*Uganda’s Report of Proceedings noted: ‘One third of Formidable’s flight deck from aft appeared to be ablaze … Although her after gun positions were shrouded in flame and dense black smoke, the carrier’s armament kept barking away at the new threat, which was blown apart in the air’.
*Eventually revealed as Vice Admiral Sir Reginald Henderson, Controller, in 1936. He made the decision entirely on his own initiative but sadly died of overwork before the first ships appeared (Naval Review, July 1965).
10
Under Nimitz and Vian
Manus came and went unlamented and, on July 16, we were treated to a memorable sight, the American Third Fleet provisioning from their Fleet Train: nine heavy and six light carriers, seven battleships, 15 cruisers and 60 destroyers! Though there were more carriers but fewer battleships it reminded me of our combined Home and Med fleets congregated at Gib before the war. They filled the horizon over a wide arc, a numerical concentration of naval power that has not been matched since.
The BPF was to operate as one of the four Task Forces (TF 37 this time) of the Third Fleet, which had just begun the preliminary softening up of Japan itself, prior to invasion. In the late afternoon the whole armada moved off towards the flying position, four groups in line abreast (the BPF, on the right, the most northerly) advancing over a 45-mile front. Formidable launched 16 Corsairs. Joining up with seven Fireflies from Implacable that flew off north-west about 200 miles to carry out ‘Ramrod’ attacks (bombing and strafing airfields) at Sendai, Masuda and Matshushima. Tokyo was about the same distance south-west and for the first time I felt great satisfaction, though heaven knows it was secondhand. Those two ships at the bottom of the sea off Malaya with their Midshipmen in captivity, Richard Onslow and his Hermes, Anthony Terry and those men at the Malay School in Padang—seldom out of my thoughts—it had been good in May to feel we were doing something about them, but to be actually bombing Japan, that hitherto had seemed so far away…
Three of our Corsairs were shot down or had to ditch but all the pilots were rescued, one by an American and two by our destroyers. The next two Ramrods, provided by Victorious and Implacable, were aborted because of bad weather, but ten Corsairs from Formidable and 12 from Victorious got through successfully and attacked installations on the far coast of Japan. South of us the Americans had flown off two strikes which had been aborted and Admiral McCain, our immediate superior, cancelled further strikes for the day to leave, we felt, a feather in the British cap. This was the season of typhoons, with unsettled weather of extraordinary local variation. Strikes took off in bright sunshine to find the target shrouded in low cloud and driving rain, or the reverse applied, and sudden dense fog patches made life hazardous for aircraft returning low on fuel.
After dark we flew off our night fighters in sheeting rain to provide CAP over a bombardment force which included KG V. This went to within 14 miles of the coast and bombarded industrial establishments, one of KG V’s targets being the Hitachi engineering works which received 91 rounds. Landing-on aircraft at night in pouring rain is an unpleasant business and never was I more sure that my services were going to be required. Dim lights along the edge of the flight deck provided an uncertain avenue for the pilots to aim at and Joyce’s bats were illuminated. Apart from reflections in the streaming, swaying deck, this was about all the pilots could see. My admiration for them knew no bounds. All got on without trouble and when they had disappeared into the welcoming if muted glow of the hangar I turned in, thankful and tired. It had been a long 21 hours.
The next few days followed an irritating on-off pattern with bouts of bad weather allowing CAPs and an occasional strike to be fitted in. On July 24 when we were about 200 miles east of Kyushu—the southernmost of Japan’s main islands—848’s Avengers bombed Tokushima, one of them being lost, and all four British carriers went for a Kaiyo Class carrier, leaving it with a broken back and on fire. (A photograph taken showed a clean break, with the two halves sagging.) Japanese fighters claimed four victims, though none from Formidable. Two Ramrods followed, the second of which got lost due to the weather closing in. By the time they sighted the fleet their tanks were practically empty, one Corsair coming down in the sea before it could land and another taking the first carrier it saw and just making it. I think it was a member of this party who found himself over an American carrier and quickly obtained permission to land. Unfortunately the American landing-on signals were diametrically opposite to our own. At the first approach the pilot was waved round again; the second was as bad but he landed on somehow to heap invective on the batsman for giving him the wrong signals. The batsman defended himself stoutly and then they both realised that the pilot had been reading the signals as American while the former had been doing his best to provide the British version! It must be added that on subsequently reaching Formidable this Corsair finished up half over the port side, with me thankful that the pilot climbed out under his own steam and stomped off cursing.
Much the same happened to an Avenger the next day; the only one to find the allocated target, it returned with only ten gallons left. The collapsing of one wheel occurred several times. The sea had been calm for so long that perhaps it was the swell that caught some new pilots unawares (there had been some very young replacements at Sydney). The result was not particularly frightening so long as the aircraft, scraping to a halt on one wheel and the opposite wingtip, did not slew too much. One such pranger scooped up an arrestor wire with its bent propeller, the wire coming down just forward of the perspex cockpit which was probably fortunate.
Strikes continued against shipping in the Inland Sea and against Tokushima airfield. The weather worsened yet again and course was set for the next replenishment area. Enemy air activity was now increasing. A high-speed reconnaissance plane was shot down by the Americans to crash in flames inside our screen and yield two Japanese bodies to Tenacious. There were reports of balloons and ‘window’* over the fleet and just before landing on at 19:00 one of Formidable’s Hellcats shot down a parachute with a black box dangling from it, thought to have been a radio homing beacon. All this spelt danger, and in fact it was only averted by the efficiency of our fighter direction team. The fighter cover of four Corsairs and four Hellcats were landing on Formidable when three groups of bogeys were detected and the Americans reported splashing a ‘Myrt’ bomber. Landing-on was accordingly stopped with two Hellcats still aloft.
The perspex display in the ADR was full of aircraft, amongst which was a group at 94 miles which Captain Lewin was sure were hostile. The American Group CIC (Combat Information Centre) officer in overall fighter direction command was sceptical but Philip O’Rorke was instructed to intercept and directed the two Hellcats on to these bogeys. Shortly after 20:00 there was an excited ‘Tally ho!’ from Lieutenant Atkinson who, with Sub-Lieutenant McKie, was at 20,000 feet, 30 miles from the fleet. They tore into the formation, shooting down the leader and two others and damaging a fourth. American fighters from the night fighter carrier Bonhomme Richard then arrived and dealt with the remainder. There were 30 Japanese ‘Grace’ torpedo bombers in all, none of which carried out an attack. Torpedo bombers have the advantage at night—vide the ‘Torch’ attack on Bermuda and Sheffield—it was now bright moonlight and many ships would undoubtedly have suffered if the Lewin/Formidable team had not lived up to their name. As can be imagined the two gladiators returned to considerable acclamation.
After two days’ fuelling the BPF was back with attacks on airfields and shipyards with the usual outlandish names, and on shipping in the Inland Sea. Opposition was strong, both in the air and from flak, the fleet losing eight aircraft. Two Corsair pilots of our 1842 Squadron were forced to ditch in a harbour mouth. All dreaded falling into Japanese hands with good reason (they were briefed only on their part in any operation so as not to give much away under torture) and the two pilots must have felt that this was it. Their delight can be imagined when an American submarine came right in and picked them up. The American rescue
service of submarines and flying boats was excellent.
Another Corsair limped back with large chunks of wood in and about its engine, having flown into the airborne remains of his predecessor’s target. Though it was evident that every single one of our pilots, bomber or fighter, continued to press home their attacks as if AA fire did not exist, there was one in particular, Lieutenant R.H. ‘Hammy’ Gray, the senior pilot of 1842 Squadron, who was a byword for leading daring sweeps with attacks at very close range. He came up to the bridge mess for some reason that evening or the next. I had, of course, seen him about a good deal but did not really know him and was surprised at the infectious, lighthearted, self-deprecating nature of this fair-haired, rather tubby Canadian. I thought what an extremely nice chap and found it difficult to imagine him as the ice-cool killer he became when strapped into the cockpit of a fighter.
Whether or not the first strikes got off successfully, each day started with ranging aircraft at about 03:00 and continued either with aircraft operations all day or frustrating waits for the weather to clear. If there was night flying it might end any time, depending on the visibility and chance of kamikaze or torpedo attack. As described, replenishment days were little less demanding. Though we had settled into the routine and the enemy were surprisingly absent, the actual tempo of flying was greater than during the Iceberg operations, with more aircraft movements per day, and wear and tear began to take its toll. I think it was about this time that the Aircraft Handling Party became so tired (mainly ranging aircraft but with many other tasks as well) that it was only Harry Hawkes’ special brand of leadership—he was to get a well earned DSC—that enabled him to ask for further effort when they had truly gone beyond their tether. Having to be literally on my toes, so as not to miss a second, as every single aircraft landed, my particular problem was the inability to relax. It began to get me down; until I hit on an odd but successful remedy. This was to imagine that each one, as it approached, was going to crash. Somehow this took the strain off—if it did crash I was not surprised, if it didn’t all was well anyway. (I have since applied this in many other spheres; to expect the worst conserves much nervous energy.)
The pattern continued with replenishment periods every few days. One of these was greatly complicated by a tremendous typhoon-bred swell. To keep a safe distance between the ships, the jackstay along which we were receiving 500 lb bombs was 300 feet long, tended by a large body of men who continually hauled or rendered so as to keep it taught.
We were to have returned to the attack on August 3, the BPF’s targets being in the Hiroshima area. The day dawned bright and clear but a mysterious signal cancelled operations and to the perplexity of all there was no further development for four days. Then, on August 7 the reason was made plain. A monster bomb had been dropped by the US Air Force on Hiroshima. Few if any of us knew what an atomic bomb might be, but it was obviously something very special and the first wonderings stirred as to whether the war might end sooner than we had dared to hope. The enemy’s reaction was unknown and to help them make up their minds Admiral Halsey intended continued attacks.
August 9 proved to be a full and for HMS Formidable a tragically memorable day. Conditions, unfortunately, were good and an Avenger strike plus three Corsair Ramrods were flown. The first Ramrod and the Avenger strike caused much destruction, especially to airfields in the north of Honshu. The second, led by Hammy Gray, sank a destroyer and damaged other naval vessels; but they returned with the news that he had been shot down. With the war probably in its closing stages the Captain had told the squadron COs not to take unnecessary risks. This was duly passed on to Gray, but true to form he must have taken little note of it. Leading the others, he came in low over some hills in a high speed dive but was met by intense fire, both from the shore and five ships. Gray dropped his bombs on the destroyer Amakusa and was beginning his getaway run to seaward at 40 feet when his port wing erupted in flames. The aircraft banked steeply to starboard and then, both wings now ablaze, turned on its back and plunged at full power into the sea. (The others re-formed under Sub-Lieutenant Mackinnon, the next senior pilot, circled round and repeated the attack. The Amakusa had already sunk but two other ships were damaged.)
One of his pilots, Sub-Lieutenant A. Hughes wrote: ‘It was my first raid over Japan, but Lieutenant Gray was so cheerful and inspired such confidence as a leader that my nervousness was allayed before it started… he was liked and respected by all and his death cast a shadow not only on the pilots but on the whole ship’. This was true; his gallant end after five years of war and within days of peace put a lasting damper on us all, which not even the eventual award of a posthumous VC (the only one earned by the Royal Navy in the Pacific Campaign) did much to lighten.
Nor was this the only blow. When Gray’s men returned, one—with no hydraulics—carried out a successful belly landing but another, almost out of fuel, requested permission for an immediate landing. He was approaching normally when his engine stopped about 50 yards off the stern. The Corsair, descending fast, hit the very top of the roundown, where the flight deck curved down towards the stern. It remained there for a second and then began to run back. The batsman, powerless to do anything, took a couple of agonised steps forward as if to will it to stop. The plane gathered speed, slewed round, pointed one wing in the air as the other dropped over space, and disappeared. Moments later it could be seen in the wake, almost submerged, and then was gone. There was no sign of the pilot. It was thought he might have been knocked out by the original shock as the brakes should have held the plane until help arrived. Another five seconds of fuel would have saved him. Also a Canadian, he was due to go home, whether or not the war went on, and this second tragedy all but extinguished such euphoria as we had left on that subject.
However, two other Corsairs on CAP shot down a ‘Grace’ bomber over an American Task Group and the day ended with another atom bomb, this time on Nagasaki. Presumably there was an adaquate supply of these astonishing weapons and the least optimistic felt that even the Japanese could hardly go on while city after city was obliterated. This appeared to be the case when next day the enemy agreed to the terms of the Potsdam agreement (unconditional surrender) except that they stipulated that the Emperor should be left on his throne. Presumably this had to be discussed by the Allies (Russia had declared war on Japan the day before) for there was no further development. In fact both sides went at it as hard as ever. All day BPF aircraft ranged far and wide; not without cost as six aircraft did not return. One was Sub-Lieutenant Maitland’s, one of the best pilots of 1841. In the spirit of Hammy Gray he was making a second strafing pass over an airfield. Though we did not know it, this was the last attack to be made by Formidable in the war. The enemy in their turn, as a last defiant gesture, tried all day on the 9th and 10th to get through to the ships—both kamikazes and conventional bombers—but not in massed attacks and the CAPs shot most of them down.
And then came an announcement that, foreshadowed but still unbelievable, put the sighting of land from Djohanis in the shade and set us slapping each other on the back.
HMS Formidable
14/8/45
We have just spliced the mainbrace in honour of VJ-Day, the Japs having packed in this morning. Well, it’s all over now and with luck we shall be home soon, though we still don’t know when. It really is incredible that it is all finished when two weeks ago it might have lasted two years. I’m glad I got out here and saw it finished I must say and rather hope we go to Singapore, though that will come under the Indies fleet I expect. We lost three pilots on the very last strikes which was very sad.
I must say it seems a long time ago when I was 19 and a Midshipman in the Nelson.
So the war was over. My immediate reaction was one of thankfulness that I had escaped whole. I had been prepared for sudden death but it was the idea of being badly wounded that appalled. I suppose this feeling was natural, if selfish in view of the thousands—such as those in Japanese prison camps—who should have been
uppermost in one’s mind.
It was given out that except for KG V, Indefatigable, two cruisers and ten destroyers, the BPF under Admiral Vian would be returning to Australia. This caused general but not universal rejoicing. Personally I would have liked to have stayed and seen something of the Japanese surrender—even from afar—but then I had not been away from home as long as most and had a vested interest in this occurrence anyway. A fortnight later Formidable as flagship led in through Sydney Heads to a tremendous reception that ended with a thousand individual crescendoes as we went ashore to ecstatic friends. On the 31st there was a victory march through the streets, with most ships represented and then, heavily engaged in paint ship, we fell to wondering ‘what next?’
It was not known whether outlying Japanese strongholds would accept the virtually unconditional terms and a reduced BPF presence was required, for some months, in Japanese waters. Admiral Rawlings went home, relieved by Admiral Vian who transferred his flag from us to the Implacable and shortly returned north. He was to write in a foreword to A Formidable Commission: ‘Formidable, under the command of Captain Philip Ruck-Keene, CBE, DSO, proved from the moment she joined the Pacific Fleet to have a striking power second to no other ship; and her well-led and well-trained company were to show in due course that they could take knocks as well as give them. I could have wished for no finer flagship’. There is no doubt that all the five carriers of the BPF were good, with little to choose between them. Few who served in any of the others will agree, but adding to the above, hard facts like landing-on periods and strike/interception results (the ship was to earn more decorations than any other) it is difficult to deny that Formidable had a distinct edge.
All her aircraft had flown ashore, with of course their ground crews. No-one thought anything of this at the time, they would presumably be back in due course, but except for junketings aboard we were not to see them again. This seemed a sorry way to end things; but the speedy repatriation of the thousands of unfortunate prisoners of war was to receive justifiable priority.
Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea Page 35