The loudspeakers announced that Victorious’ fighters had shot down a ‘Zeke’ Jap fighter 70 miles from the fleet. This almost certainly meant others somewhere and we spent an anxious time looking all over the sky, but particularly up-sun. All at once I heard, above the guns’ electric motors, the sound of our own aircraft engines on the flight deck behind. Three Avengers were being moved forward. As there were enough directors there to cope I nearly did not bother but in the end hoisted myself on to the flight-deck and signed a couple past. In doing so I moved up a few yards to a position a little forward of the island on the port side.
Suddenly, without any warning, there was the fierce ‘whoosh’ of an aircraft passing very fast and low overhead and I looked up in time to see a fighter plane climbing away on the starboard side, having crossed the deck from aft at 50 feet. I was thinking casually what a stupid thing to do and that he was lucky not to get shot at, with a scare on, when the starboard bow Oerlikons opened up a stream of tracer at the retreating enemy. He banked steeply, showing the Japanese red blob markings, and flew down our starboard side, the focus of a huge cone of converging yellow balls as every close range weapon on that side began to hammer away. I thought he was certain to buy it and stood watching until he passed behind the island. I remember PO Lambe at this moment standing with his hands up as a sign to the Avenger he was directing to stop, about 30 feet from me.
Then the Jap came into view again from behind the island, banking hard to come in towards the ship from the starboard quarter, apparently unharmed and by now the target of fewer guns. His silhouette changed to a thin line with a lump in the middle, and he seemed to hang in the air as he dived for the ship.
I waited for no more but sprinted to a hatchway some 20 yards forward on the port side. Expecting to be blown to bits at each stride, I arrived at the hatch just after a tubby leading seaman of the AHP called Chambers, who had homed in from another angle. He proceeded to trip down the steel ladder step by step so I launched myself at his back and we fell in a heap to the bottom. At the same moment there was a flash and a great crash shook the ship. I gave it a second or two to subside, during which the light from the rectangle of sky above turned to deep orange, and ran back up the ladder.
It was a grim sight. At first I thought the kamikaze had hit the island and those on the bridge must be killed. Fires were blazing among several piles of wreckage on deck a little aft of the bridge, flames reached right up the side of the island, and clouds of dense black smoke billowed far above the ship. Much of the smoke came from the fires on deck but as much seemed to be issuing from the funnel and this gave the impression of damage deep below decks. The bridge windows gaped like eye sockets and most of the superstructure was burnt black. The flight deck was littered with debris, much of it on fire, and there was not a soul to be seen.
I grabbed a foam generator nozzle from its stowage nearby and ran out the hose, indicating to a rather shaken turret-safety number who was lying down between the turrets of B group, to switch on the machine. Men began to pour up from the sides of the flight deck and I pushed the foam-erupting nozzle into someone else’s hands, to go round the crews of the other machines who were getting to grips with the main fire. It was very fierce with occasional machine-gun bullets ‘cooking off’. Smaller fires in the tow-motor park, fire-fighter headquarters and odd bits of aircraft scattered around were attacked with hand extinguishers. The AHP were pushing unburnt aircraft clear and carrying casualties below. Some enthusiast appeared from the boat deck to cause initial confusion by playing water hoses from there on to burning oil and petrol; both float and so the fires merely spread but this was dealt with. Generally speaking the foam machines—both old and new—did good work, some blistering and almost too hot to touch. Soon there were pools and mounds of foam all over the place and the pungent smell everywhere. Large reserves of manpower materialised which did sterling work under the Commander, dragging heavy lumps of scrap iron that had been aircraft to the cranes, bringing up fresh drums of foam compound, refilling hand appliances, and generally helping to clear up. With reserves in the Fleet Train we could not tie up hangar space unprofitably and whole though badly damaged aircraft were ditched without ceremony (except for a rush for the clock!). A boat deck crane would be trained over the flight deck to collect the load on a tripping hook; the crane would be swung over the sea and the hook tripped for a fine splash.
In the middle of this there was another kamikaze alarm and we all took over while two attacked the Indomitable. One blew up, disintegrated by pom-poms, about a hundred yards off the ship, and the other hit at such a low angle that he merely skated down the fortunately clear deck and over the side.
Two Corsairs after the second kamikaze. See page 254.
Clearing up after the second kamikaze.
Clearing up after the second kamikaze.
Transferring wounded to a destroyer.
Captain Philip Ruck-Keene, CBE, DSO.
Corsairs parked beside the port after 4.5-in battery.
Corsair pilots receive last minute instructions before a sortie.
Vice Admiral Sir Philip Vian saying goodbye to the assembled ship’s company on the return of HMS Formidable to the UK after the Japanese surrender.
The kamikaze which hit us carried a 500 lb bomb and it was thought (there were no living witnesses) that the pilot released it just before he struck. By bad luck the bomb had caught the point of intersection of four armour plates, a very persistent slice about one foot by nine inches going down through several decks to come to rest in a fuel tank. On its way it wrecked the barrier operating machinery, bucked the hangar fire curtain and cut a steam pipe which filled the centre boiler room with steam. One or two valves had to be turned very quickly before the area was left to scalding steam. This one splinter had reduced our speed temporarily to 18 knots and been responsible for much of the smoke that had towered above the ship. Shipwrights were soon at work filling the hole (about two feet square with an 18-inch depression over 16 feet) with rapid hardening cement and steel plate, engineers were getting one barrier operable by hand (turret crews from the two forward groups were to haul it up and down with large tackles) and work on radar and communications damage was under way.
Considering the appearance of the deck immediately after the incident, our casualties seemed comparatively light: two officers and six men killed and 45 wounded. The Air Engineer Officer (Lieutenant Commander Knox) lost an eye and sadly the stalwart Petty Officer Lambe of the Aircraft Handling Party later died of wounds. Lieutenant Berger was killed in the Operations Room, and a steward in the Bridge Mess, which was punctured by shrapnel. A pilot was killed in an Avenger on deck. Another Avenger (the one Lambe had been directing) and the kamikaze himself were blown to smithereens, and seven more aircraft on deck burnt right out.
The Jap pilot had started his initial dive at the ship, but finding that he was overshooting the bridge decided to pull out (luckily for most of us originally on deck) and, after firing a cannon burst, had come round again. His coolness and audacity, to say nothing of skilful handling of the machine, were indicative that high class pilots were being used on suicide missions. Several bits of Jap pilot and aircraft were found. I collected a piece of tyre, cannon shell, and part of his bomb-release mechanism; someone found his hand with wristwatch still on it (though not going!); a yellow silk jacket was discovered for’ard and Guns was to be seen during the general clean-up poking bits of Jap off the funnel with a long pole.
When things had quietened down I remembered, with grim amusement, an extraordinary feeling I had experienced when running for the hatch. It was that my knees were made of water, my feet of lead and that my real self was yards ahead of my body, left floundering along behind! Actually I was probably running as fast as I ever had. (This was quite forgotten until reading Sir Roger Bannister’s account of his epic four minute mile, when he described the same sensation; presumably something to do with willpower.)
We had a very popular USN Liaison Office
r permanently on board, Lieutenant Commander Ben Hedges. There had been considerable discussion about the relative merits of armoured decks or the extra aircraft carried by US carriers, and when, after the hit, Hedges and the Captain were dusting themselves down, Ruckers gripped Hedges’ arm and raising his other fist in a characteristic gesture said ‘Well, what do you think of our bloody British flight decks now?’, to which Hedges replied ‘Sir, they’re a honey!’
At the time the Captain made to Admiral Vian ’Little yellow bastard!’ to which the Admiral replied ‘Are you addressing me?’, and some time later signalled ‘Well done Formidable’.
Though she could do 24 knots by 13:00, we could not fly off any more strikes that day (the 16 Corsairs aloft when we were hit roosted temporarily elsewhere). However, life continued potentially eventful. Though Indom’s main radar had been put out of action her fleet fighter direction team (under Captain E.D.G. Lewin) functioned with great skill so that eight Jap aircraft were shot down in four different attacks. All the carriers had a hand and no enemy aircraft got through. Admiral Rawlings returned with the bombardment force some time before the last and highly successful sortie, when Seafires from Indefat ‘splashed’ three out of a group of four attackers and Corsairs from Victorious shot down their ‘Gestapo’ aircraft (whose job was to instruct his evil brood about which ship to dive on to). All this meant several calls to repel aircraft.
On the first occasion I found my guns deserted, no Midshipman and no guns’ crews. There was a certain amount of blood about and tin hats on the deck. The nasty realisation that they were casualities and the nearness of my own escape were confirmed from the pom-pom crew nearby who said that the seamen were wounded and they thought the Midshipman was dead. (He and one other turned out to be badly wounded and the third just slightly. The latter, A.B. Fowler, continued for months to spit out bits of shrapnel as they worked into his mouth from his jaw and throat.)
I strapped myself into one of the vacated Oerlikons, and proceeded to shoot down an aircraft with my own fair hands. During a stand-to a lone fighter came in sight on the port beam, almost out of the sun, and made for us in a shallow dive. I gave him a long burst and had the immense satisfaction of seeing him dip suddenly and splash into the sea. Easing the leather straps off my shoulders I locked the gun stationary and stepped down from its platform with a sense of deep satisfaction. Not only was it a good effort but I had almost certainly saved the ship considerable damage.
The Gunnery Officers’ broadcast system clicked on to introduce its usual background hum, and I stopped to listen. Five words in Dan Duff’s driest tone drained the colour from my face—‘That was one of ours’. I have had some shocks in my Naval life, but for unmitigated horror, this was probably the worst, only eased when Undaunted, creaming to the scene to stop with a convulsion of astern power, signalled that she had picked up the pilot more or less unhurt. He proved to have been coming back for an emergency landing, on what must have been Indomitable, and may not have been in full control of his aircraft. I was exonerated—in fact nothing was ever said—as friendly aircraft never approached like this and in such circumstances shoot first and enquire afterwards was the thing. I resolved to go over and apologise to a pilot for the second time in my career (remembering the Bermuda’s catapult incident) but the opportunity did not occur until it was all rather ancient history. However, it is one of many things I wish I had done.
The Captain was able to report by 17:00 that his ship was operational and soon afterwards all but four of our absent Corsairs landed on. We felt rather pleased with ourselves as each one bumped over the 12-inch depression in the deck, followed by a roar from the Captain of Marines to his Royals to haul the battered barrier up again.
Corsairs from Victorious shot down a last enemy aircraft at supper time, lowering the curtain on an eventful day. Throughout it, the enemy, though not too successful with three hits and a near miss, had shown considerable ingenuity. It appeared that the kamikaze which got us had achieved surprise by flying very low (and so indetectable by radar) until quite close. But it did look as if they had shot their boh for the time; next day, a repeat from the BPF’s point of view, there was little retaliation. Our four Corsairs, still in Victorious, distinguished themselves when directed on to a very high ‘Zeke’ snooper, to splash it before returning home. The Admiral congratulated Victorious but she replied that those responsible were ‘paying guests from Formidable’ and added ‘Nice work your flight; 40 minutes from the deck to 28,000 feet at 70 miles!’ No flak came from Ishigaki, so it was presumed that the bombardment had proved effective; yet again all runways were believed unserviceable and in the evening the fleet withdrew to refuel.
It was a very busy two days for Formidable: improving the deck depression, plugging splinter holes, repairing equipment of all sorts, scrubbing and painting the island, in addition to replenishing ammunition, foam compound and the usual provisions. Not least was the transferring by crane, in large rigid cots, of over 30 wounded.
Operations were supposed to be resumed on May 8 but heavy rain storms and ten-tenths cloud dictated a postponement of 24 hours. A CAP was flown and I think it was this day on which, galling to relate, I notched up my third cause for apology to a pilot. It dealt my confidence a sharp, if temporary blow, though the pilot, Sub-Lieutenant A. Ewins, was very good about it. I was parking Corsairs just astern of the island, quite a delicate task as there was only a foot to spare in any direction. The last one had to go right up to a pom-pom sponson. I was inching the pilot forward—his engine roaring with propeller virtually invisible—and paying too much attention to clearance with the next wing stub when there was an ear-splitting clatter that drowned everything. The engine coughed to a stop and, as the triple blades slowed, I saw to my dismay that they had been bent back, like grotesque petals, on the now burnished sponson. The pilot laughed it off but I knew that not only would he miss the next strike but his maintenance crew would have to work all night to fit a new propeller and rectify whatever other damage had been caused by a ‘bloody fish-head’. Ewins (who was to be Mentioned in Despatches) was a tall, good-natured, unassuming fellow who some time later, I think in the operations off Japan, returned with a large chunk of his wing shot away. Our excellent photographer took a picture of this, reproduced elsewhere, Ewins writing on my copy: ‘Jusi a horrible line!’
Formidable had eight Avengers in the first strike next morning and our Corsairs flew target CAP over the two islands and fleet CAP on and off all day. Once again a Corsair’s bomb that had declined to release came off on landing to bowl up the deck towards us. It caused less alarm and despondency this time but hit the after barrier—we now had both in action, still worked by hand—and wrote it off. Just before noon a snooper was sighted but not engaged. The fleet had been seen but little occurred, beyond further sighting reports, until tea-time. At 16:45 a group of five low-flying bogeys was detected to the west. Seafires went out to intercept and shot one down but were eluded by the rest who also avoided another flight of Seafires and closed the fleet at high speed.
We had been at repel aircraft stations for some time—there were fresh faces at the two Oerlikons—when the bugle went for action stations (the difference being that every man-jack in the ship closed up at his appointed place, not just those with gunnery stations). A klaxon blared from Commander (Flying’s) position, ‘Anti-Hawk stations! Anti-Hawk stations!’ was broadcast and in case anyone was still in doubt a large red flag flickered from the island. Anti-Hawk stations, introduced after the last incident when so many people had been caught in the open, told those who could to take cover and all the unemployed squadron personnel to muster in the cross passages under the flight deck, ready to stream out and fight fires.
There was nothing to do now but watch and wait. As a terror weapon these kamikazes were unsurpassed. It was a sensation of ‘the full twitch’ as Air Branch slang had it, especially on a cloudy day, after perhaps ten minutes of a broadcast running commentary on the steady approach of a forma
tion to hear the dry announcement, ‘They have split up now and are too close for radar detection’. Everyone who has to stay in the open searches the sky with his neck on a swivel, light weapons traversing back and forth, up and down, in amplification of their Gunner’s nerves. There is not a man, streaming with sweat under his protective clothing (flame-proof balaclava, gloves, goggles and overall suit with stockings, not to mention tin hat) whose hands have not discovered some piece of equipment that needs last minute adjustment. When at last you see him and all the guns are blazing it’s not so bad, but there is still something unearthly about an approaching aircraft whose pilot is bent on diving himself right on to the ship. Wherever you are he seems to be aiming straight for you personally, and in the case of those in or near the island, that’s just what he is doing.
We had been searching the sky for some minutes when gunfire broke out to port. Victorious was firing and even as I looked there was an explosion on her flight deck. Moments later she opened up again and there was another attacker coming in from astern. It was streaming flames but kept going and also crashed on her flight deck. More gunfire from the same direction. Both Victorious and Howe, ahead of her, were firing now and I could make out two aircraft in the distance, fairly low, flying so as to pass astern. The blue sky was full of little black puffs marking their passage towards us and tracer criss-crossed as each ship came within range. Our port after battery opened fire and then most of the port close-range guns although the distance was really too great. Both aircraft passed astern about a mile and a half away. One began to shallow dive on to Howe and was shot down in flames alongside her; the other, to our intense interest, banked to its left and headed straight for us, fine on the starboard quarter.
Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea Page 33