by Bruce Gamble
I was stunned at what had happened in less than an hour… . What a disgrace!
Flagship Atago was burning, and her sisters Maya and Takao were damaged. These three heavy cruisers, each packing the firepower of a squadron of destroyers, were disabled in one raid, after having been conserved for a full year without ever engaging the enemy on the high seas. Also damaged were heavy cruisers Mogami and Chikuma, and light cruisers Agano and Noshiro, as well as destroyers Fujinami and Amagiri. I rubbed my eyes and wondered if this could be real.
It was all too real. The ordinarily mild Kusaka was furious. At Rabaul headquarters he bellowed imprecations at everyone.
Spurred by Kusaka’s wrath, airmen from the 1st Carrier Division tried to atone for the debacle. The outcome was one of the most outrageous exaggerations of the Pacific war. Late that afternoon, four Type 97 carrier attack aircraft (Nakajima B5N2 “Kates”) from Zuikaku and Zuiho, temporarily based at Rabaul for Operation Ro-Go, took off to conduct vector searches for the American fleet. At 1515 Tokyo time, approximately an hour after the first pathfinder departed, Lt. Hagane Kiyomiya led fourteen Kates aloft. Armed with torpedoes, they headed southwest. Eighty minutes later, Kiyomiya received a report from the second sector patrol, which had sighted four cruisers, five destroyers, and “two transports resembling carriers” three hundred statute miles from Rabaul, bearing 130 degrees. At 1640, the first sector plane confirmed the sighting. This was undoubtedly Task Force 38. During the next forty-five minutes, Sherman’s warships slipped away into the dusk.
The strike force flew a heading of 138 degrees from Rabaul until 1702, when the first sector plane transmitted a homing signal and Kiyomiya turned his force left to a heading of 120 degrees. At 1710, the torpedo bombers made visual contact with the targets.
Japanese newspapers described the outcome as a victory for the ages:
Thirty minutes after the sun sank beneath the horizon, reconnaissance planes of the Imperial Navy spotted the powerful enemy mobile units heading north at sea south of Bougainville.
Fourteen torpedo planes which had been primed for action at their Rabaul base hopped off immediately after receiving the radio flash.
Detecting the enemy fleet midway between Mono and Woodlark Islands to the south of Bougainville at 5:15 p.m., the Navy Eagles swooped right down upon the enemy craft, which comprised two aircraft carriers, four cruisers, and five destroyers.
Scoring deadly torpedoes on a large enemy aircraft carrier, the Navy Eagles caused a violent explosion amidships, sinking her within two minutes. Scoring further hits on another aircraft carrier, which was slightly smaller than the first, the Navy Eagles set her ablaze, sending her to her watery grave shortly afterward.
The Navy Eagles, continuing their relentless attack on the escorting auxiliary craft, sunk two large cruisers, and two cruisers or destroyers out of nine. Thus the mainstay of the fleet and the majority of the escorting craft were sent down to the bottom.
The victory would have been astounding, had it happened. Instead, hampered by darkness, the Kates had stumbled upon a three-vessel convoy—an LCI, an LCT, and an Elco PT boat—the largest only 158 feet long. They were headed toward the Treasury Islands from Torokina when the Japanese launched their torpedo attack. One Kate clipped the radio mast of PT-167 and cartwheeled into the sea. Its torpedo broke loose and punched through the boat’s plywood hull, leaving its tail section in the crew’s head. The PT boat’s gunner subsequently shot down a second Kate, which splashed so close that he and other crewmen on the stern were soaked with spray.
Most of the attackers went after LCI-70. Because of her shallow draft, three of the four torpedoes launched at her passed under the keel. The fourth would have missed, but it happened to porpoise upward, piercing the engine room. Although the warhead failed to explode, its impact killed one sailor.
That was all the damage suffered by the “mainstay of the fleet.” Four of the torpedo bombers failed to return, including Kiyomiya’s aircraft, but the Japanese press proudly gave front page coverage to the engagement, which they called the “Air Battle Off Bougainville Island.”
The propaganda may have fooled the citizenry, but no one else believed it.
Kusaka later wrote: “I was skeptical of these claims, as of Japanese claims generally at this time, knowing full well the marked drop in the skill of our pilots during the past year. But to question the claims … would simply have frustrated the men, who were doing the best they could.”
The day after the carrier raid, heavy cruisers Atago, Mogami, and Takao departed for Truk. Mogami required emergency repairs before sailing for the Home Islands. There she underwent repairs and modifications for two months. Atago arrived at Yokosuka in mid-November and underwent repairs for a month, while Takao was out of action in Yokosuka for two months. Maya, whose “vitals were destroyed,” according to Hara, received emergency repairs at Rabaul before spending five months in a Yokosuka dry dock.
The carrier attack left Hara feeling deep resentment. “The futility of our losses and the stupidity of our high command struck me forcibly,” he wrote, “and I cursed aloud while wondering what Japan could do.”
*When Halsey soloed at Pensacola in 1934, he insisted on participating in a time-honored tradition. Thus his fellow classmates, mostly ensigns, tossed him off the seawall into Escambia Bay.
*A flight instructor at Ellyson Field, Pensacola, in early 1942, then-Lt. “Hank” Miller was temporarily assigned to Eglin Field, where he taught carrier takeoff techniques to Lt. Col. Jimmy Doolittle and the other B-25 pilots who flew the raid on Tokyo in April 1942.
*Considering the family-oriented reputation of The Saturday Evening Post, together with the conventions of what was considered responsible reporting during World War II, the magazine’s description of Barnett’s death in a 1944 article was exceedingly graphic: “He had barely finished snapping the shutter when a 7.7mm bullet—about the size of his fianćee’s little finger—tore the back of his head off. He fell forward over his camera, and his warm blood carried forward and covered the group commander, so that he had to remove his goggles and wipe off the blood smears.”
CHAPTER 15
Carrier Raid Redux
ALTHOUGH THE CARRIER raid on November 5 sank no ships and cost nine planes and fourteen lives, the damage to the Japanese saved the Empress Augusta Bay beachhead. Furthermore, the cruisers never returned to Rabaul.
The raid’s timing had been vitally important. The venerable Saratoga, given an opportunity to redeem her reputation, proved that even an aging flattop could move a powerful striking force over a long distance in a short time. Were it not for the two carriers and the personnel of Task Force 38, the Japanese cruiser force assembled at Rabaul may well have smashed the American units at Empress Augusta Bay, both afloat and ashore.
On the evening of November 5, Bull Halsey was overjoyed by the news that the Japanese cruiser force was no longer a threat. “I took a deep breath,” he later wrote, “so did the men at Torokina; so did Ted Sherman.”
Giddy with relief, Halsey radioed a glowing message to Task Force 38:
REPORT OF ATTACK IS REAL MUSIC TO ME. WHEN THE SARATOGA IS GIVEN A CHANCE SHE IS DEADLY. PRINCETON TOO TAKES A DEEP INITIAL BOW IN THE SOUTH PACIFIC. MAY THE JAP CRIPPLES PERMANENTLY BE BURIED IN DAVY JONES LOCKER. A FUNERAL DIRGE HAS BEEN SOUNDED FOR TOJO’S STRONGEST SOUTH PACIFIC BASE.
Only one aspect of the day’s effort annoyed him. Kenney had pledged to launch his heavy bombers for a simultaneous attack on Rabaul’s supply dumps and waterfront. But as Halsey noted, the last thing his navy fliers saw as they left Rabaul was Kenney’s bombers arriving late. Halsey would later write: “I have always resented the feebleness of his support at this critical time, and I told General MacArthur as much the next time I saw him.”
Halsey had gotten erroneous information. Three squadrons of the 43rd Bomb Group participated, sending twenty-seven Liberators to Rabaul with an escort of fifty-eight P-38s. Enemy opposition was light, but Dick Bong was credite
d with two more victories, his last over Rabaul, which brought his personal total to twenty-one. The B-24s unloaded thousand-pounders and antipersonnel bombs over the populated waterfront area, just minutes after the carrier planes finished their attack. Casualties among the Japanese reportedly ran in the hundreds.
Two days later the B-24s were back. This time, the 90th Bomb Group’s four depleted squadrons put only twenty-six Liberators over the target, Rapopo airdrome. Responding with fifty-eight interceptors, the Japanese tangled hotly with the bombers and their P-38 escorts. According to members of the 9th Fighter Squadron, some fifty air-to-air phosphorus bombs were dropped over the B-24s. The bursts were spectacular but caused little measurable damage. On the other hand, the P-38s were worked over by the Japanese fighters, despite the participation of top aces such as Bong and Kirby. Five P-38s were shot down, including Bong’s wingman, Lt. Stanley Johnson.
Another victim, Lt. Alphonse D. Quinones of the 39th Fighter Squadron/35th Group, was a relative newcomer. After his squadron engaged with fifty interceptors, his right engine lost its coolant. Shortly thereafter the engine began to burn; then the left engine also caught fire. Diving to snuff the fires failed, and Quinones hit the silk at 350 miles per hour. Miraculously he survived the high-speed bailout, but subsequently became a prisoner at the Kempeitai compound.
While the B-24s kept pressure on Rabaul, Saratoga returned to Espiritu Santo for replenishment. On the evening of her arrival, Admiral Halsey invited the ship’s officers to a party on the newly added upper deck of the Officers’ Club. Eager to celebrate the outcome of the carrier raid, Halsey rolled out the red carpet. All the attendees, recalled Marvin Harper, were impressed by Halsey’s personal attention:
When we got off the ship, instead of having to walk, there was a line of vehicles—jeeps and trucks—to take us to the club. We thought that was pretty nice. When we got there and went upstairs, there was a line of senior Navy and Marine Corps officers. I introduced myself to the first officer in line, and he would introduce me to the next in line. As I entered the door a junior officer asked me my call sign. I told him I was Harpo. When I got up to Admiral Halsey, who of course was at the end of the line, he stuck out his hand and said, “Hello, Harpo!” And behind me, he said to Charlie Motz, “Hello, Moto, good job!” We were so flattered.
A month before the Bougainville campaign started, Halsey had flown to Pearl Harbor for a planning conference with Admiral Nimitz. He argued that he needed aircraft carriers—at the time he had only the oft-criticized Saratoga—which resulted in the arrival of Princeton on October 22. Subsequently, Nimitz decided to loan Halsey three new carriers for “a warm-up operation” before the invasion of the Gilberts commenced on November 20. In late October, Nimitz released the new fleet carriers Essex and Bunker Hill, the light carrier Independence, and a screening force of cruisers and destroyers to Halsey. Operating as Task Group 50.3, commanded by Rear Adm. Alfred E. Montgomery, the carriers reached Espiritu Santo on November 5. Immediately, the cruisers and all but two of the destroyers in the screening force were detached to protect the beachhead at Bougainville. It took Halsey a few days to obtain replacements, so he temporarily attached the tin cans of Destroyer Division 15 to Montgomery’s task group.
Seizing an opportunity to hit Rabaul again, Halsey and his staff drew up another attack plan. “Five air groups … ought to change the name of Rabaul to Rubble,” he quipped.
The date chosen for the raid was November 11, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the end of World War I.
Rabaul, presumed weaker than it had been on November 5, would be attacked separately by the two carrier forces. Saratoga and Princeton would launch first from due east of Rabaul, followed an hour later by Montgomery’s three carriers, steaming about two hundred miles southwest of Task Force 38. Although the plan diminished the intensity of hitting Rabaul with all five air groups simultaneously, divideing the ships into two groups minimized the risk should the Japanese launch a strong counterattack.
Other aspects of the plan were similar to the previous strike. Land-based squadrons from New Georgia would provide CAP for the carriers during the raid, and V Bomber Command would send heavy bombers to hit select targets around Rabaul. But on this occasion, Kenney advised Whitehead to hedge his commitments. “If Halsey goes in, follow him in on the attack as you have already planned,” he wrote. “If on the other hand Halsey changes his plan and calls off his attack, don’t go into the hornet’s nest with the 5th Air Force. I believe that the Jap will be able to put at least one hundred and fifty fighters in the air by the morning of the 11th.”
Despite his claims about the number of enemy ships sunk and aircraft destroyed, Kenney apparently didn’t believe his own propaganda.
ALL THREE CARRIERS in Montgomery’s task group were new. Essex and Independence, the lead ships in their class, had recently cut their teeth against lightly defended targets in the Central Pacific—Marcus Island in September, followed by Wake Island in October. The forthcoming strike on Rabaul would be Bunker Hill’s first. One of the newest Essex-class carriers, Bunker Hill represented the state of the art in fleet carrier design. Although slightly smaller than Lexington and Saratoga, she was built from the keel up as an aircraft carrier, and thus used space more efficiently. She also boasted excellent speed, heavy armament, survivability, and the capability to launch and recover nearly one hundred aircraft.
The raid also represented an important first for one of Bunker Hill’s embarked squadrons. Bombing 17 would introduce the navy’s newest dive-bomber to combat. Slated to replace the fleet’s aging Dauntlesses, the Curtiss-Wright SB2C Helldiver had endured numerous developmental delays and modifications before its first deployment. About three feet longer than the SBD, the Helldiver was physically much larger, with a gross weight nearly three tons heavier. Its wing span was almost ten feet greater as well, but the main wings folded, unlike those of the SBD, providing far greater economy of space aboard ship. Still, the SB2C earned a reputation for controllability issues, manufacturing defects, lack of power, and shorter range than the beloved Dauntless. The sum was a derogatory nickname: “The Beast.” During the squadron’s months of training under Lt. Cmdr. James E. “Moe” Vose Jr., Bombing 17 lost seven planes to operational accidents, yet Vose, seeing its potential as “a damn good airplane,” did not give up on the Helldiver. Knowing that his squadron would make the combat debut of the SB2C, Vose and his fliers were under pressure to succeed.*
ABOARD TED SHERMAN’S task force, sailing around the north coast of Bougainville, the air crews were well aware that they were headed back to Rabaul. “We were more scared the second time,” remembered Harper. “I was more scared, thinking the Japs would have the same number of airplanes up there.”
The fliers aboard the carriers of Montgomery’s task group, steaming toward a separate launch point south of Bougainville, got the word November 10. Aboard Bunker Hill, the popular Capt. John J. Ballentine picked up a microphone and informed the crew over the ship-wide intercom, called the 1MC. Lieutenant William F. “Red” Krantz, an Avenger pilot in Torpedo Squadron 17, would never forget the announcement:
The captain went on the P.A. system and said, “Our first mission is going to be an attack against Rabaul.” God, the ship was just buzzing at that point. We knew it was the biggest Jap base around, and that it was going to be a tough place to hit.
It was a terrific shock that we were going to hit this place that was well defended, with a lot of fighters and everything. We didn’t know much about Rabaul, but from that time on we were briefed. I know there were a lot of letter writers, sending letters home saying, “If I don’t come back … ” I did that; you had to assume such things.
Most people did. It wasn’t just me. You had to make plans about what to tell someone. I wrote to my wife and told her the usual things: that I loved her, all of that, in case I didn’t come back.
Krantz gathered his crew to rehearse emergency procedures. He’d trained them religiously, getting out on the w
ing of his Avenger almost every day with Aviation Ordnanceman 3rd Class Virgil J. Case and Aviation Radioman 3rd Class Orville L. Miller to practice the checklist for ditching. “A lot of guys laughed at me,” Krantz admitted. “We had a couple of wise-guys in the squadron—but I felt that we should really be on top of procedures.”
Early the next morning, the flight crews gathered for final briefings. The galleys served steak and eggs, but most fliers were too wired to eat. The carrier raid began at sunrise as Saratoga and Princeton, steaming north of Bougainville near the Green Islands, sent up every available plane. The maintenance men had outdone themselves again, prepping 107 aircraft. Thirty-six F6F-3 Hellcats, twenty-three SBD-5 Dauntlesses, and nineteen TBF-1 Avengers took off from Sara, while the smaller Princeton launched twenty Hellcats and nine Avengers. Once airborne, the squadrons assembled by type, the bombers bunching close together, Hellcats taking assigned positions for close, medium, or high cover.
Heading due west, the formation passed over New Ireland, then proceeded directly toward the entrance to Simpson Harbor. The morning sun reflected brightly off towering cumulonimbus clouds, heavy with rain. Unfortunately, an especially large squall covered most of Crater Peninsula, extending to the north over Saint George’s Channel. The storm provided some coverage for the attackers, but Japanese warships would also hide beneath it when the alarm went up.
WHILE THE PLANES of Sherman’s task force were taking off, a strike by twenty-three Liberators of the 43rd Bomb Group hit Lakunai airdrome. Rather than raid Rabaul after the carrier planes attacked, as Kenney had advised, Whitehead ordered the B-24s aloft from New Guinea in the middle of the night. Flying to Rabaul without fighter escort, they bombed Lakunai at dawn. Compared with recent raids, the effort was a whimper. It was also the last time that the Fifth Air Force attacked Rabaul, closing out a campaign that began twenty-one months earlier, when Maj. Dick Carmichael bombed Simpson Harbor with five unescorted B-17s.