by James Young
“All hands, all hands, incoming friendly aircraft. I say again, incoming friendly aircraft,” the Yorktown’s loudspeaker uttered. “Any man who opens fire will be shot on orders of the captain.”
Sam and David looked at each other, then began scanning the sky.
“Well I’m pretty sure Major Bowden will appreciate that story when he lands aboard,” David observed wryly.
U.S.S. Nautilus
1235 Local (1735 Eastern)
Aboard the Nautilus, the control room received the first good news of the day.
“We’ve just stopped the last leak,” Lieutenant Banes reported as he returned from astern, his face weary. “However, I think the aft batteries compartment is starting to flood.”
Nick paled at that news. While it was doubtful that the Nautilus would ever be repaired, at least it was appearing more likely that they wouldn’t have to surface and fight it out with superior enemy forces. When contacted by seawater, submarine batteries underwent a chemical reaction whose usual byproduct was chlorine aerosol.
Who knew I’d join the submarine force and still end up possibly dying from being gassed? Nick thought.
“At least the bastards stopped depth-charging us,” Freeman observed grimly.
Still don’t know why or how that happened, Nick thought. The Japanese assaults, while not as accurate as their initial salvo, had still served to keep the crew from affecting proper repairs. Now, as the XO had noted, they were managing to actually gain on the intake of water into their vessel. The submarine had already taken on enough excess weight that keeping her level was difficult, which meant that some air might have to be pumped into the ballast tanks. While noisy, and almost guaranteed to reveal their position, it was far better than the other option of not being able to surface.
“Sir, we might be able to stay down here until nightfall,” Chief Pound quietly muttered. “Provided those bastards don’t lay into us again.”
Lt. Commander Freeman looked up at the control room’s ceiling, squinting as if he was trying to see through the intervening three hundred feet of water.
“I just hope that they have more problems up there than we do down here,” Freeman noted. “Although I don’t think we hurt either one of those carriers as badly as we should have, there’s a chance they’re still sitting up there and we’ll have to fight their escorts.”
“We’re not going to be able to maneuver with the hull bent like it is,” Chief Pound replied. “I’m not sure either one of the deck guns will work.”
“I’m hoping that won’t matter, Chief,” Freeman said. “If it comes to deck guns versus our remaining fish, we’re dead anyway. We can’t win versus a tramp steamer right now, much less two destroyers.”
Chief grunted his agreement. Nodding to the other officers, he headed back aft to oversee the damage control efforts of the crew.
Whether through dumb luck or fast courier to Neptune, Freeman’s prayers were in the process of being partially answered. While she was still ablaze below, Zuikaku’s crew had managed to put out the flight deck fire. More importantly, the crew managed to gain power back to the starboard propeller shafts, allowing the vessel to creep forward at eight knots. With her rudder severely damaged and missing one shaft, the carrier wallowed into and out of turns, but she could still move forward, which meant she had gained a reprieve from being scuttled. As Tone drew alongside to aid her in firefighting, the Zuikaku’s executive officer began ordering the jettisoning of damaged aircraft over the flight deck’s side. Those aircraft that had been saved from the earlier inferno remained gathered on the stern, the hangar deck too much of a shambles for them to be struck below at that time.
Aboard the Shokaku, conditions were far better. Gradually building steam and power, Shokaku’s engineer estimated that her top speed would be twenty knots while steering with her engines. This speed would allow her to get some lightly loaded Zeroes off of her deck to establish a combat air patrol of the two crippled carriers. While it would be another fifteen to thirty minutes before the carrier would be able to carry out the launch operations, her situation was greatly improved from lying dead in the water without the ability to steer.
Having given up attacking the American submarine after losing contact, the Akigumo and Yugumo continued to circle warily, their crews very alert after the failure of the screen that morning. Abukuma continued to circle on the opposite side of the carriers, her lookouts also watchful for the tell-tale feather of an American submarine periscope. Not one eye looked skyward. Aboard the Tone, the heavy cruiser’s radar set sat motionless as her captain attempted to maneuver alongside the damaged Zuikaku.
For only the second time that morning, someone in the Navy had gotten something right. The assignment of search sectors aboard the Hornet, more through dumb luck and the Nautilus’s intervention with a torpedo spread, had almost succeeded in its intent of putting the Hornet’s most experienced dive bomber pilots in sectors most likely to discover the Japanese fleet. Given the large combat air patrol that Admiral Yamaguchi belatedly directed over the Kido Butai’s four undamaged carriers, it was a sign of Fortune’s shifting allegiances that the two Hornet dive bombers found the crippled Zuikaku and Shokaku. In the lead SBD Lieutenant Aaron Carson, USNA ’32, had sighted the burning column of smoke from Zuikaku from forty miles away. Closing through scattered clouds, Carson had made sure of the position, then signaled his wingman, Lieutenant (j.g.) Vincent Larson, to climb higher with hand and arm signals. Now, circling wide to the north to avoid having the carrier’s smoke blown into their path and also take advantage of scattered clouds starting to move into the area, Carson was satisfied he’d done his best to assure their success. The two dive bombers had maintained radio silence during their long, tense climb, neither pilot wanting to give any warning of their approach.
“Nuckowski, start transmitting,” Carson barked into his oxygen mask as they entered the scattered clouds. Far below them and about three miles to their front, he counted the Japanese vessels once more. “Two carriers, with escorts, the last position I gave you right before we started circling.”
“Roger sir,” ARM2 Nuckowski replied, and immediately began hammering out a contact report in Morse code. Across from them, Lt. (j.g.) Larson’s gunner began following suit. The process took only a few moments, after which both gunners unshipped their twin .30-caliber machine guns and stood ready to repel any fighters. Exactly as Carson had planned it, the two dive bombers began their dive upsun from the burning Zuikaku. As he began to build up speed, Carson pressed his eye against the telescopic sight piercing the front of his windshield. Looking through it, the Zuikaku immediately became larger, the singed red ball at the forward part of her flight deck providing a convenient aim point. Extending his dive brakes, Carson settled down into his dive and listened as Nuckowski began calling off the readings from the altimeter.
As Carson passed eight thousand feet, lookouts aboard the Abukuma finally spotted the two dive bombers. By then, it was far, far too late for anyone to prevent the attack. The few desultory rounds that were fired by the light cruiser and the Zuikaku herself did not even register with either pilot before they released. On a stationary, basically undefended target attacked by two experienced dive-bomber pilots, the results were almost foregone. Carson’s weapon missed his point of aim by a mere ten feet, slamming through the planking weakened by the earlier flight deck fire and into the hangar deck. The weapon landed amongst the damage repair parties attempting to put out the last of the hangar deck fires started by Nautilus’s torpedoes, killing over half their number. Larson’s aim was thrown off by his reacting to the explosion of Carson’s bomb. As a result, the weapon carried towards the carrier’s stern and straight into the aircraft gathered there. While their tanks had never been refilled after the first strike, there was more than enough fuel to ignite a strong blaze on the Zuikaku’s flight deck.
Both SBDs pulled out of their dives, Carson and Larson retracting their dive brakes. Carson, having noted the Akigu
mo astern of their target, had started an immediate turn to port during his dive. This added just enough deflection that the startled destroyer’s gunners missed him during egress. Unfortunately Larson, his blood pumping from the exhilaration of scoring a hit, decided to take on the Akigumo with his twin fixed guns on his way out. It was a decision as foolhardy as it was brave. While the two streams of .50-caliber bullets killed the destroyer’s captain and helmsman, the zero deflection shot Larson provided made it all too easy for the destroyer’s 25mm gunners to knock out the SBD’s engine. Realizing he was now an impromptu glider pilot, Larson managed to keep the dive bomber level and slammed into the ocean a half mile from the destroyer. Moving like greased lightning, the young pilot and his gunner scrambled into their life raft. Ten minutes later, they became the Imperial Japanese Navy’s first American prisoners of war, as the just strafed Akigumo picked both men up. Five minutes of Bushido-fueled hospitality and a decapitation later, Hornet’s general direction and proximity were conveyed to an alarmed Vice Admiral Tamaguchi.
Akagi
1245 Local (1655 Eastern)
“Where is the Hornet?” Yamaguchi asked.
“The surviving American aviator is still being interrogated. He is steadfastly refusing to reveal the Hornet’s location despite the Akigumo’s best efforts,” Kusaka paused, seeing his commander’s mind racing.
Is Hornet alone? Yamaguchi thought to himself. If she was, he was being presented with another great opportunity. However, the refugees from Shokaku and Zuikaku had reduced his number of operable flight decks to three, Kaga having taken on so many aircraft that she could strike no more below. Still, with three to one odds and the advantage of surprise, it would be well worth the risk.
On the other hand, if Enterprise steams with her, the odds are much worse.
“Sir, Rear Admiral Hara wants to know if you want to scuttle the Zuikaku?” Kusaka asked.
Yamaguchi nearly nodded in the affirmative, then stopped himself.
“No. Order the Akigumo to remain near the Zuikaku. The Shokaku is to begin proceeding for the Home Islands with the remainder of the group. If the Zuikaku puts out her fires and recovers power by nightfall, she is to proceed under the escort of the Akigumo. If she does not, the Akigumo is to scuttle her and rejoin the group with the Shokaku.”
From the dumbstruck expression on Kusaka’s face, Yamaguchi could see that he did not grasp the reason for his orders. Looking at the rest of the staff, he saw that a few bright lights, most notably Commanders Fuchida and Genda, understood the reasoning with crystal clarity.
I will have to replace several members of this staff once we return to Japan. They do not think well on their feet, Yamaguchi thought. In this kind of warfare that is incredibly dangerous.
“Hornet will surely launch her strike at the last reported location for the Zuikaku. The smoke from the Zuikaku will draw the enemy aircraft like moths to a flame,” Yamaguchi explained patiently. He could see more members of the staff starting to catch on.
“If the strike is launched at maximum range, the enemy will not have time to search for the Shokaku. If it is not, they will still have to split their force to make sure the Zuikaku sinks while continuing to search for the Shokaku, Yamguchi continued to explain. “This reduced force will give the Shokaku’s fighters a better chance at defending their vessel.”
“But what if the fighters are not successful?” Kusaka asked. “Will we not have sacrificed both carriers for nothing?”
“Do you truly believe the Shokaku, in her damaged state, will be able to outrun the Hornet, nevermind the strike group?” Yamaguchi asked, his tone annoyed. “If they are successful, we will have risked nothing more than what is already on the board. If they are unsuccessful, the Shokaku may still survive the damage and make it home. In either circumstance, we will have a chance to sink the Hornet.”
Of course, if there are two carriers, then the Shokaku is definitely doomed, Rear Admiral Yamaguchi thought. I need more information!
“It does not say if Tone has launched her own reconnaissance aircraft in an effort to find the Hornet,” Yamaguchi said. “If she has not done so, direct her to do so immediately.”
The staff hurried to do Yamaguchi’s bidding. Signal flags quickly fluttered into the air, directing the Kido Butai to come around to an easterly heading. In the hangar decks of the three operational carriers, men began the backbreaking operations required to launch another strike.
U.S.S. Hornet
1330 Local (1830 Eastern)
The Hornet’s flight deck was a closely orchestrated chaos as she began to launch her Sunday punch. Circling above the carrier, Eric took a moment to wipe his brow. With plenty of fuel in his tanks and it being quite obvious that he was not going to be flying on this strike, it was time to sit back and wait for the carrier’s deck to become clear.
Not sure it was the brightest idea to immediately recall all scouts that had not made contact, Eric thought. But his logic was sound. Rear Admiral Fitch, listening to his staff, had determined the best course of action was to launch the strongest strike possible at Carson’s contact. That had necessitated assuming some risk in the form of landing the anti-submarine patrol to add to the Hornet’s punch. Fitch had then directed that the returning scouts would be landed, immediately refueled, and launched to replace the anti-submarine aircraft. Confronted with two carriers, it was Fitch’s intent to bag both.
Shouldn’t someone be asking why one of those carriers was ablaze when Carson found them? Eric mused. Brown had decoded Carson’s repeated contact and action report, as well as the fact that his wingman had gone down.
Seems like scouts always get it, Eric thought grimly. Maybe that’s why the new air group reorganization just lumps all the SBDs into one squadron. It had taken some getting used to at first, but Eric could now see the utility of just having every plane type in one unit.
Guess I’m going to miss out on that strike after all, he thought angrily, watching as Hornet came into the wind.
“Makes you wish we were going with them, doesn’t it?” Brown asked from the backseat. Eric pondered his answer for a moment.
“Not in particular,” he replied. “I’m not in a hurry to get my head blown off,” Eric responded.
Brown laughed into the intercom.
“Don’t let Commander Ring here you say that, sir,” Brown said. “He’s been chomping at the bit for this day his whole life it seems.”
“I get a feeling this war is going to be long enough for plenty of people to get more chances at killing me,” Eric observed. “I don’t see any reason to give them extra.”
“Sorta the way I look at it,” Brown responded. “I don’t doubt my own ability, or to tell the truth, yours.”
Eric smiled at his gunner’s blunt assessment.
Okay, most officers would not let that go, he thought briefly as Brown continued.
“Problem is, I’m sure there’s some arrogant, competent yellow bastard who will be able to shoot just as well as I can,” Brown said, his voice surprisingly jovial. “Problem is, he’ll be on a ship with something besides these twin peashooters and that means Mrs. Brown is going to get a letter about her son while I’m finding out if my pastor was right about Hell.”
“That’s the last of the dive bombers,” Eric noted, putting the aircraft into a turn. “Time for the torpedo bombers to hurry up or the Wildcat pilots will all be swimming home.” The contact report, at one hundred seventy-five miles, was just barely within the F4Fs’ combat radius. As a result, only six of the tubby fighters were accompanying the strike. A very small escort, it was the most that the Captain Mitscher was willing to risk.
“Hey, what’s that over to starboard?” Brown asked. Eric turned his head from where the first Avenger was rolling down the Hornet’s flight deck. Bringing up his binoculars he focused on the distant speck. As it jumped into his vision, he realized in an instant it didn’t look like anything the United States flew.
“Looks like we’re not th
e only people who have seen our friend,” Brown stated. “Wildcats are going after him from seven o’clock.”
Eric turned to look just in time to see the Wildcats descending as they passed behind the Dauntless’s rear towards the enemy.
“Sucks to be that bastard,” Eric said.
“Yeah, but who’s he talked to already?” Brown replied.
The combat was quick and one-sided. The first Wildcat missed its target, thrown off by a sudden last second maneuver by the agile aircraft. The second Wildcat, however, did not miss. With a bright smear of reddish orange against the sky, the float plane was gone…but not before it had indeed made a contact report.
IJNS Akagi
1405 Local (1905 Eastern)
Yamaguchi watched the last of the Kido Butai’s strike recede into the distance. The report for Tone’s scout had been quickly relayed to Commander Fuchida, the transmission being repeated four times so that Fuchida would not be required to respond and give away his strike’s existence.
The Kido Butai had launched more than enough aircraft to finish one carrier. Thirty-six fighters, forty-five dive bombers, and twenty-one Kates had left the three operational flight decks on their way towards the Hornet. Ten of the remaining fighters currently orbited overhead in response to the Tone scout’s final report that the Hornet was launching. Another nine fighters were currently winging their way towards the Zuikaku and Shokaku.
We lost so many aircraft on the second strike, Yamaguchi thought. When adding in those aircraft damaged beyond easy repair aboard the carriers, the current strike that had left the Kido Butai’s decks was a maximum effort. While the reports strongly indicated that both the Lexington and Saratoga were sinking, the destruction of an air group’s worth of aircraft and their crews had been a stiff price to pay.
“Sir, Tone reports four-engined aircraft in sight,” Rear Admiral Kusaka reported, handing him the note.