidence of flight ops.
“Sorry, sir, can’t see anything around them,” Adams offered.
Thach nodded. “Me neither… Okay, let’s man up and stand by to warm up engines ourselves. Not sure what they’re gonna do… Just wait for the signal. Ram, you ready to get another one?”
“Yes, sir! I was jus’ explainin’ to Johnny how we went back and forth with the Japs this morning.”
“Yep, that abeam defense maneuver works…you tested it in combat, Ram. Adams, who’s your lead?”
“XO Leonard, sir.”
“Good. Once engaged, get abeam him, either side, and keep your eyes peeled. If one goes for him, shoot it off his tail. If one goes for you, jam him and the XO will get it. You ready? Feeling okay?”
“Yes, sir, all set.”
From aft, near the island, they heard a cheer.
“What’s that about?” Thach asked to no one. Around them the screen vessels circled and turned to defend their assigned charge, their captains also uncomfortable and nervous.
“Are we moving?” Thach asked.
Stepping to the deck edge, the pilots tried to discern any steerageway. A cruiser off the starboard bow paralleled their course as its bearing fell aft.
“We are moving, and turning,” Thach said, answering his own question. “Okay, guys, let’s shake a leg. I’ll bet the captain launches us when we get fifteen knots over the deck. If the Japs attack us, stay in section, ignore the Zeros if you can, and go for the torpedo bombers or dive-bombers, whichever poses the greater threat.”
The men headed aft as the wind force increased on their backs. From the flag locker, signalmen broke two signal flags and a pennant: Mike, Sugar, and Five.
“My speed five. Five knots,” Thach muttered as his ensigns walked with him. “Better’n nothing, I guess.”
As the pilots strode abeam the island, signalmen wrestled with another flag as four of them heaved on the halyard. Loud cheers rose up from the deck crewmen as it unfurled, and, from across the water, one of the cruisers gave a long blast from its horn before other escort ships joined in.
The stars and stripes flowed in the gentle breeze, the large battle ensign symbolizing Yorktown’s determined spirit and the nation the grease-stained kids on deck were fighting for.
They smiled now, elated and confident they’d make it. The eight Wildcats were spotted, chocked, and tied down as men lugged fuel bowsers and ammo belts to fill them. Along the gallery catwalks, gunners remained at their weapons, keeping watch, joking and bantering with the deck-apes, mocking their “beer-barrel” fighters and each boasting about who would shoot down more Japs if the sons of bitches returned. Next stop, Bremerton!
As he got to his Wildcat, Thach stopped and turned to Adams and Dibb.
“And one more thing… If you have to, ram them. They cannot be allowed to drop. Got it? It’s that important.”
Taken aback, Adams nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“I expect you to ram them, Ram,” Thach deadpanned, “but only after yer bullets are gone. So make ’em count.” With a wink he walked around the folded wing to man up.
“Aye, aye, sir!” Dibb shouted back, enjoying the CO’s barb.
Yorktown crept to the east, keeping a wary eye to the west as its radar antenna rotated again. Adams climbed onto the wing of F-12 and was about to lower himself in the cockpit when he heard a commotion and shouts forward. He stopped to listen.
“Hot foot it! There’s more planes comin’!”
Chapter 25
Hiryū B5N strike group, 1430 June 4, 1942
Where is he going? Maruyama thought as Hashimoto slid closer to Tomonaga. They had been airborne an hour. The Americans must be nearby. Maybe Hashimoto had a message for the group leader. Using his binoculars, Maruyama saw Hashimoto gesturing to the right, and Tomonaga looked in that direction. Maruyama also looked, and, through a break in the clouds, saw faint white marks on the surface. About thirty miles. Ship wakes!
Hashimoto returned to his position, and Tomonaga entered a shallow descent as he continued east. The ships were also steaming east, and Maruyama saw that Tomonaga was leading them to a cloud bank from which they could hide before pouncing. The cloud cover had abated somewhat since the morning, but it still offered concealment. Scanning the wakes, Maruyama found a big one in the middle – an intact carrier.
“There they are, mates, off our nose. Hamada, get ready.”
“Tallyho!” Nakao cried, reducing power and holding his position as Tomonaga descended his formation into warmer air. A column of cloud slid by on their left, its cottony protuberances gleaming white in the afternoon sun as it hovered in silent witness. Maruyama, concerned about fighters, warned Hamada. “Watch for Grummans!”
Tomonaga keyed the radio. “Take positions in preparation for attack!”
They continued their descent, airspeed building to over 200 knots. As they entered a clear area, the American formation turned right. We’ve been seen. Maruyama took one last record of their heading and time to help them get home if they became separated from the others.
“All go in!” Tomonaga transmitted.
Tomonaga then turned his understrength chutai toward the Americans, who now presented their sterns to him. Maruyama felt relieved when the Zero-sens stayed with his group. Hashimoto headed them up to the northern edge of a cloud bank from which they could circle around or penetrate in a desperate dash to attack. Once in, they would target the carrier’s port side, opposite the large American superstructure – if they could get through the screen unscathed. Maruyama felt the pace quicken, and observed a gray airplane fly off the carrier’s brown flight deck and turn right.
Hurry!
Hurry! Adams thought. He sensed the Japs were attacking from the fearful faces of the men on deck. Waiting behind the XO, he twisted in his cockpit to see if he could pick them up himself. Thirty-two gallons of fuel was all he h
ad! Enough for one fight before landing, here or on one of the other task force carriers to the south. Overhead, the CAP Wildcats bustered north. Adams scanned ahead of their flight paths to see what he could. C’mon!
The battle ensign swayed in the breeze – plenty of wind over the deck. Skipper Thach was the only one with a full bag of gas, and would begin his deck run from abeam the island. “Let me off!” Adams shouted in frustration as he waited in line for takeoff.
The bullhorn boomed. “Torpedo raid!” Seconds later, one of the starboard-side five-inch guns opened up: sharp hammer blows that shook the whole ship. More followed, and soon the new 40mm guns rattled away on targets behind Adams in a thunderous crescendo. What’s goin’ on back there?
Then he saw them – a small formation of planes, knifing down from the starboard quarter. Torpedo planes, painted dark. Black AA puffs from the trailing screeners suddenly dotted the sky around them. Ahead, Skipper Thach roared off the deck – finally! – as Yorktown steadied up southeast. Behind Adams, the Japanese drew closer. And under the Nakajimas were torpedoes – slung like an osprey carries a fish. The formation separated, and two planes veered off east. They’re gonna anvil us! he thought. As Dibb roared away, Adams hoped he’d be able to get airborne. Only one ahead – the XO.
C’mon!
Clear of the bow, Thach banked right as he raised his gear and accelerated. No time to climb or rendezvous with Dibb, and the radio was alive with calls from the CAP. They seemed involved with contacts to the north, but Thach saw the enemy formation off his right wing, about three miles and closing. He locked eyes on the first one, allowing himself to swing wide and build airspeed as he continued to crank the gear up. He figured he had a minute before the torpedo bomber could drop on his ship. Whoa, they’re fast for big planes! A cruiser on the right fired at two of them with tracers and big guns on the bow. The Japanese continued in, relentless.
Thach flew his Wildcat by feel, less than 200 feet above the water, his eyes not leaving the lead Nakajima. He would kill him, had to. Killing the squadron leader like they had killed Lem was all that mattered now. Guns charged. Airspeed building. C’mon!
Thach brought the torpedo plane to his nose. With shell splashes below and tracers arcing above, he focused on the speeding plane. The Jap showed Thach his gray underside. He doesn’t see me.
The torpedo bomber raced along the wave tops with his wing still up. Thach watched the geometry build and positioned his nose on a spot the Nakajima would fly through. Flat-side and almost full deflection. Now.
Thach’s guns chattered as he squeezed the trigger, watching his tracers converge on his target as it flew into them. The left wing blazed up at once with a bright yellow that turned into black smoke as it continued ahead. Thach pulled up and over, looking down on the burning wing, its ribs already exposed. The tail had bright yellow bands on a green base and giant red meatballs on the tip of each wing. Three men inside.
Damn! He dropped it!
Helpless, Thach watched the torpedo separate from the burning bomber and head toward Yorktown. As it slapped the water, the plane’s flaming wing buckled, and after two quick rotations the bomber dove into the sea off Yorktown’s starboard quarter.
The carrier’s fire was on Thach now, small stuff bracketing him above and below. Thach braced himself and threw up a wing to escape. He descended to the water and ran up Yorktown’s wake, away from her – and with another kill after only four minutes airborne.
As he skirted the enemy screen to the north, Maruyama watched Tomonaga’s chutai split up.
“Lieutenant Tomonaga is attacking,” he told his crewmates as Nakao maintained position and Hamada scanned for Grummans. Maruyama saw a Grumman approach the lead plane from the blind side – watch out! – before it suddenly flamed up, bright and pulsing. Tomonaga continued in. Would he dash himself against the carrier’s hull? Then, without warning, the kankō fluttered down to the sea with a splash.
Should I tell them? Maruyama thought. No, no need.
Adams taxied into position, frantic to get his Wildcat off the ship. He stood on the brakes to rev up his engine, eyes on the launch officer who was vigorously waving his flag. Adams caught himself nodding at the lieutenant – Engine’s good! I’m good! – to coax him to set him free. The launch officer nodded back – and lunged forward.
When he released the brakes, Adams’s Wildcat jumped ahead, rolling toward the island as gunners in the port gallery opened fire. He guided the F4F just right of centerline to avoid the bomb-damaged deck as sailors on the island pointed aft. Past the island, the tailwheel was off, and the 1.1-inch battery forward was shooting over him at something. Sonofabitch!
A concussive shock wave from the port 5-incher swept through his open cockpit as the flash bloomed off his left. His moved his head back and forth to assess the deck as it rushed up to him and search for the unknown threat masked in water spray, tracers, black AA puffs, and escort ship gun fire. What the heck am I flying into!
Like the XO, he turned left off the bow – into the threat, the unknown threat. What threat? he wondered. Everyone sees it but me.
Struggling to fly his heavy dash-4 and crank up the gear, he ran the prop pitch up manually and cursed in frustration. He was behind - not ready yet! – and he still couldn’t make out a threat in the confused scene behind him. He kept the turn in, furiously cranking up the gear, inside the screen, inside a wild crossfire of flak and tracers that only a crazy man would fly into.
Over his left shoulder, he saw it.
A single Nakajima, painted green, between him and a screening cruiser. The Jap hugged the deck, splashes lagging behind as the gunners tried to assess lead. It was damned fast, and going for a position off Yorktown’s bow, from which it would turn in to attack. Adams roared over a destroyer that fired everything it had – at the Jap and at him. The constant roar of the ships’ automatic guns and the thunderous booms of the five-inch filled his cockpit.
The bomber banked over another tin can that was firing like crazy, belly up to Adams. He doesn’t see me! he thought and pulled hard into the Nakajima’s flat side. Inside a mile now, the torpedo it carried was big, almost as long at the airplane. By habit, Adams rolled to check his own belly – nothing but the crazy destroyer gunners shooting at him – and pulled back in, guns charged and gear finally up.
He slid to the enemy’s eight o’clock as it leveled its wings and flew even closer to the water. Adams pushed the throttle as hard as he ever had to close the range before the enemy plane dropped against his ship. As they raced, both of them flew inside a maelstrom of spray and yellow lights coming from every direction. A giant splash off his left made him flinch, and the Jap was inside 1,000 yards of Yorktown, where the torpeckers said they liked to drop. Adams had no time to track, to aim, and as he slid to the enemy’s seven, he pulled his nose in front and squeezed a long burst.
He had been airborne two minutes.
Hits registered on the Nakajima, but it continued ahead, leading Adams into the teeth of Yorktown’s desperate fusillade of AA fire. Among the splashes and smoke, the bright impacts and confused tracers, the Japanese torpedo dropped free.
Damn! Adams cursed as he held the trigger down, hosing the Nakajima as it continued toward the carrier. It veered off on the wake as Yorktown’s port side gunners fired at it in ferocious rage. The green airplane started to smoke as Adams closed it, now more afraid of the rabid-dog sailors in the catwalks. The plane’s tail-gunner had so far ignored him amid the black puffs, spray and cordite, and the dancing, supersonic fireflies of death.
Adams kept hammering the torpedo-bomber as he followed the Jap further into the hailstorm of angry lead. The tail-gunner stood and raised his arm, seeming to shake his fist at Yorktown. At that instant, his bomber exploded underneath him. By instinct and with a startled cry, Adams yanked the Wildcat up and right, flying through an edge of flame as it turned into black smoke. He cursed in fear and frustration when a piece of metal smacked his windscreen and froze in pla
ce.
“It’s me, you idiots!” he cried as he rolled his Wildcat inverted over the water, tracers all around him, his nose pointed at the waves before he scooped out above them, his shoulders hunched as if to somehow brace himself for a stray tracer that would take his head off. Through his seat, he felt hits on the airframe – bullets or fragments? – and spray from spent rounds lifted higher than his wing line. He sprinted to a hole between two destroyers that, by instinct, lashed out automatic gunfire at him and anything that dared to fly inside the angry beehive. Their starboard side guns took half-hearted shots at him as he broke free of the defensive circle, and, for the first time in four minutes, Adams checked his fuel: under 15 gallons! He throttled back and lifted his plane into a shallow climb, glancing over his left shoulder at Yorktown, still fighting for her life. No longer able to help, Adams inhaled great lungfuls of salt air as he watched her.
Chapter 26
Hiryū B5N strike group, 1440 June 4, 1942
Maruyama strained against the steady g-force as Nakao hung on the outside of the turn. This was it, a descending right-hand turn to attack just like his own Hiryū Type 97s had performed that early December morning, but, unlike that morning, turning in against an alerted and suddenly capable enemy, an enemy hell-bent on killing all the kankōs the First Air Fleet could muster.
In the cloud breaks above them, Zero-sens tangled with the Grummans. Maruyama could not tell who was winning. No matter. They were in, breaking free of the cloud bank along the screen’s perimeter. They took fire from a destroyer almost at once, flying right over it. Hashimoto’s vee of five kankōs were naked now, alone, pulling and sprinting hard into a dozen gray ships that fired defiant flame at the pitiful attackers.
Inside their defenses, Maruyama contemplated his target: a carrier, a moving carrier. Awestruck, he identified it as an Enterprise class, just like the recognition silhouettes, undamaged, its massive castle-like superstructure dominating the whole fleet…with Grummans taking off! The enormous ship glowed, swathed in a halo of white gun smoke.