The Rising Sun: The Decline and Fall of the Japanese Empire, 1936-1945 (Modern Library War)

by Toland, John

  By 4:50 A.M. they had closed the Japanese, and all hands on Darter were called to battle stations. At 5:10 she reversed course, submerged. Through the periscope, in the faint light of dawn, McClintock made out a gray mass in the distance. A Japanese column was coming straight at him! He looked to the southeast and saw another column of battleships, cruisers and destroyers several miles away.

  The gray vessels bearing down on him grew larger. At 5:25 McClintock identified the lead ship, a heavy cruiser making huge bow waves. It was a beautiful sight and McClintock hoped it was the flagship. All tubes were ready and the range was just under 1,000 yards when the column abruptly zigged to the west, placing the target at a perfect angle. “Fire one!” ordered McClintock. A searchlight on the cruiser signaled. Had she detected the spread of six torpedoes? No, she was holding her course. McClintock took a bearing on the next cruiser.

  His first torpedoes were heading for the flagship, Atago. On the bridge, Kurita and his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Tomiji Koyanagi, suddenly felt four great tremors in succession. The cruiser began to sink. A destroyer was signaled, and Kurita and his staff swam to it.

  On Dace, Clagett surveyed the scene through his periscope. “Good Lord,” he exclaimed, “it looks like the Fourth of July out there! One is sinking and another is burning. The Japs are firing all over the place. What a show! Stand by for a setup—here they come!” He studied two ships bearing down on him. “Let them pass—they are only cruisers.” Behind was a bigger target he mistook for a Kongo-class battleship. “Fire one, fire two, fire three, fire four, fire five, fire six,” Clagett ordered, and then, “Take her deep, Earl. Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  They heard the thump of torpedoes striking home and a crackle “like cellophane being crumpled close to our ears.” The heavy cruiser Maya was breaking up.

  Even before Kurita had reached the perilous waters of the central Philippines, he had lost two heavy cruisers, and a third, Takao, was in such bad shape that she had to turn back to Borneo. Moreover, his course had been discovered; yet there was nothing to do but continue. At noon he received a message from Combined Fleet which told him what he knew better than anyone else:

  IT IS VERY PROBABLE THAT THE ENEMY IS AWARE OF THE FACT THAT WE HAVE CONCENTRATED OUR FORCES … HE WILL PROBABLY ACT IN THE FOLLOWING MANNER: (A) CONCENTRATE SUBMARINES IN GREAT STRENGTH IN THE SAN BERNARDINO AND SURIGAO STRAITS AREA. (B) PLAN ATTACKS ON OUR SURFACE FORCES, USING LARGE TYPE PLANES AND TASK FORCES AFTER TOMORROW MORNING. (C) PLAN DECISIVE ACTION BY CONCENTRATING HIS SURFACE STRENGTH IN THE AREA EAST OF SAN BERNARDINO STRAIT AND TACLOBAN WHERE HE HAS HIS TRANSPORT GROUP …

  AS TO OUR OPERATIONS: (A) EXECUTE OUR ORIGINAL PLAN …

  2.

  By dawn—it was October 24—Kurita was aboard a new flagship, the mighty Yamato. His ships were in two circular formations seven miles apart. Yamato and her sister ship, Musashi, were in the center of the first group, and Kongo in the middle of the second. A huge pagodalike tower rose above the deck of Yamato. Near the top in the flag bridge was Kurita’s headquarters. Just below, in the operations room, his staff was trying to assimilate the fragments of information that were slowly coming in. The First Striking Force went around the southern tip of Mindoro and continued on up into the Sibuyan Sea. The most hazardous part of the trip—a daylight passage following a circumscribed course among numerous islets—not only limited maneuver but was a matchless stalking ground for submarines. But there was no other way to get to San Bernardino Strait, the gateway to the Philippine Sea. Kurita had come to doubt the report that the air engagements off Formosa had crippled American carrier power, but he did not know that Japanese air power in the Philippines had itself been practically annihilated by Halsey and could give him little if any support.

  Shortly after 8 A.M. Kurita was again discovered—this time by an American search plane. He radioed Manila for fighter protection. Fewer than a dozen Zeros could be spared and none of these managed to reach the First Striking Force. Every other available land-based plane—180 in all—was sent out to attack Halsey’s Third Fleet, which stretched across the Philippine Sea from mid-Luzon to Leyte. Hellcats from Mitscher’s Task Force 38 knocked down almost all of the Japanese, but one bomber broke through the screen to hit the light carrier Princeton with a 550-lb. bomb. The blazing hangar deck began exploding torpedoes chain-fashion. For hours the crew fought to save the ship, but the conflagration was uncontrollable and she had to be sunk.

  With the sighting of Kurita’s ships in the Sibuyan Sea, Admiral Halsey characteristically took personal charge of the battle. At 8:37 he by-passed Mitscher and ordered three of his task group commanders direct by TBS (Talk Between Ships): “Strike! Repeat: Strike! Good luck!” Within two hours the van of this attack—twelve fighters and the same number of dive bombers and torpedo bombers from Intrepid and Cabot—found Kurita.

  On Musashi, Petty Officer Second Class Shiro Hosoya was precariously perched in an open signal booth attached to the second bridge, about halfway up its huge island structure. He was supervisor of signalmen but during action had little to do but observe. With a mixed feeling of anxiety and awe he watched the Americans break through the tremendous wall of antiaircraft fire thrown up by every ship in the formation—each battleship had at least one hundred and twenty 25-mm. guns and the cruisers carried ninety. It was like watching a show—until the enemy planes began heading straight for him and for Yamato. Just ahead and to the left, half a dozen huge geysers erupted around Yamato. The great battleship was obscured and a report was relayed that she was sinking. Hosoya refused to believe it; like Musashi, she was unsinkable. He peered apprehensively through the descending waters until he made her out again, steaming along as if on maneuvers.

  Suddenly a fountain more than two hundred feet high rose directly in front of Hosoya and drenched the men on deck below. His booth swayed sickeningly as Musashi shuddered twice—once from a bomb hit, once from a torpedo. But like her sister, she sailed on serenely as if nothing had happened, evidence that she truly was indestructible. Basically the same as Yamato, Musashi was better constructed, had superior quarters and was worthy of her nickname, “The Palace.” She had been Yamamoto’s flagship, then Koga’s, and the crew wondered a bit resentfully why Kurita had not chosen to come aboard her for the last battle of the Japanese Navy.

  At noon a second attack—twenty-four torpedo planes—swept in toward the two superbattleships. Musashi took three more torpedoes but continued on course, all damage under control.

  On Yamato, which had not yet been hit, Kurita sent another plea for air support, at 1:15 P.M., this to his superior, Admiral Ozawa, as well as to Manila:

  WE ARE BEING SUBJECTED TO REPEATED ENEMY CARRIER-BASED AIR ATTACKS. ADVISE IMMEDIATELY OF CONTACTS AND ATTACKS MADE BY YOU ON THE ENEMY.

  Fifteen minutes later, twenty-nine planes loomed on the horizon (they were from Lexington and Essex). To Kurita, the enemy aircraft converging on Musashi looked as if they were twice that number.

  On Musashi’s second bridge Chief Gunnery Officer Koshino was pleading over the voice tube with the captain, Rear Admiral Toshihira Inoguchi, to let him fire the main 18.1-inch guns, the biggest in the world, with a special spray shell called sanshiki-dan. “Permission denied,” said Inoguchi. A dozen rounds of sanshiki-dan could damage a gun’s bore; he wanted to save the big guns for the surface battle in Leyte Gulf.

  The attackers turned out to be more aggressive than their predecessors. Dive bombers plunged down, accompanied by fighters strafing the decks. The ship became enveloped by water thrown up by near bomb-misses. Then in rapid succession four bombs crashed into Musashi. Fragments “like steel popcorn” ricocheted off the bridges. The air was acrid with gunpowder fumes. Another torpedo ripped into the hull.

  At last Musashi was hurt, and perceptibly. She fell several miles behind Yamato, but the executive officer, Captain Kenkichi Kato, who was responsible for damage control, still remained so confident that he didn’t think it necessary to report perso
nally to the skipper. The limping ship was, however, affecting the progress of the First Striking Force. Kurita ordered fleet speed reduced to 22 knots so that Musashi could keep up, then sent out another request for help.

  FIRST STRIKING FORCE IS ENGAGED IN SEVERE FIGHT IN SIBUYAN SEA. ENEMY AIR ATTACKS ARE EXPECTED TO INCREASE. REQUEST LAND-BASED AIR FORCE AND MOBILE FORCE TO MAKE PROMPT ATTACKS ON ENEMY CARRIER FORCE ESTIMATED TO BE AT LAMON BAY.

  Musashi’s increased vulnerability gave Chief Gunner Officer Koshino a chance to renew his pleas to use sanshiki-dan in the main guns. Admiral Inoguchi argued that the ship was listing, which made it unsafe to fire the guns, but when the executive officer supported Koshino, Inoguchi yielded.

  Excitement spread through the ship as the huge guns—the very reason for Musashi’s existence—were slowly trained toward the east. Sixty-five planes from Enterprise and Franklin appeared in the distance. The nine guns roared, the first time they had ever been fired at an enemy. The noise was deafening topside, and belowdecks the ship heaved as if a spread of torpedoes had smashed into her simultaneously. Koshino peered expectantly at the approaching planes but not one was falling into the sea; the formation simply spread out and kept coming.

  Only six guns were firing now. The forward turret was silent. One of its guns was jammed with a projectile and the other two could not be elevated higher than 45 degrees. Bombers and torpedo planes swarmed over Musashi. From his signal booth Hosoya watched in horror as a line of three torpedoes plowed into the ship’s port side, then a bomb exploded into the pagoda structure. Hosoya was knocked to his knees, but almost all those just above him on the command bridge were killed (by chance Inoguchi was at the top of the mast in the observation booth). Seven more torpedoes, bounding like porpoises in the choppy water, smashed one by one into the badly damaged port side.

  No one seemed to be in charge of the ship until an order finally came over the voice tube: “First bridge, all killed. Captain will take command from the second bridge.” It was Inoguchi, still in the observation tower, and unharmed. There were five more quick explosions, one overhead. The voice from the observation tower was weak: “Captain is wounded. Executive Officer, take command.”

  Musashi was listing noticeably to port, and on the second bridge Executive Officer Kato ordered the ship leveled by water ballast. Then he leaned out to the signal booth and handed Hosoya a message to transmit to Yamato, which was pulling away rapidly.

  Electric power was out and Hosoya had to use flags; “Musashi capable of cruising at 15 knots. Listing to port about 15 degrees. One bomb hit first bridge, all members killed. Five direct bomb hits and twelve torpedo hits. Captain is alive.”

  But Musashi’s ordeal was not yet over. At 3:20 P.M. the attack was renewed as planes from Intrepid, Cabot and Essex joined with those still remaining from Franklin and Enterprise. Kurita’s ships continued to throw up a screen of antiaircraft fire but nothing could stop the Americans boring in on Musashi for the kill. When they were through, she was left almost helpless, decks awash. The eerie quiet after battle was broken by a shout of “Banzai!” from the deck.

  “What was that banzai for?” Kato yelled down from the second bridge. “The enemy fleet is destroyed!” a sailor shouted back.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Chief Gunnery Officer Koshino.”

  Kato turned back to the bridge. It was just like Koshino to try to keep up the men’s morale. The story spread throughout the ship and the crew’s fighting spirit remained high despite the seventeen bomb and nineteen torpedo hits. But Kato himself was disconsolate. He informed Inoguchi, who had come down from the observation tower, his left arm in a sling, that the ship was “in no condition to withstand another attack.” Hosoya flagged another message to the disappearing Kurita: “Speed six knots, capable of operation. Damage great. What shall we do?”

  Musashi was ordered to quit the battle area with a two-destroyer escort. Since leaving Borneo, the First Striking Force had been deprived of the services of a battleship, four heavy cruisers (Myoko had just turned back with two damaged shafts) and two destroyers. But the rest of Kurita’s fleet continued edging toward the narrows that led to San Bernardino Strait. Just before 4 P.M., however, Kurita had second thoughts. It was still light enough for several more air attacks and it would be impossible to evade them in the channel ahead. They would be trapped. Kurita reversed course and sent a lengthy explanation to Combined Fleet:

  … WERE WE TO HAVE FORCED OUR WAY THROUGH AS SCHEDULED UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES, WE WOULD MERELY MAKE OF OURSELVES MEAT FOR THE ENEMY, WITH VERY LITTLE CHANCE OF SUCCESS TO US. IT WAS THEREFORE CONCLUDED THAT OUR BEST COURSE WAS TO RETIRE TEMPORARILY BEYOND RANGE OF HOSTILE PLANES UNTIL FRIENDLY [land-based] PLANES COULD STRIKE A DECISIVE BLOW AGAINST THE ENEMY FORCE.

  For an hour Kurita steamed west, but no American planes appeared. Encouraged, he decided to chance the run to San Bernardino Strait, even though there had been no reply to his request for assistance from land-based planes. At 5:15 the First Striking Force reversed course again and began cautiously filing in column between the islands of Masbate and Burias.

  On Musashi, attempts to level the ship by emergency pumping had failed. Her bow was submerged and she crept along at a few knots. The crew transferred everything movable to the starboard aft section, but the port list grew worse. With the emergency battery-powered signal lamp, Hosoya informed Kurita that Musashi was taking on excess water. The answer was:

  MUSASHI GO FORWARD OR BACKWARD AT TOP SPEED AND GROUND ON NEAREST ISLAND AND BECOME A LAND BATTERY.

  Inoguchi tried to comply, but the listing, sinking ship could only move in circles. He told Hosoya to signal the two escorting destroyers to remove the wounded, but neither acknowledged the message.

  “Why don’t they come?” Executive Officer Kato fretted and irritably slapped Hosoya on the top of the head. “Try again.”

  Hosoya repeated the message again and again but there was no reaction. The ship was listing beyond 20 degrees, and as the skies darkened, Inoguchi ordered all men on deck. Ensign Fukujiro Shimoyama, in charge of radio operators, emerged from below with his thirty men, all in spanking clean uniforms. They were appalled at the carnage. Bodies, blasted and mutilated, covered the deck. Shimoyama’s men poured gasoline on several hundred thick code books and set them afire. But they burned too slowly; finally Shimoyama had the charred books stowed in canvas bags, weighted with machine guns and tossed overboard.

  In the fading light Inoguchi set down his will in a small notebook. It had been a mistake on his part, he wrote, to believe so staunchly in big ships and big guns, and he asked the Emperor and the nation to forgive his errors. He assembled his senior officers and a few petty officers on the second bridge and handed the notebook to Kato. “Give it to the commander of Combined Fleet,” he said.

  Kato requested permission to go down with the ship. “Damn fool!” Inoguchi muttered. “My responsibility is so great it can’t even be compensated by death and I must share the ship’s fate, but the executive officer is responsible for taking the crew to safety and getting them aboard a second and third Musashi to avenge today’s battle.” He extended his sword to a youthful ensign. “Thank you for your service. Signal!” Hosoya stepped forward expecting another message but the captain handed him a briefcase containing some money and seven pieces of Toraya sweet bean paste. “Thank you for your service. Do your best to the end.”

  His last orders to Kato were to save the Emperor’s picture, lower the flag and gather all men in the stern for roll call. At about 7:15 P.M. Hosoya supervised the lowering of the flag from the mast as a sailor played the national anthem on a trumpet. The huge flag—an orange sun with sixteen white, sixteen red rays—was reverently tied around the waist of a volunteer, a strong swimmer.

  By the time Hosoya and his detail had joined the others in the stern, Musashi listed so acutely that ammunition cases and empty shells were clattering down the deck.

  “All crew abandon ship,” Kato shouted.
“You’re on your own!”

  On the high starboard side Ensign Shimoyama clutched at a rope rail as he pushed the last bag of code books into the sea. The ship took an abrupt lurch to port and the man next to him embraced him, then another hung on to the second man, and another and another, until there was a human chain of ten. Under all this weight the rope snapped and they all tumbled against a hatchway. A second chain of men tobogganed into them, and Shimoyama, dazed, gave up trying to save himself. “Tenno Heika banzai!” he shouted and left the rest to Fate. The next thing he knew he was in the water with no life belt.

  Assistant Paymaster Kiyoshi Takahashi, a youthful ensign, held on to the rail with one hand, still clutching shoes and leggings with the other. He could see some men in the water but hesitated to join them. The ship began rolling on her side. He heard a rumble and saw an avalanche of lumber headed his way. He placed shoes and leggings neatly on the deck, as if he were to return for them later, then vaulted over the rail and scrambled over the ship’s exposed bottom toward the keel. As Musashi continued to roll he sprinted to keep in place, as if on a treadmill. At last he reached the keel and peered down the other side. It was a long drop to the sea but he was a good swimmer. He leaped, bounced off the hull and was unconscious by the time he tumbled into the water.

  Hosoya was also running shoeless over razor-sharp barnacles along the bottom of the ship, trying to keep up with her roll. His bare feet were bleeding but he felt no pain. He encountered a gaping black hole. Foaming water rushed in, sucking swimmers back into the bowels of the ship. “Torpedo hole! Follow me!” he shouted and clambered down the steep decline toward the bow. He slipped onto the barnacles, but unware of the lacerations on his arms and legs, he worked his way to the end of the bow, which was awash. He simply continued on into the water.

  Shimoyama, who had been flung safely overboard, after giving up hope, struggled to keep his head above water. A poor swimmer under ideal conditions, he panicked when he heard a monstrous sucking noise. He flailed around and saw the ship falling toward him. He was pulled into the undertow, and moments later, catapulted to the surface. Half choked, he spat out water but swallowed a mouthful of oil. He was in the middle of a huge slick. He clutched desperately at a piece of lumber and retched.