by Lars Teeney
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The Iowa, being subordinate to Rear Admiral Badger, had been ordered to draw up in a massive, inverted chevron formation. The Iowa was located in the center, at the convergence of the two wings, which extended outward, forming two outstretched arms that were set to surround the Musashi. Captain McCann had just witnessed the fearsome barrage let loose from the Musashi, followed by the strafing action from American Hellcat fighters. The Musashi steamed forward, ever defiantly. McCann’s formation held, despite one ship being put out of action, but McCann knew that the Musashi had played out its last advantage. Now it was McCann’s turn, at long last the Musashi was in range of the Iowa’s guns. He ordered a slight turn to port, enough to expose all guns to the enemy. With that action completed, he ordered all guns to fire.
Deep in the forward turret, Burke received the order and loaded the shells into the barrels via the rammer. The guns fired with a monstrous thunder. Burke’s ear protection was almost not enough. As soon the guns had fired, he disposed of the spent cartridges and waited for new shells to be sent up the conveyor from the magazine store. Jones’s job was to load the shells from the magazine and send it up the conveyor to Burke’s station. Jones appreciated working down in the depths of the ship; he felt safe there. He could give a damn about personal glory, as he just wanted to return whole to his family, he had told Burke as much. Burke, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. Burke worried that he would die without knowing what had happened. He tried not to dwell on that feeling and lost himself in his work.
On the bridge, McCann saw that his first salvo had missed the Musashi completely; it had been too low. Other ships on the extremities of the chevron formation, were now positioned abeam with the Musashi: a potential crossfire situation took shape. Both cruisers from several miles out opened fire with their nine, eight-inch, fifty-five caliber guns. The shots careened into the armor on the side of the hull of the Musashi but were not powerful enough to punch through. A well-placed shot did destroy a flak gun toward the stern of the ship, taking several crewmembers with it. The Musashi responded alternating its turrets to target each of the cruisers in both directions. Two turrets opened up on its port side, sending shells screaming through the sea air that penetrated the superstructure of the cruiser, destroying the bridge. The remaining turret fired to starboard and missed that cruiser completely.
McCann witnessed the carnage and saw that the armament on American cruisers was completely useless against the thick armor of the Musashi. He ordered the remaining cruisers to fall back behind the destroyers and battleships, thinning the line. The Musashi approached ever closer, threatening to send the entire American formation into disarray. MacCann received word that the air-wing was satisfied with the progress of the ships, and they would now begin an attack en masse.
Captain McCann and his ranking officers ran out to the observation deck to witness the attack. The Hellcat fighters of the air-wing broke off into two squadrons and formed-up for a staggered pass over the Musashi. The flack guns on the ship opened up sending exploding rounds into the sky that pockmarked the air with black smoke. The first squadron began their assault. One after another the Hellcats strafed the deck with tracers that tore into the wood of the weather deck and several unlucky sailors lost their lives at that moment. The anti-aircraft fire from the Musashi struck the fuselage of two hellcats. One crumbled into flaming wreckage off the starboard side and fell into the sea, the other hellcat trailed smoke but was still maintaining altitude; it broke off to return to the carrier, St. Lo.
Still the Musashi advanced forward. The second wave of fighters fell in strafing the deck of the Musashi with withering machine gun fire, barely making any effect. Another Hellcat went down in a flaming ruin from the deck guns of the Musashi. On the water’s surface, three destroyers had taken up position to fire broadsides. One destroyer let loose, punching a hole through the armor nearest the bow of the Musashi, and smoke rose from the wound. Next up came three American Avenger torpedo bombers, which had formed a small attack squadron, where they flew low to avoid the massive barrage of flack in the air. They came in off the port bow of the Musashi. One Avenger was caught by the Musashi’s forty caliber anti-aircraft turrets; it fell into the sea. The other two Avenger bombers released their two torpedoes into the water, then broke off into a roll, where another Avenger was struck by machine gun fire; it too was claimed by the sea. The third Avenger tried to gain altitude but flew directly into the path of a shell fired from the Musashi’s main bow turret, which shredded the Avenger like kindling. The torpedoes moved at a steady pace through the water and the warheads armed, closing the distance fast. The Musashi did not have time to take evasive measures. Both torpedoes struck home on the port side bow, and the hull was torn open under the waterline, then, sea water poured in. The Musashi began to list to port by one degree. The speed of the Musashi dropped by a third. Another lone Avenger had been armed with a five hundred pound bomb and had avoided flak and machine gun fire to fly high overhead of the Musashi. The Avenger angled into a dive attack, racing through the smoke and flak. At the last minute, it dropped its payload and the bomb continued down at the same angle the aircraft attacked in. Hitting its mark the bomb exploded directly against the number one, forward turret, but it failed to penetrate.
Captain McCann, upon seeing the toll the air attack had been taking on the Musashi ordered the Iowa forward. He wanted to get within point blank range. The other destroyers and battleships took his lead. Eventually the ships formed a perimeter around the injured beast of a ship, smelling blood, they closed for the kill. McCann ordered a broadside against the starboard bow of the Musashi. Several of the fired shells missed their mark, but three blew a hole wide into the starboard-side armor. Other destroyers fired, doing negligible damage to the Musashi. And still the Musashi advanced, albeit wounded.
Another attack wave of fighters strafed the deck of the Musashi, followed by another torpedo attack. Two more Avengers were shot down, but then two more torpedoes had been dropped into the water heading for the starboard-side of the Musashi. One was a dud and hit harmlessly off the starboard bow, the other smashed into the hull below the water line, blowing another breach into the bow, directly below where the Iowa had done its damage. More compartments were flooded to compensate, but the Musashi’s speed was now down to twenty-two knots. Captain McCann could sense victory was at hand; there was not much fight left in the Musashi.
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The reports from damage control were flooding in from all over the ship. Captain Inoguchi was being overwhelmed. One engine room was entire flooded, along with an adjacent boiler room. Power had been lost to the port-side, inboard propeller, which resulted in the speed reduction of the Musashi. Scores of the crew had been killed or wounded. Captain Inoguchi, himself, had sustained a slight head injury when he was knocked off his feet during a torpedo impact. With all these events happening the Musashi still struggled on, but the ship was being swarmed by aircraft and was taking direct hits from broadsides from all directions. Inoguchi debated in his head whether to strike his colors and save the lives of his crew. But, then he remembered why he was fighting on: he needed to give Admiral Kurita time to slip away with the rest of the Central Force.
“Captain Inoguchi, sir! Contact from Admiral Kurita! He wishes to send his heartfelt thanks for your sacrifice here today. He hopes that you will be able to take as many of the enemy with you as possible. He had also informed me that he has dispatched the “divine wind” from Luzon. He said you would know what he meant, sir,” the battered ensign reported.
The Captain thanked him. Inoguchi knew exactly what Kurita had meant. It was the Special Attack Force: the Kamikaze. Inoguchi had feared that this force would be used in battle; suicide squadrons of young, indoctrinated pilots, which used their planes along with a high explosive to crash their planes into enemy ships. Inoguchi was saddened deeply by this turn of events, but he could not let these pilots die in vain. Inoguchi continued
to order broadsides against the American ships, which damaged a destroyer, putting its forward turret out of action. After a few minutes, Captain Inoguchi received word that Japanese planes had been spotted approaching the battle, from Luzon. Above the battle taking place on the surface from the west appeared a formation of some thirty Japanese Zeros. The American fleet had not been expecting them. The formation split into two separate squadrons and one veered off to the north, the other squadron approached the American battle line of battleships and destroyers. The Zero’s roar could be heard from miles around. Inoguchi peered out the observation deck. He watched as the fifteen or so Zeros selected targets from among the American ships. The squadron was met with American anti-aircraft fire from the decks of the ships. Inoguchi observed the tracers and flak rounds ascend to the heavens, tearing through the wings and engine of a Zero fighter. The American aircraft that badgered the Musashi incessantly suddenly broke off their attack. Inoguchi figured that they must have been called for air cover for the ships. The Hellcats and Avengers sped off toward their exposed ships. The Musashi’s guns claimed another Hellcat as it turned to defend the battle line.
Inoguchi watched as another two Zeros were picked off by withering anti-aircraft fire. Five Zeros broke into a dive attack, each on targeted a separate ship in the American battle line. Three other Zeros were intercepted and destroyed by American fighters before they could start into an attack pattern. Of the five Zeros that broke into dives against American vessels, two more were shot down by anti-aircraft fire. One Zero aimed for the battleship New Jersey, but it’s pilot was shot dead before he could guide his plane to the target, and the plane hit the water just short of the New Jersey. The last Zero aimed at the U.S.S. Iowa herself. Inoguchi watched as the Zero increased speed, received several rounds from machine guns, began to smoke and caught fire, then slammed hard and fast into the Iowa. A massive fireball rose up from the bow of the Iowa. Inoguchi could not bring himself to cheer, as the strike had cost a young Japanese man his life. In roughly five minutes, all fifteen of the Japanese planes had been wiped out, scoring only one significant hit. Inoguchi witnessed what was left of the American air-wing break off and give chase to the other squadron of Kamikaze that was closing in on some other target. Soon the buzz of aircraft engines was a distant hum. They were no longer a factor in this fight.
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There was a raging inferno on the number one turret, nearest the bow of the ship. McCann raced to the observation deck and looked down helplessly.
“I want a fucking damage report, now! Send fire control teams to the turret!” McCann had ordered. McCann was stunned. What had he just witnessed? An entire squadron of Japanese fighters had just commenced an organized suicide attack. Were the Japanese that desperate that they would sacrifice perfectly suitable pilots and aircraft in such a gamble? Clearly they were. It was such an alien concept to Captain McCann that it reinforced his perception that the Japanese were inhuman. He comforted himself with the knowledge that civilized Americans would never resort to such tactics. He figured these differences were the reason why God was on the side of the American cause.
Below deck in the number one turret, the fire burned. Private Burke laid, barely conscious. His ears rang with a high pitch sound. The heat was unbearable. He could barely move his left arm. He opened his eyes: they stung from the smoke and fumes. He looked to his action station, but, it was on fire, and he could see a shaft of sun peering through a hole that had been ripped in the top of the turret. Burke looked at his left shoulder. There was a dagger of sharp metal sticking out from his uniform.
“Fuck,” he thought to himself. A fire blazed down below, and he could see flames down on the conveyor deck,
“Jones!” he thought. He pulled himself to his feet with his right arm and staggered over to the stairwell that lead down to the conveyor and magazine store. He descended slowly but surely, his vision blurred, and his ears bled. He reached the conveyor deck and looked around, while the heat was quickly becoming too much, and he could feel his skin burn. At last, he caught a glimpse of his friend: Private Jones. He was in two pieces. His legs were being consumed by the fire on one side of the deck and a path of spilled entrails led back to the top half of his body. Burke could tell by the expression on the Jones’ face that he had expired. Burke realized that the explosive force of the bomb blast had been directed down into the decks below. The men down here did not have a chance.
Burke pulled himself back up the stairwell to escape the fire’s heat. He inhaled much smoke and fumes, and he felt himself get weaker. He hacked and could not breath. He felt faint and collapsed on the top of the stairwell. So this is how it would end for him. Burke hoped he would suffocate before he burned. He let go of the railing and slumped down against the wall. He thought about California and camping trips to the Sierra Nevada mountains; the fresh air of the forest. He thought about his parents, and how proud they were that he had enlisted. Most of all thoughts of Nurse Sanchez filled his head. That night at Ebbitt Grill in Washington D.C.: it was probably the one happy thought he retained out of this sorry war. He regretted not winning the war for her. It was getting dark now, and the roar of the flame was getting faint; he barely heard it anymore. He was ready for the darkness to consume him, so he submitted to its embrace.
“Here’s one, I think he’s still alive. Help me here! Help me get ‘em!” Burke heard a voice cry, and it postponed the encroaching darkness. He felt the sensation of grasping arms. He was being carried, up and out of the fire. He felt the sensation of sunlight on his face. Burke could not stay awake—he slipped away.
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Captain Inoguchi felt the Musashi rocked by successive impacts from enemy broadsides. The observation screen had been shattered by a small caliber shell, which had impacted above the bridge superstructure. Inoguchi had been wounded by flying glass fragments. One had struck his face and blood pour into his left eye, causing him to squint. The Musashi had taken a spread of torpedoes launched by an American cruiser, multiple engines had been flooded and the Musashi limped along at six knots. Inoguchi still ordered the guns to blaze away. It traded broadsides at point blank with the New Jersey, raking its hull with high-velocity shells, causing breaches. The New Jersey had responded by sending shells screaming into the Musashi’s number one turret, destroying its hydraulic lift equipment, rendering the gun useless. From the other side, another barrage was fired from the Iowa’s aft turret. The well-placed shot blew apart more of the number one turret and destroyed a secondary battery, close to the bridge. The resulting explosion sprayed the now exposed bridge with pieces of shrapnel like a giant shotgun. The shrapnel tore into bridge personnel, and Captain Inoguchi took a piece to the gut. He keeled over in his command chair with excruciating pain shooting through his body.
“Captain! The captain has been hit!” an ensign rushed over to Captain Inoguchi. He helped support Inoguchi to sit upright. Inoguchi still stirred. The ensign looked down at the wound. He shook his head in disbelief. Inoguchi struggled to focus his eyes and look around the bridge: so many dead. Of the officers left alive the highest ranking was a Lieutenant-commander, by the name of Himatomo. Captain Inoguchi gestured for the man to approach him.
“Lieutenant-commander Himatomo, please take my officer’s sword and present it to the Emperor with my apologies, that is if you make it back to Japan. Also, please, if you can get this letter to my wife! I hereby relinquish command of the Musashi to you. I advise that you strike the colors and abandon ship, as oppose to fighting on. However, the decision is now yours,” Inoguchi stated. He coughed, and winced in pain as he spoke.
“Captain, I am not worthy,” Himatomo replied.
“Neither am I, which is why I now retire to my quarters. Ensign, please help me. Good luck to you all! It’s been a pleasure.” With that Inoguchi struggled to his feet, supported by the ensign, and he exited the bridge as his remaining officers gave a salute. The Musashi was rocked by another torpedo strike. Immediate
Himatomo began preparations to abandon ship, sending a general announcement to evacuate and lower the lifeboats.
Inoguchi was brought to his quarters. The ensign helped him to his desk chair. When Inoguchi was settled into it, he dismissed the ensign, telling him to save himself. The ensign gave one last salute and he was gone. Inoguchi peered down at his gut wound, it was streaming blood, and he imagined he would die of septic shock, but, he surmised the ship sinking would kill him first. He reached clumsily over to his desk, and he found two framed pictures, which had been knocked over during the naval battle. One was of his wife, Mariko, the other was the fire-damaged photograph of his father. He clutched the picture of his wife, then, kissed it. Mariko had been the light in his life and he was happy that she and his son would be safe. He placed the photograph upon his desk.
Inoguchi gazed upon the portrait of his father. He thought about how he had surpassed his father’s naval career, but the difference was that his father died peacefully, and was able to enjoy the prosperity his victory had brought Japan. Inoguchi, on the other hand was going down with his ship. He actually was thankful that he would not live to witness the horror to come. He could only hope that the Emperor and the High Command would surrender soon, so that they would spare the Japanese people the horror of invasion.
Inoguchi lost balance in his chair. He felt the sensation of the aft section of the ship being lifted into the air. He meditated on the Musashi’s actions today. He found it to have been a gallant effort: to go down fighting in such an honorable way made him proud. Surely, his war-like Christian God was pleased by his actions today? He made a prayer to the God of War, hoping to be accepted into Paradise. His quarters flooded with water. Then, before Inoguchi could finish his prayer, the invading water engulfed the room completely, leading him to his watery grave.