by Toland, John
ENEMY FORCE ACCOMPANIED BY WHAT APPEARS TO BE AIRCRAFT CARRIER BRINGING UP THE REAR.
Kusaka believed the report; his staff did not. If there was a carrier in the area, why hadn’t it already launched an attack? Besides, the three ineffectual raids from Midway had proved that the enemy was not to be feared.
At 8:30 A.M., just as the first of Tomonaga’s planes began returning from Midway, the Tone plane sent still another report: two enemy ships, probably cruisers. It was obvious that the American force was so big that it had to include at least one carrier. Kusaka wanted to attack but was in a quandary. The fighter planes which would escort the carrier strike were circling overhead to intercept any attackers and were running low on fuel. And what about Tomonaga’s planes? If they weren’t recovered, scores of the Navy’s best pilots would be lost and future operations jeopardized.
He turned to Nagumo and suggested that they delay the strike, then asked Genda for his opinion. Genda was anxiously watching the clusters of Tomonaga’s planes hovering over their carriers, many nursing the last gallons of fuel in their tanks. Almost every pilot was a personal friend. “I believe all our aircraft should first land and refuel,” he said.
The planes on the decks of Akagi and Kaga were again lowered, this time to clear the way for the fighters and the exhausted Midway raiders. It was 9:18 A.M. by the time the last plane was recovered. Then Kido Butai raised speed to 30 knots and turned sharply from southeast to north-northeast to head in the general direction of the American fleet.
Crews worked feverishly on all four carriers to prepare thirty-six dive bombers, fifty-four torpedo bombers and their fighter escort for the assault. The Decisive Battle for the Pacific they had dreamed of for years was at hand.
4.
Fletcher had ordered Task Force 16 to attack the enemy carriers as soon as they were definitely located. Spruance had planned to hold off his strike until Enterprise and Hornet were as close as a hundred miles from the target, but the report of the raid on Midway inspired his chief of staff, Captain Miles Browning, to urge an earlier attack—it might catch the Japanese in the act of refueling their planes.
Spruance was a studious, brainy commander who was aggressive only when he thought it worth the risk. He was the antithesis of the man he had relieved—the ebullient, explosive Halsey—and avoided any publicity (“A shy young thing with a rather sober, earnest face and the innocent disposition of an ingenue”—according to his class book at Annapolis—who would “never hurt anything or anybody except in Line of Duty”). Even on Enterprise he was an enigma, a quiet, solitary man who paced the deck interminably for exercise and spent hours alone in his cabin studying charts.
The extra distance added a hazard he ordinarily would not have accepted, but the possibility of catching the Japanese off-guard outweighed the risk. His first important decision was to heed Browning. His second, just as important, was to order every operational plane, except patrol craft, to join in the attack. Sixty-seven dive bombers, twenty fighters and twenty-nine torpedo planes began leaving his two carriers at 7:02 A.M. They would have barely enough fuel to return home. It was no time for caution.
Fletcher, some fifteen miles behind Spruance, didn’t start launching from his single carrier for an hour and a half, and it was 9:06 A.M. by the time seventeen dive bombers, six fighters and twelve torpedo planes had left the flight deck of Yorktown.
Twelve minutes later Nagumo made his abrupt turn to the north-northeast. While consciously avoiding another Midway-based air strike, he had inadvertently turned away from the 151 American carrier planes trying to find him.
Minutes after the turn. Hornet’s dive bombers and fighters reached the point where they were to intercept the Japanese carriers. The leader, Commander Stanhope Ring, saw clouds to his right (Nagumo was behind them) and veered southeast toward Midway—away from Kido Butai.
But three groups of lumbering torpedo planes—one from each of the American carriers—were almost directly on target. The first were fifteen unescorted Douglas Devastators from Hornet. Their leader, Lieutenant Commander John Waldron, had not followed the dive bombers on to Midway; he had a hunch the Japanese would turn to the east. Waldron was seamy-faced, square-jawed, part Sioux Indian. The night before he had written to his wife: “If I do not come back—well, you and the little girls can know that this squadron struck for the highest objective in naval warfare—‘To Sink the Enemy.’ ” At the end of a message to his men he wrote: “If there is only one plane left to make a final run in, I want that man to go in and get a hit.”
He banked east and for several minutes could see nothing. Then in the distance, eight miles away, he made out four carriers in boxlike formation. Twenty-five or thirty Zeros began diving at the Devastators, their cannon exploding. Waldron ignored them. He waggled his wings and slanted down at a carrier full speed, his men trailing behind. A plane tumbled like a bird shot by a hunter.
“Was that a Zero?” asked Waldron above the racket of machine-gun fire from the rear seat. His gunner-radioman, Horace Dobbs, didn’t hear. It was a Devastator. Another one plunged down. Still Waldron bore in. As the attackers neared the carrier they were confronted by a wall of harmless-looking black puffs and strings of bright tracers. Another Devastator splashed into the sea. Waldron’s left gas tank erupted in flames. Ensign George “Tex” Gay, who was flying at the tail of the formation, saw him stand up and try to get out of the cockpit as the burning plane skimmed the water. All at once a wave caught the undercarriage. It was the end of Waldron and Dobbs.
Still another torpedo plane pinwheeled into the sea—and another—and another. That left Gay and two others. Two explosions. Only Gay was left. He remembered Waldron’s instructions for the last plane “to go in and get a hit.”
“They got me.” It was his radioman, Bob Huntington. Gay turned and saw Huntington’s head limp. A bullet dug into Gay’s right arm. He had the carrier straight ahead. It turned to starboard and he also swung right. He released a white-nosed torpedo and executed a flipover, skimming ten feet above the carrier’s bow. As he started a turning climb he was riddled by Zeros. His Devastator pancaked into the sea. He pulled at the canopy. It was stuck. He tugged. No good. The plane was rapidly filling with water. He gave a yank. The canopy opened and he squirmed out. As he surfaced he thought he heard an explosion—his “pickle” must have got the hit! But like the torpedoes from all the other planes, this one had missed and was settling harmlessly far beyond the carrier.
Within minutes, torpedo planes from Enterprise and Yorktown also found Nagumo. Fourteen Douglas Devastators from the first carrier attacked without fighter escort. Ten were shot down; four managed to launch their missiles. Then the twelve torpedo planes from Yorktown appeared. Their six escorting fighters were swamped by Japanese interceptors, but five torpedoes were released.
One American headed straight for Akagi’s bridge. Kusaka ducked as the Devastator roared a few feet over his head and plunged into the sea. Kusaka was shaken by the realization that the American was as determined as any samurai. He silently prayed for him.
In all, nine torpedoes were launched but not a single one found its mark. All that was left of the American air strike was the dive bombers and it looked as if they would not even find the Japanese; already those from Hornet had gone on to Midway, and the seventeen from Yorktown, under Lieutenant Commander Maxwell Leslie, were miles southeast of the target.
The other thirty-seven dive bombers—they were led by Lieutenant Commander Clarence W. McClusky and came from Enterprise—had taken off more than an hour before Leslie. McClusky, like others before him, had missed Nagumo’s Striking Force and gone on toward Midway, but finding nothing, turned back north.
At 9:55 A.M. he sighted the white wake of a Japanese destroyer scudding northeast. He hoped it was joining up with the carriers and followed. He heard Captain Browning shout excitedly over the radio telephone, “Attack! Attack!”
“Wilco,” McClusky replied, “as soon as I find the bastards.”
He kept on course for another twenty minutes, found nothing. His fuel was dangerously low but he decided to continue on for another minute. It was 10:20 A.M.
At last all the Japanese torpedo planes were back on the flight decks, along with their refueled fighter escorts. The four carriers turned into the wind in preparation for launching. In a quarter of an hour every plane would be in the air.
At that moment McClusky’s thirty-seven Douglas Dauntless dive bombers appeared from the southwest. In addition to his own squadron, McClusky commanded those of Lieutenants Wilmer Earl Gallaher and Richard H. Best. Two carriers were turning into the wind to launch and he ordered Best to attack what looked like the smaller one—it was Akagi.
“Earl,” he told Gallaher, “you follow me down.” They nosed over toward Kaga.
Gallaher aimed at a huge Rising Sun, about fifty feet across, painted in blood-red on the flight deck. Ever since the day he saw Arizona lie smashed and smoldering in Pearl Harbor he had vowed to go after an enemy carrier. At about 1,800 feet he released his bomb, then pulled up into a steep climb and kicked the Dauntless around. He kept watching his bomb—something he had warned his pilots never to do—tumble closer and closer to the target. It exploded on the after part of the flight deck, and he thought exultantly, Arizona, I remember you!
The crew of Kaga looked up startled as Dauntlesses began plunging out of the sun. Bombs fell into the sea on both sides. Kaga could not be hit; she was charmed. Then in rapid succession four bombs slammed into the after, forward and middle sections of the flight deck. Kaga erupted with fires.
On the flagship, Kusaka was so transfixed by Kaga’s fate that he didn’t notice dive bombers streaking for his own ship. He heard an eerie whistle and looked up. Three bombs, dropping so close and straight that they seemed to be connected by a wire, were coming at him. All three hit the line of planes preparing to take off, and erupted in a single shattering explosion. The ship trembled as in an earthquake. The amidship elevator was twisted grotesquely. Planes upended rakishly and burst into flames. Their bombs and torpedoes began to explode one by one, driving away fire-control parties. The blaze spread to fuel and munition reserves carelessly stacked on deck. These too exploded. Huge chunks were torn out of the flight deck. The bridge shook like a tree house in a hurricane.
Akagi was helpless. Flames licked the glass windows of the bridge. Above the din, Kusaka shouted to Nagumo, “We must move to another ship!” Nagumo refused. Kusaka said the ship could no longer steer and had no communications.
Nagumo kept saying, “We are all right,” over and over again.
Thousands of gallons of burning fuel cascaded into the lower decks, and torpedoes stored in the hangars began detonating. Blasts of fire shot out through the sides of the ship like a huge blowtorch. Nagumo still refused to leave his position at the compass. Captain Taijiro Aoki, skipper of the carrier, shouted that he alone would be responsible for the ship. “You and your staff can do nothing, so please transfer to another ship!”
Nagumo ignored him. Kusaka began reprimanding his superior; he was commander of the entire Striking Force, not the captain of a single ship. Finally Nagumo nodded but it seemed to be too late. The bridge was almost surrounded by fire. “Break the window!” Kusaka hollered to the youthful flag secretary. Glass shattered. Two ropes were lowered forty-five feet to the deck. Kusaka pushed Nagumo out first and the little admiral clambered down nimbly. The heavyset Kusaka went next, but he could not control his descent. The rope burned through his hands as he dropped to the deck. He landed in a heap, stunned. He had no left shoe. His hands were raw and both ankles were badly sprained but he felt no pain. He looked for a path through the flames. Machine-gun bullets, ignited by the heat, ricocheted off the carrier’s island. Far away he heard staff officers calling to hurry and he hobbled over the hot deck through flames toward the voices.
Moments after McClusky discovered Kido Butai, so did Leslie, the commander of the seventeen dive bombers from Yorktown. He had noticed smoke smudges on the horizon and banked northwest. Through clouds he caught a glimpse of Hiryu and Soryu. He patted his head in signal and pushed over in a steep dive on the latter.
Within half an hour Soryu was engulfed in flames. At 10:45 A.M. her skipper, Captain Ryusaku Yanagimoto ordered Abandon Ship but refused to leave himself. A Navy wrestling champion, Chief Petty Officer Abe, climbed up to the bridge. “I have come on behalf of all your men to take you to safety,” he said. The captain turned away. Sword in hand, he began singing “Kimigayo,” the national anthem.
In minutes, fifty-four American planes had fatally damaged three carriers. Only Hiryu was left. The last chance for victory depended on Rear Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi, the Princeton man who not long before had wrestled with Nagumo. At 10:40 A.M. six fighters and eighteen dive bombers had left Hiryu to search out an enemy carrier. They would not have found it by themselves. Their guides were Leslie’s dive bombers, who unwittingly led them all the way to Fletcher’s flagship. Yorktown fighters ripped into the attacking Japanese, but half a dozen managed to break free and drop their bombs. Three of these tore into the carrier, which still showed scars from the Battle of the Coral Sea. Two boilers were knocked out, bringing the burning ship to a standstill at 12:30 P.M. Within an hour, however, damage-control parties had subdued the flames and got the carrier under way. By that time another wave from Hiryu was forty miles away. Ten Nakajima torpedo planes came at Yorktown. While their six-fighter escort tied up the carrier’s interceptors, the Nakajimas slipped under the fighter defense, and despite heavy antiaircraft fire sent two torpedoes into Yorktown. The damage was severe and the ship listed so badly by 3 P.M. that Captain Elliott Buckmaster ordered Abandon Ship.
This left only two American carriers, both commanded by Spruance. At 3:30 he ordered dive bombers to make their second strike. Under Lieutenant Gallaher—McClusky had been wounded—twenty-four unescorted dive bombers headed for Hiryu. Spruance radioed Fletcher, who had transferred to the cruiser Astoria, for further instructions. The answer was: “None.” From now on the battle was in Spruance’s hands.
5.
Aboard Yamato, Yamamoto was still four hundred miles to the west when he received word at 10:30 A.M. that Akagi was on fire. He didn’t appear troubled by the news. Twenty minutes later the radio room sent up a full report from Nagumo:
FIRES RAGING ABOARD KAGA, SORYU AND AKAGI RESULTING FROM ATTACKS BY ENEMY CARRIERS AND LAND-BASED PLANES. WE PLAN TO HAVE HIRYU ENGAGE ENEMY CARRIERS. WE ARE TEMPORARILY WITHDRAWING TO THE NORTH TO ASSEMBLE OUR FORCES.
Yamamoto still seemed unperturbed. As if nothing had happened, he started a game of chess with Watanabe. Further information elicited a noncommittal “Ah so.” Finally, ninety minutes after getting the first report, he ordered the invasion transports to retire, and the two light carriers which had launched a diversionary bomb attack on Dutch Harbor the previous day to head toward Midway and assist Nagumo. His own powerful Main Force was to continue steaming east full speed while Vice Admiral Kondo, who was covering the transports, brought his powerful fleet, including the carrier Zuiho, up from the south. From three directions formidable new forces were converging on Midway. The Decisive Battle was still to be fought.
The surviving crews returning to Hiryu from the second attack on Yorktown reported that they had destroyed two carriers, and Yamaguchi ordered a third strike. But before the first plane could be rolled into position, a lookout shouted, “Enemy dive bombers!” To the southwest a string of planes struck out of the sinking sun like a snake. It was terrifying. The crew looked up helplessly as Gallaher’s twenty-four dive bombers swooped in. Four bombs smashed around the bridge. Fires spread rapidly from plane to plane until the flight deck was a holocaust.
“Look at that bastard burn!” Gallaher muttered over his radio.
Nagumo and Kusaka were aboard a new flagship, the light cruiser Nagara. With all four carriers on fire and out of action, Kusaka still wanted to attack. He couldn’t put any weight on his injured ankles and ordered a
sailor to carry him piggyback up to the bridge. He urged Nagumo to mount a night attack with destroyers, cruisers and battleships.
This was Nagumo’s element—a surface fight. “Now it will be my battle,” he said. The remnants of the once powerful Kido Butai began to stalk the Americans.
Spruance guessed the Japanese intentions, and cautious though he was, was tempted to accept the challenge, then remembered Nimitz’ “calculated risk” instructions. This time the risk was too great. The Japanese commander was probably hoping for a showdown, and his crews were trained night fighters. Spruance turned back east.
The sea northwest of Midway was a flaming graveyard. Soryu tilted. On nearby destroyers her agonized survivors watched the ungainly carrier disappear at 7:13 P.M. with a furious hissing as water enveloped the flames. With her went 718 trapped or dead men and one who had lashed himself to the bridge, Captain Yanagimoto. A muffled underwater explosion shook the surrounding ships. Forty miles to the south Kaga, a mass of flames, was racked by two explosions. In minutes the battered carrier and eight hundred of her crew were swallowed up by the sea.
For several hours Nagumo searched the dark sea but could not locate the enemy. It was obvious there would be no night battle. He summoned his staff and ordered a general withdrawal to the northwest. Captain Oishi, who had helped plan the Pearl Harbor attack, was in a state bordering hysteria. He searched out Kusaka in the officers’ infirmary. “We started the war and we are responsible for this disaster,” he said. “We should all commit hara-kiri!” He added that the entire staff agreed with him and he wanted Kusaka to tell Nagumo.
“Bakayaro!” said Kusaka. “Assemble all the other idiots in the staff room.” He was carried down the passageway in his white hospital gown to confront the staff. “You men cheer when the battle is successful. When it isn’t, you threaten hara-kiri. You’re acting like hysterical women.” They faced a long war and he forbade “such nonsense.”