A Dawn Like Thunder

by Robert J. Mrazek

  It was the first wave of Japanese dive-bombers from the Shokaku and Zuikaku. Moments later, he and the other returning pilots heard a radio message: “All friendly planes keep clear during the attack.”

  As Fred looked on, two enemy bombers came out of their dives and headed in his direction. He had never seen a Japanese plane up close before. One of them peeled off to make an attack on him.

  Fascinated with its colors and markings, he just watched as the plane sped toward him. When its pilot opened fire, his reverie ended. Fred raised the nose of his Avenger and fired at it with his thirty-caliber nose gun.

  The popgun didn’t faze the Japanese pilot, who came back after him. Behind Fred in the turret, Harry Ferrier fired disciplined bursts of the fifty-caliber machine gun at him until the Japanese pilot finally moved off.

  Over the radio, the Avengers received orders to jettison their payloads before attempting to land. By the time Fred flew over the burning Enterprise, no planes were being allowed to come in. Darkness was falling fast, and he got in line to land aboard the Saratoga. He was still waiting his turn when the Enterprise signaled she was again taking planes, and he made another approach.

  Coming in to land, he saw that the aft section of the flight deck had been blasted upward by one of the bomb hits. As Fred’s Avenger slowed to a crawl, a plane captain with a bandage around his head came up with a flashlight to help him taxi to the elevator.

  Down in the wardroom, the pilots were briefing the intelligence staff on what they had seen and done. Fred was dying for a cigarette, but smoking had been prohibited because of the danger of fire.

  He and his sardonic friend Dick Jaccard, the Dauntless pilot who had made a direct hit on the carrier Hiryu at Midway, were already thinking ahead. If the damage to the Enterprise was as bad as it appeared, she would soon have to head into dry dock. That meant returning to Pearl Harbor, to good food and pretty girls.

  Deciding to look for themselves, he and Jaccard went up to the flight deck in time to watch a flight of Avengers approach the carrier for a landing. The second one slammed into the steel crane at the end of the island, flipping over and coming to rest on its back in a grinding shriek of metal. The two pilots decided to forgo the rest of their inspection tour.

  Early the next morning, they headed topside again. The smell of smoke and cordite was still thick in the air. Repair crews were working to replace the ruptured plates on the flight deck. Through a hole near the aft elevator, Mears could see men working in knee-deep water, clearing wreckage around the ship’s damaged steering gear.

  A Japanese bomb had penetrated down to an ammunition compartment. When the powder had detonated, the explosion had destroyed two five-inch batteries. Fred went into a shattered gun gallery to view the carnage firsthand. In the months since Torpedo Eight had been wiped out at Midway, he had come to view death in the abstract. Later, he put his thoughts down on paper.

  Most of the men died from the concussion, and then were roasted. They were blackened but not burned or withered, and they looked like iron statues of men, their limbs smooth and whole, their heads rounded with no hair. One gun pointer was still in his seat leaning on his sight with one arm. . . . Other iron men were lying outstretched, face up or down. Two or three lying face up were shielding themselves with their arms bent at the elbows and their hands before their faces.

  Later that morning, it was announced in the wardroom that the Enterprise would be heading back to Pearl Harbor. Fred and Dick Jaccard began making plans for how they would spend their shore leaves.

  Wednesday, 26 August 1942

  USS Saratoga

  Torpedo Squadron Eight

  Since June 4, the squadron had not lost a pilot. Now they had lost three in two days. Frenchy Fayle would be remembered for his eccentricity. He had marched to his own drummer, all right, and flew with a nonchalant attitude to danger. He was also capable of surprising the others with his practical knowledge.

  A few weeks earlier, he had come up with an ingenious solution to an ongoing problem with the bomb release shackles. As a reward, Swede had a brass medal struck for him in the Saratoga’s machine shop. He had pinned the “Medaille de Bomb Shackle” on Frenchy’s chest in a mock-formal ceremony.

  The loss of John Taurman hit the rest of the pilots particularly hard. After James Hill Cook, John Taurman was the best-liked pilot in the squadron. He could do a devastating impression of Swede, and would often use it to relieve tension after someone was on the receiving end of one of the lieutenant’s rants.

  A month earlier, when the squadron had been preparing for Guadalcanal and tension was high, he had typewritten and distributed the “Gedunk Intelligence Report,” a two-page explanation for why morale was low among the pilots. According to the report, they had been overdosing on ice-cream sundaes at the Gedunk bar.

  Smiley Morgan wrote a letter to Taurman’s fiancée, Peggy. Back in May, when the squadron had crossed the Pacific aboard the Chaumont, he and John had spent a lot of nights together on the fantail. Smiley had double-dated with them several times, and thought she was terrific. He knew Taurman’s loss would be devastating for her.

  Gene Hanson remembered how Taurman had stood up to Swede after they bombed the native village on Dog Day. Taurman had had a sense of right and wrong that he truly admired.

  Friday, 28 August 1942

  USS Saratoga

  Torpedo Squadron Eight

  In the days after the attacks on the Ryujo and the Japanese cruiser force, Swede kept everyone busy. The squadron had lost three Avengers, and several of the other planes required major repairs. The Torpedo Eight pilots continued to fly daily air patrols.

  Returning to the carrier after flying a mission to Guadalcanal, Smiley Morgan was having lunch in the wardroom when someone yelled out, “Taurman’s alive!” A PBY rescue plane had picked him up along with his two crewmen on the northern coast of San Cristobal Island, to the east of Guadalcanal.

  When he finally made it back, Big John had quite a story to tell.

  On the night they had attacked the Japanese cruisers, Taurman’s plane had been hit by antiaircraft fire right after launching its torpedo. His radio had been shot out and he had been unable to retract his bomb bay doors, which badly slowed the aircraft down. By the time he had gotten through the destroyer screen, the sky was almost pitch black.

  He swung south to try to join up with the others, but with his radio shot out he never heard Swede calling him. The odds of locating the Saratoga alone without his chart board or radio were ridiculous. Taurman could only proceed south and hope that he might spot a landmass familiar enough to lead them back to Guadalcanal.

  Aside from his instrument lights, nothing relieved the blackness of the void they were flying through. About an hour later, a hint of moonlight appeared above him. It gave Taurman the chance to distinguish sky from sea.

  He began passing over several islands. Taurman had no idea if they were Japanese-held, cannibal-held, or uninhabited. As his fuel ran out, those issues seemed less important. He needed to ditch. Coming up on the next landmass, he carefully set the Avenger down in a calm, unrippled bay. His crewmen made it out safely, extracting the life raft before the plane sank. Taurman and his two crewmen paddled across the bay to a sandy beach.

  Island natives must have seen the plane come down because three of them arrived in a hollowed-out canoe early the next morning. The natives were carrying long, machetelike knives. Taurman was worried they might be cannibals until the first one walked up and shook his hand.

  They were lucky to have landed off the island of San Cristobal. Its natives hated the Japanese, and were ready to help those who opposed them. Taurman and his crew were taken in the canoes to a nearby village where the natives killed a wild pig in their honor. They feasted on it that night with taro and sweet potatoes.

  Informed that a “white headman” was living in another coastal village, they paddled over to Kira Kira, where a plantation overseer named Foster entertained them with eggnog and
brandy. While they waited for a rescue plane, Taurman taught Foster how to play hearts and gin rummy. By the time Taurman was finished with his tale, Smiley was looking forward to being shot down.

  Swede asked Taurman what he was going to do. As the survivor of a ditching, he was guaranteed survivor’s leave, which meant he could fly back to the States for a month of rest and relaxation. Or he could stay with the squadron.

  Taurman thought about it and made a joke. “Why would I want to go back to the States?” he asked. The other pilots knew he had been hoping to marry his fiancée, Peggy, as soon as he got the chance.

  “I’ll stay,” said Taurman.

  Saturday, 29 August 1942

  Guadalcanal

  35th Brigade, Japanese Infantry

  General Kiyotake Kawaguchi

  The next phase of the Japanese counteroffensive began under the cover of darkness. Shortly before midnight, a flotilla of Japanese destroyers began landing troop reinforcements on Guadalcanal. They were the advance elements of Major General Kiyotake Kawaguchi’s 35th Infantry Brigade, another elite army unit assigned to retake Henderson Field after the annihilation of Colonel Ichiki’s detachment on August 20.

  The new troops were put ashore at Taivu Point, where the impetuous Colonel Ichiki had landed ten days earlier. Unlike Ichiki, General Kawaguchi was not rash. A former member of the general staff, he had commanded the 35th Brigade in the invasion of Borneo, and then saw action in the Philippines. The Japanese high command had only one criticism of him. He was considered too soft-hearted after he had objected to the revenge killings of pro-American Filipinos by Japanese execution squads.

  Kawaguchi was told not to launch his attack until he had a concentration of force sufficient to take the airfield. Still not sure how many Marines were there, the high command provided six thousand troops. Kawaguchi’s orders were to reconnoiter the situation on the ground. If more men were needed, he had only to ask. Once the field was in Japanese hands, they would rush in even more reinforcements from Rabaul.

  “I think our faith is our strength,” Kawaguchi exhorted his men as they headed for Guadalcanal. “Men who fight bravely, never doubting victory, will be the victors in the long run.”

  At his command post near Henderson Field, General Vandegrift was drafting an urgent request to his superiors for more planes. In the daily air battles over Guadalcanal, his pilots had shot down dozens of enemy aircraft, but there were only eight serviceable Wildcat fighters left to meet the next attack.

  Sunday, 30 August 1942

  USS Saratoga

  Torpedo Squadron Eight

  1200

  Yeoman Jack Stark was in the squadron office when the report arrived that another missing pilot had been rescued. It was Frenchy Fayle.

  His survival tale was similar to Taurman’s. After the torpedo attack on the cruisers, Frenchy had circled around the Japanese fleet. His radio wasn’t working and he never heard Swede calling him.

  Heading south alone, the plane was attacked by a Zero. In the ensuing air battle, Frenchy’s gunner, Eddy Velazquez, used his machine gun to devastating effect, setting the Zero on fire. They watched it explode in the sea.

  The pilot Velazquez had killed was Yoshio Iwaki, a Japanese fighter ace with eight victories. At Midway, Iwaki had claimed credit for shooting down three of the six Avengers led by Langdon Fieberling.

  Frenchy continued flying south in the darkness until his fuel was nearly gone, and then ditched in the sea off the island of Nura. Before the Avenger sank, Velazquez attempted to save his machine gun in case they needed it on the island. Between the weight of the gun and the ammunition belt, he went down like a rock. Deciding the gun wouldn’t be much help to him at the bottom of the Pacific, Velaz-quez let it go. After the crew made it ashore, they were fortunate to be spotted by an Allied coast watcher and then picked up by the USS Gamble.

  Swede asked Frenchy whether he planned to take his guaranteed survivor leave or remain with the squadron. Frenchy promised to write from San Diego and let the other pilots know how the girls were.

  It left a bad feeling with the rest of the men.

  Monday, 31 August 1942

  USS Saratoga

  0748

  At dawn, the Saratoga was zigzagging at thirteen knots southeast of Guadalcanal in concert with the Hornet, which had replaced the Enterprise after the damaged carrier left for repairs at Pearl Harbor.

  Bert Earnest was finally enjoying a good night’s sleep after inheriting Frenchy Fayle’s stateroom. Bill Tunstall was preparing to wash the dirty clothes in his locker. Pete Peterkin had just finished breakfast in the officers’ wardroom and was walking up to the flight deck. Smiley Morgan was already on the flight deck watching “Bullet” Lou Kirn, who commanded one of the bombing squadrons, lead his pilots through morning calisthenics. Jack Stark was sitting in the enlisted men’s mess with a plate of powdered eggs and rice on his lap because the tables and benches had been stacked against the bulkhead. Bill Magee had just spent several hours repairing a plane engine and was about to head down for breakfast. Lee Marona was climbing a gangway ladder from the hangar deck up to the flight deck.

  At 0748, a Type 95 Japanese submarine torpedo weighing nine hundred pounds and traveling at fifty miles an hour slammed into the Saratoga’s starboard side.

  Jack Stark watched his plate of powdered eggs and rice suddenly levitate off his lap and sail over his head. Lee Marona looked up the gangway ladder to see a cloud of snowflakes descending on him. They were loosened paint chips from the bulkhead above him.

  The AP correspondent Clark Lee was fast asleep in his stateroom when he awoke to what felt like a severe earthquake. He watched several pill bottles tumble out of the cabinet over his washbasin and smash to the deck.

  Del Delchamps had been climbing a ladder next to one of the starboard five-inch gun tubs. The surge of water from the exploding torpedo engulfed him as he hugged the railing.

  Waking up in Frenchy’s old stateroom, Bert Earnest could only think, Oh shit.

  At 0753, the Saratoga came to a stop. The starboard compartment that was quickly flooding contained the ship’s turboelectric drive machinery. With its engines shut down, the carrier wallowed back and forth in the long sea swells.

  Pete Peterkin rushed to the side of the ship to see the damage for himself. Looking down, he was amazed to see hundreds of fish swimming in the water as a big oil slick began spreading out from the place where the torpedo struck.

  Forgetting about breakfast, Jack Stark rushed to his battle station. Abovedecks, he could hear the distant rumble of depth charges as the Saratoga’s escort ships went after the Japanese submarine that had launched the torpedo.

  Belowdecks, the ship’s engineers worked hard to get the carrier moving again. Dead in the water, the Saratoga was an easy target for another torpedo. Forty minutes later she was under way, crawling along at six knots.

  The ship was starting to list when the engines broke down again at 1100. Admiral Fletcher decided to begin flying off the Saratoga’s planes to the friendly island of Espiritu Santo, about three hundred miles away.

  When Swede received his orders to send half the squadron ashore, he ordered Bruce Harwood to lead the flight. Smiley Morgan, Bob Evarts, Bert Earnest, Andy Divine, Aaron Katz, and Bill Dye would go with him. Swede would stay behind with the remaining planes and crews.

  Harwood told the men to pack all their personal gear in the planes. Like the Enterprise, the Saratoga would probably be heading into dry dock as soon as she could muster sufficient power. There was no telling when they would be back.

  Del Delchamps helped to load Bill Dye’s plane with personal gear, supplies, and ammunition. He began to worry about the weight of all the cargo when he saw two sailors struggling to load the heavy toolboxes of the squadron metalsmith into his tail compartment. The metalsmith was going, too.

  Shortly after 1300, the Saratoga was taken under tow by the USS Minneapolis. Between the limited power of her damaged engines and the towing
strength of the heavy cruiser, the carrier was able to reach launching speed.

  Bill Dye was lined up for takeoff when the pilot of the Dauntless behind him let his brake slip and plowed into Dye’s plane. Del Delchamps looked up to see the huge propeller chewing up their tail.

  The Avenger was too damaged to fly. They were ordered to remove everything in the aircraft and reload it in a spare plane brought up from the hangar deck. It took them more than an hour. By then, the rest of the flight had taken off. They would be flying alone the three hundred miles to Espiritu Santo.

  No one told Bill Dye or his crew that the new plane they were flying had a torpedo stowed inside the bomb bay. In addition to everything they were carrying, the torpedo added two thousand pounds of weight. And it was live.

  Dye knew something was wrong as they were rolling down the flight deck. At full power, he barely lifted clear. Looking out the tail compartment window, Del was reminded of being in a lake boat back in Alabama. The plane was barely skimming the surface.

  Dye finally climbed up to an altitude of thirty feet. It was as high as they ever got. The altimeter read zero all the way to Espiritu Santo. When they landed on the dirt landing strip, Del discovered the live torpedo in the bomb bay. The crew agreed that it was a miracle they had made it.

  Aboard the Saratoga, Swede was told to transfer his support personnel to the destroyer Grayson, which would take them to Espiritu Santo. The decision put Jack Stark in a quandary. He was responsible for all of the records of Torpedo Eight, including the men’s service files, pay records, and the pilots’ log books. He was not about to leave any of it behind.

  Jack and Ed Dollard, the other yeoman in the squadron, picked up the big file cabinet containing the squadron records and carried it over to the place where a breeches buoy had been rigged up to send them across to the destroyer.

  They watched as another yeoman was strapped into the canvas seat of the breeches buoy. The seat was connected by a steel ring to a stout rope suspended between the two ships, and operated by pulleys at each end. In rough seas, a transfer at a height of fifty feet was a hairy experience. Fortunately, the seas were calm.