by Bruce Gamble
High above the Japanese warships, the pilots of Bombing 12 performed wingovers at prescribed intervals, acquiring the separation needed for their dives. Next they extended huge perforated flaps to control their speed, then tipped into near-vertical dives. Here the months of extensive training paid off. Committed to their dives, the SBDs were individual entities, each pilot solely responsible for the success or failure of his thousand-pound bomb.
Facing aft, the rear seat gunners were nearly on their backs as the Dauntlesses plummeted earthward. During the two-mile plunge, one of the gunners provided commentary over the intercom. At the beginning of the dive, Aviation Radioman First Class Myles C. James reported to his pilot, Lt. j.g. John V. Lucas, that most of the antiaircraft bursts were behind the plane. Then the accuracy and intensity of the gunnery improved. “They are hitting on our left now,” James reported. Moments later he added, “They are hitting on our right … I give up; they are all around us.”
After releasing his bomb over a “Tone-class cruiser,” Lucas hauled back on the joystick in a high-g pullout. The SBD was rocked by a direct hit. Smoke began to fill the cockpit. Lucas keyed the intercom, trying to raise his young gunner, but James did not respond.
Lucas’s bomb narrowly missed Chikuma, causing minor damage to her hull and machinery. Bristling with antiaircraft weapons, including eight 5-inch guns and nearly sixty 25mm rapid-fire cannons, the heavy cruiser may well have hit Lucas’s SBD from behind as it pulled out. The shell impacted the center of the rear compartment on the starboard side, probably killing James instantly.
Over the next few minutes, in clusters of two or three planes, Saratoga’s dive-bombers roared down on the anchored or slow-moving cruisers. The 661-foot Maya, a heavy cruiser of the Takao class, had just cast off her fueling lines and was barely underway when a bomb, possibly dropped by Newell, hit the scout plane deck on the port side. The explosion wrecked the aircraft deck, deformed the hull, and started an intense fire that spread belowdecks to the number 3 engine room. The explosion and subsequent blaze caused 130 casualties, including 70 crewmen killed.
Another heavy bomb hit Takao on the main deck just to starboard of the number 2 turret, killing twenty-three crewmen. With two main turrets damaged, Takao eventually returned to Japan for repairs.
Heavy cruiser Atago, also of the Takao class, was still refueling when three SBDs attacked. All three bombs missed by fifty feet or less, hitting the water in a tight grouping just off the port side amidships. Concussion and scything steel splinters proved lethal for twenty-two members of the crew. One of the unfortunates was commanding officer Capt. Nobuki Nakaoka, killed by a bomb fragment while standing the bridge.
Another heavy cruiser, Mogami, suffered extensive damage from a hit almost identical to the one that damaged Takao. Still at anchor, Mogami was struck by a thousand-pounder that penetrated the main deck between the first two turrets, slightly to starboard, and detonated on the middle deck. The explosion inside the confined space caused major damage to both sides of the hull and both decks, and started intense fires. Nineteen crewmembers were killed, and deliberate flooding of the forward magazines was necessary to prevent the flames from reaching the eight-inch ammunition. With the magazines fully flooded, Mogami’s bow settled to within about seven feet of the harbor surface.
Among the heavy cruisers, only Suzuya managed to avoid hits or damaging near misses from the dive-bombers. Two of the three light cruisers did sustain damage. Agano, slightly damaged three days earlier during the B-25 attack, suffered a near miss by a thousand-pounder that damaged a high-angle antiaircraft gun and killed one sailor. No bombs landed near Noshiro, but the cruiser’s thin hull was holed by strafing. The pilot responsible may have been Lt. Cdr. Vincent W. Hathorn, executive officer of Bombing 12. After releasing his bomb over Chikuma, Hathorn pulled out of his dive and found himself “face-to-face with the eight-inch guns of a Jap cruiser.” The warship seemed to be firing everything it had at Hathorn, and at point-blank range. “The only thing I could think of doing,” he stated later, “was pull my gun switch and give him return fire from my two fixed .50-caliber guns.”
With twenty-two bombs—many of which narrowly missed their targets—Newell’s SBDs had damaged five of the six heavy cruisers in Simpson Harbor. Two destroyers, Amagiri and Fujinami, received minor damage from near misses.
Next came the torpedo squadrons. Coordinating their attacks to commence as soon as the SBDs pulled out of their dives, the Avenger crews of Torpedo Squadron 12 and Composite Squadron 23 were under pressure. Their low, slow approaches exposed them to withering enemy gunfire, and the U.S. Navy had achieved poor results with aerial torpedoes throughout the first two years of the war.
One reason was the torpedoes. Whether launched by submarines or dropped from aircraft, American torpedoes suffered from a high percentage of duds and misses. Unfortunately for Harrington, the results achieved on November 5 were typical. All the TBFs dropped their “fish” except one, which hung up in the bomb bay. Set to run at a depth of eight feet, the torpedoes were reported as running straight and true, yet only five definite hits were claimed. The crews’ after-action reports included diagrams with hand-drawn silhouettes of the various cruisers attacked, each showing the specific location where the torpedo allegedly exploded. Contrary to the claims, Japanese records indicate only two actual hits, both of which turned out to be duds. The light cruiser Noshiro received minor hull damage from one, and the destroyer Fujinami suffered a leaking fuel tank from the other. The torpedo’s collision with the light hull of the destroyer killed one crewman and wounded nine.
For the American fliers, the hardest part of the strike was yet to come. Twisting and weaving between ribbons of tracer fire, the pilots pushed hard on the throttle as they flew through a curtain of fire. Jinking, skidding, pulling up occasionally to hop over a ship in their path, they looked for friendly planes to join with.
Now the Zeros attacked aggressively, trying to force planes out of formation and overwhelm them. Clifton’s Hellcats were still close by, however, leading to dozens of individual engagements. Some of the Zeros that tried to attack dive-bombers or torpedo bombers were jumped by Hellcats. Like a swirling gang fight, the encounters were short and vicious. No pilot could focus for long on an opponent, lest he get hit by an opportunistic enemy.
The high-speed melee moved progressively farther from Rabaul. Surprisingly, Saratoga’s aircraft escaped from the caldera with only one additional loss. Bombing 12’s Lt. j.g. Arthur L. Teall, shot down over the harbor, was picked up by the Japanese and imprisoned in the Kempeitai compound. (The fate of his rear gunner is unknown.) Atwell, shot down by antiaircraft fire early in the strike, was the only other Saratoga flier knocked down by Zeros or antiaircraft fire.
Princeton’s fliers suffered higher casualties. Two of the seven Avengers from Composite Squadron 23 were shot down outright, and a third suffered total hydraulic failure. Upon reaching the carrier, it ditched alongside Princeton and stayed afloat long enough for all three crewmembers to escape. Two other Avengers landed aboard with battle damage deemed repairable on the ship.
The Hellcats of Fighting 23 also encountered heavy opposition. Two were shot down by Zeros and a third was mauled, requiring a complete overhaul. Five were trapped aboard with repairable damage. In all, Princeton lost three Hellcats and three Avengers, with five pilots and four enlisted crewmen killed or missing in action. One pilot and two crewmen earned Purple Hearts for combat wounds.
Princeton’s fighter pilots acquitted themselves well in their first combat. Nine Japanese planes were officially destroyed, including four listed in post-action reports as Ki-61 Tonys. One of these was credited to Henry Miller; however, as the JAAF did not have an operational fighter unit at Rabaul during that period, the encounter was almost certainly against a D4Y1 Judy flown by Air Group 501. With its similar profile, the inline-engine Judy would have looked much like a Tony, especially in the heat of a high-speed engagement. Miller and his pilots were duly impress
ed, reporting that the “Tony demonstrated superb maneuverability and higher speed than the F6F in the horizontal or in a climb.”
Clifton’s squadron tangled with even more enemy fighters. Of the thirty-two pilots in Fighting 12 who flew close or medium cover, half were involved in gunfights resulting in claims for victories, probable victories, or damage to enemy aircraft. In practically every case, the pilots shooting were division or section leaders; wingmen who stayed with their leader typically witnessed aerial engagements but rarely got an opportunity to fire their own guns.
With one exception, VF-12’s contacts were strictly against Zekes. Clifton downed one and claimed a probable. The day’s biggest haul went to Lt. John Magda, leader of the 2nd Division, which covered a group of dive-bombers. During the egress, more than twenty Zekes intercepted the SBDs from about four thousand feet above them. Magda was soon embroiled in nonstop action:
The sky became filled with Jap planes coming in on the SBDs from all angles. With a no-deflection shot to the stern, Magda got a Zeke which pulled in front of him. This plane exploded soon after the initial hits. Magda probably downed another Zeke appearing off his starboard bow because the plane smoked badly and fell out of the fight. Magda then caught a Zeke closing on an SBD. After the first burst, the Zeke turned off the SBD but Magda stayed on the Jap’s tail until he flamed, rolled on his back, and crashed into the water. By this time, more SBDs had joined up, the average altitude being about 1000 feet. Magda caught another Zeke after an SBD. With two successive bursts from 45 degrees to 60 degrees deflection, this Zeke burst into flames.
Magda was credited with destroying three Zekes and probably a fourth. Another lieutenant in Fighting 12, section leader Rollin E. Gray, officially destroyed two, probably a third, and damaged two more.
Lieutenant j.g. Earl B. Crawford reported that he caught a Ki-21 Sally taking off from Tobera airdrome. Attacking from its two o’clock, he fired into the aircraft’s right engine, which burst into flames. The Japanese did lose one twin-engine aircraft, a transport, which was destroyed as a result of a crash-landing. Otherwise, total combat losses amounted to three Reisens and one Suisei, equating to three of the claimed Zekes and a so-called “Tony.”
WHILE THE AMERICAN dive-bombers, torpedo planes, and fighters faced intense opposition at low altitude, one of the day’s most dramatic combats occurred almost two miles above Simpson Harbor.
Caldwell, escorted by two Hellcats, remained at ten thousand feet to evaluate the strike. The fliers marveled at the action from their spectacular vantage point. Barnett snapped multiple images of warships under attack, some of his frames showing the crippled Maya on fire, others revealing clouds of white smoke rising from cruisers that fired their main batteries.
Caldwell could tell the attack caused confusion among the Japanese. Antiaircraft fire from shore batteries appeared to be hitting some of the ships, just as gunfire from warships could be seen raking Vulcan Crater. As the attack progressed, Caldwell noticed at least one heavy cruiser taking potshots at him with its high-angle guns.
For a few minutes, Caldwell and his escorts remained relatively safe. But the tenor of the morning suddenly changed. Some of Barnett’s photographs showed warships getting underway, others racing out of the harbor toward open water, by which time the observers had lingered too long. The bombing and torpedo squadrons completed their attacks and egressed from Simpson Harbor, hotly pursued by Zeros, which left Caldwell and his escorts alone and cut off.
The Japanese didn’t take long to figure out that the aircraft circling overhead with two escorts was important. Caldwell finally turned southeast toward Saratoga and Task Force 38, but before his formation got beyond Blanche Bay, eight Zeros swept into view. Ensign Roberts, flying on Caldwell’s left wing, quickly found himself outmatched: “I suddenly saw Zeros coming at us from every which way. One of them got on Crockett’s tail. I got on that Zero and got him smoking. Then from another side, little red arrows squirted into my cockpit, and bullets bounced. I picked a hot one out of my lap. Then a 20mm cannon shell exploded at my ankle and hit my main battery cable, severing it and leaving me without electrical instruments.”
Lacking vital equipment, including the radio, IFF (identification, friend or foe), and the gun sight, Roberts veered into a cloud for safety. When he emerged, there was no sign of Caldwell or Crockett. He headed into another cloud to gather his wits. Realizing there was nothing he could do for the others, Roberts turned southeast toward the carriers. He was unable to home in on Saratoga’s radio beacon, so he missed the task force entirely. Rather than wasting fuel in a visual search, he continued southeast and made an emergency landing at the newly completed airstrip on Vella Lavella, nearly four hundred miles from Rabaul.
With Roberts gone, Caldwell’s TBF and its lone escort faced the Japanese fighters’ full fury. Both planes were raked repeatedly with machine-gun fire. Caldwell saw one Zero settle in just 150 feet behind Crockett and pulverize his F6F. Yet the lieutenant still managed to pull his nose around and flame a Zero as it rolled out from a gunnery pass.
Then it was Caldwell’s turn in the barrel. He looked to his left and saw Crockett still on his wing, his face bloody. Caldwell’s crew fought back with their single machine guns—Aviation Ordnanceman 2nd Class Kenneth Bratton in the rear turret and Aviation Chief Radioman Robert W. Morey firing a flexible .30-caliber from the ventral tunnel—but the TBF took a terrible beating. Enemy gunfire damaged the elevators, and destroyed the hydraulic system and intercom. Barnett continued to snap photographs as Bratton and Morey jointly knocked down a Zeke, after which Bratton damaged two more fighters. But then a stream of bullets penetrated the Plexiglas turret and put Bratton out of action, smashing his left knee; another slug entered his upper thigh.
With the turret silenced, a Zero slid behind the Avenger, avoiding the line of fire from Morey’s ventral gun. A long burst of machine-gun fire ripped through the lower fuselage. Morey could only hunker down as the bullets rattled through the radio compartment. Several fragments wounded him in the shoulder, face, and neck. One nearly spent round lodged in his arm, sticking partially out of the skin.
Standing in the compartment above, Barnett was still clicking away. A bullet hit his camera, so he grabbed another. Then a Zero rolled in for a deflection shot on the port side. Barnett pointed his camera at the aggressor, its black engine cowling almost filling the viewfinder. Just as Barnett released the shutter, the Japanese pilot triggered a burst at nearly point blank range. Bullets from the twin 7.7mm machine guns in the nose, which were mated to mechanical synchronizers, passed through the propeller arc and converged on the Avenger’s rear cockpit. Barnett evidently turned to duck at the last instant, but was struck squarely in the back of the head by a bullet. He collapsed immediately and died within minutes of severe hemorrhage.*
Just when it seemed the Japanese would finish off the two mangled planes, they turned away. The damage reports on both aircraft mentioned numerous holes from 7.7mm bullets, but no hits from 20mm shells. Perhaps the Japanese had run out of ammunition. Although both aircraft looked like sieves, their powerplants still ran smoothly. Both planes came from Grumman Aeronautical Engineering Company’s factory on Long Island. It was known as the Iron Works, a nickname based on Grumman’s reputation for building indestructible airplanes.
Crockett’s F6F had 268 bullet holes, including 54 in the cockpit. Crockett bled from several wounds, but they proved superficial. The armor plate behind his seat had saved his life. The Hellcat, too, flew better than it looked, as Crockett followed Caldwell’s lead back to the carriers. In the TBF, meanwhile, Caldwell thought he was alone with three dead crewmen until Morey handed him a deliberately optimistic note: “Bratton and Barnett are out of commission. Everything else O.K.” The plane was far from okay, of course, but getting back to the ship would be Caldwell’s responsibility.
Aboard Princeton and Saratoga, the landing signal officers and deck crews expertly recovered the returning planes. Few participants had esca
ped Rabaul without damage. Some planes were severely shot up, their pilots rattled, and aircraft with wounded aboard were given priority. After trapping aboard Princeton, Crockett was hospitalized briefly in the ship’s dispensary. His Hellcat, deemed repairable after bringing its pilot home, required a complete overhaul.
John Lucas bounced down on Saratoga’s deck with a jagged, gaping hole in his SBD’s fuselage and streaks of blood trailing down the aluminum skin. As soon as his plane was parked, deck crews strained to lift James’s body out of the shattered rear cockpit.
Farrington made it back to the carrier, but could not land aboard because both his TBF’s ailerons had been shot apart. Although he ditched successfully alongside Saratoga, only Farrington and his turret gunner escaped before the damaged Avenger sank.
Caldwell faced a naval aviator’s ultimate challenge: landing on a straight, narrow deck in a badly damaged plane with no flaps, ailerons, or radio, and only one main wheel extended. Even with 109 holes in his Avenger’s fuselage, wings, and tail, Caldwell made a near-perfect arrested landing. Physically drained, he lingered in the cockpit while deckhands rushed to aid his crew. One of the first to reach the canted plane was Saratoga’s flight deck officer, Lt. Julius “Julie” Bescos, a famed multisport athlete and coach at the University of Southern California. He and several others teamed up to pull Bratton from his turret. A photograph shows Bratton as he is extricated from the plane, his face twisted in pain. The photograph by Lt. Wayne Miller became an enduring image of the Pacific war—more famous than the photographs that cost Barnett his life.
AT RABAUL, THE uneasy Captain Hara had taken Shigure out of Simpson Harbor as soon as the air raid sirens sounded. Receiving the all clear about three-quarters of an hour later, he guided his warship back into the caldera. The Eighth Fleet’s home was no longer the same: