by Kevin Miller
“Starboard side! Six medium land-based planes approaching! On the horizon!”
Nagumo and the others stepped around the helmsman to observe as Captain Aoki maneuvered Akagi away from this new threat on their quarter: twin-engine bombers, hugging the surface.
“What are those planes? More Mitchells?” an incredulous Kusaka asked.
“Martin B-26s, Admiral,” Genda volunteered. Mesmerized as the Americans bored in on the Mobile Force, straight at Akagi, he counted only four. Plane handlers on deck froze as the enemy approached while gunners fired for their lives. As flak burst around the Americans, Zero-sens tore into them. One attacking Type Zero flamed up and plunged into the sea, downed by American fire.
As the Zero-sen exploded on the water in a shower of spray, Genda’s eyes widened. These twin-engine planes were fast, and not breaking off. Gunners in the catwalks and galleries opened fire on their assailants, and thunderous booms from the heavy guns rattled the bridge windows. Nagumo, too, felt the concussions, as he had from outgoing gunfire throughout a career spent on ship bridges. The sleek planes grew larger and did not drift. Constant bearing. A worried Aoki ordered the helmsman to shift his rudder, and the nervous sailor manhandled the ship’s wheel in the opposite direction.
As they approached, one bomber exploded and rolled headlong into the sea. Cheers and shouts rose amid the staccato bursts of automatic fire and the deafening reports of the ship’s main battery. Fuchida watched the remaining three continue, bearing down on Akagi, bearing down on me! Spray from antiaircraft mixed with CAP fighters pelted the water underneath the attackers, who showed no signs of retreat as they faced a full broadside of Akagi’s antiaircraft fire.
“Are those torpedoes?” Kusaka asked. Aoki bolted to the bridge window to see for himself
“Hard right rudder!”
“Hard right rudder, aye, Captain!” the helmsman responded, pulling on the wheel. It came to a stop, hard over.
“Captain, my rudder is hard right!”
“Very well!”
Helpless to contribute, Nagumo’s staff could only watch and wait for Aoki to deliver them. Akagi’s heel increased as she turned toward the Americans. Through the spray on the surface, Aoki tried to discern torpedo wakes. He struggled to think among the roaring chatter of his guns. For now, he could only estimate a torpedo attack.
“Rudder amidships!”
The helmsman furiously complied, but everyone else on the bridge was still as the lead American bomber bore in at flight deck level – down their throat – without a single degree of heading drift. Tracers from the starboard bow gallery bracketed the plane above and below. As Akagi steadied out, her gunners could no longer bring even their automatic weapons to bear on it. Fuchida, a spectator, held his breath.
“Seppuku,” Nagumo muttered, loud enough for Genda to hear. The American was going to hit the pilothouse and take them with him.
“Hit the deck!”
As some ducked behind the thin plating of the pilothouse, others faced the American madman with stoic resolve. Awestruck, they watched the strange craft race down the length of the flight deck. Men dove for cover as a gunner in the nose fired bursts from a single-barrel gun. Those on the bridge looked into the American cockpit and saw that the pilot and co-pilot wore cloth flying helmets and goggles.2 The co-pilot grimaced in defiance as they roared past with engines at full power. Their big wingtip, with a navigation light they could almost touch, flashed only a few meters away. The strange bomber had a huge white star on the fuselage and a giant single tail, mangled from a hit. Damage from running the gauntlet of Zero-sens and antiaircraft was evident elsewhere on the aluminum skin, and the rear turret gunner was still. It was as if the bomber were taxiing aft, but at blinding speed. Witnesses on the bridge and flight deck gawked in wonder.
As the first speeding monster cleared Akagi’s fantail, another followed it. Genda could only watch dumbstruck – we’re dead – before the plane veered away from the bridge at the last second. Once the bomber cleared the ship aft, ready gunners tore it to pieces in a cacophony of automatic weapons. A huge fireball erupted as the speeding bomber nosed down and exploded next to the wake, sending up a giant shower of spray, flame, and twisted metal. Deep and raging animal cries and epithets rose from the men on deck. The cries were the only signal those on the bridge received that the threat was gone.
Aoki picked up the torpedo wake. His estimate correct, the torpedo bubbled down the port side and away. He shouted at the watch and lookouts to search for other torpedoes from the surviving American bombers that now fled from fighters and cruiser gunfire to the southwest. The unnerved captain rushed about the bridge as he scanned the horizon for threats and assessed his flight deck.
Nagumo was prone to acting. Tomonaga was correct. Nagumo’s staff huddled with him near the chart table as he spoke.
“Kusaka, we can see that Midway remains a threat. We literally dodged a torpedo from capable land-based bombers the Americans fly as if one of our agile Zero-sens.”
“Force Commander, I agree for the need to restrike, and soon, so they cannot rearm. It only takes one to get lucky.”
“What can you send soonest?” Nagumo asked.
“Our own level-bombers and the dive-bombers in CarDiv 2 are fueled and loaded, but with torpedoes and armor-piercing bombs. We can rearm them with land-attack weapons within an hour. By then, the Midway aircraft will be arriving here for recovery.”
“We must recover them.”
“Yes, Admiral, and, with luck, we may be able to load and spot the planes we have in readiness. We’ll close Midway another 20 miles. The first wave has a fuel reserve to circle while we launch.”
Genda was skeptical – the morning attack had never been called “the first wave” – and his eyes met those of Fuchida. Rearm and spot for launch in an hour? If all were perfect, it could not be done. Nagumo explored another option.
“Could we recover this wave, reload them, and send fresh pilots?”
Kusaka was quick to answer. “We could, but we lose time waiting for their arrival, recovery, striking below, loading…and then the reverse.”
He closed his eyes and counted on his fingertips before he continued.
“It would be well past noon when our second wave could reattack Midway, giving the enemy even more time to prepare. And if a third wave is required, we risk nightfall for our group recoveries and may not accomplish the goal of neutralizing the atoll for the landing tomorrow.”
Nagumo held his jaw with one hand as he contemplated the chart. Outside, men shouted orders as they manhandled a Type 0 into a launch spot.
“I’m inclined to agree with you. The schedule must not be altered if we can avoid it.”
Genda couldn’t remain quiet.
“Force Commander, we can radio Admiral Kondō if required. The Americans know we are here.”
Kusaka frowned at his subordinate. Know your place, Genda!
“Our orders are to remain silent, Genda. Here we saw a handful of American planes escape after a feeble and unsuccessful attack. Chances are that our escorts and CAP fighters downed the survivors minutes ago. It is unlikely they radioed accurate position reports.”
Genda could not stay silent.
“Kusaka-san, they know we are here, have known it for over an hour from their flying boats that still shadow us. After we recover our attack planes, which may have wounded aboard, my recommendation is to consider a withdrawal north or west to regroup. We’ll get a first-hand account of the damage and intact targets remaining from Tomonaga and our own pilot-observers. We can then attack at noon, and, as we did this morning, from a longer range that shields us from their threat. We are fortunate the winds favor us. Besides, we’ve not heard from the scouts yet.”
Kusaka shook his head. “No, Genda! We cannot allow the Americans time to regroup and refortify; otherwise we will suffer more losses from another half-strength attack. We have planes and crews at the ready; hitting them soonest is vital. Attacking tw
o hours from now is much better than perfect in five or six.”
“Kusaka-san, I agree we must restrike, but we’ve not heard from the scouts who should be approaching the ends of their outbound legs. Perhaps send the dive-bombers in CarDiv 2…”
“Commander Genda! Enough of this! In warfare, fortune favors the bold!” The impatient and perturbed Kusaka scowled at his impertinent junior. Nagumo watched and listened, somewhat amused by the exchange. Fuchida also listened from his folding chair against the bulkhead.
Genda held his ground. “Chief of Staff, if we recover, withdraw, and reassess with the knowledge of our searches, we can and should hit Midway with another full-strength attack. I believe we could accomplish that in four hours. And with our finest pilots, whom we held in reserve. We just saw enemy torpedo planes… a carrier-based type of a new, modern design…”
“Yes, but they were without fighter escort, without coordination – even from their own medium bombers within visual sight!”
“What if they came from a carrier, Kusaka-san? They’ve shown innovation and courage. We–”
“There are no carriers nearby,” Nagumo murmured, which shocked all into silence. Minutes counted, and he had to end this.
“There are no carriers in these waters. If there were, we would have received warning from Combined Fleet. Scouts have been airborne for three hours and nothing. Genda-kun, you are prudent and wise, but Kusaka-san is correct that we must act now and attack as soon as possible, at full strength, with the proper ordnance for land fortifications.”
Nagumo turned to his chief of staff.
“Give the order. Reequip our CarDiv 1 level-bombers for land attack, and the CarDiv 2 dive-bombers with suitable land weapons.”
“Hai, Force Commander,” Kusaka said as he came to attention and saluted. His eyes swept past those of Genda before giving orders to the Communications Officer and Air Officer. The officers saluted.
Amid a flurry of shouted orders, Genda stood on the bridge wing and gazed at Hiryū 6,000 yards to port. Her deck was clear.
We are contravening an order, and too soon. And sending the “second wave” too soon.
He sensed someone step behind him. Turning, he saw the understanding face of his Force Commander.
Genda stiffened and offered a slight bow. He expected a rebuke.
“Genda-kun, you are right to argue your position, which is sound. These discussions are important for me to weigh courses of action.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Force Commander.”
Nagumo put his hand on his shoulder. “You are a brilliant planner and wish things to go perfectly, with every detail addressed. But now we are in it, and it falls on me to act without the luxury of peer review and superior critique. Time does not allow it.”
Genda nodded, his lips tight from frustration and embarrassment. I am correct!
“We all want the same thing, Force Commander.”
Nagumo smiled and squeezed Genda’s arm before he walked to the other side of the cramped bridge. Genda fought back tears. Why did I argue? What chance did I have? He reflected that he should have whispered his fears to Kusaka-san instead of taking him on in public. Men of action, none of them had time. Orders given were obeyed at once, to the letter.
Except this order from Combined Fleet…
Fuchida sat near a window, a soft smile on his lips as he met the gaze of his friend. Genda returned it with a gentle tilt of his chin. Yes, I too wish we were out there instead of in this prison cell. It was easier out there. Just fly and fight. Follow orders. Turning back to the horizon, Genda had a sudden urge to go below and sleep.
The time was 0719.
* * *
1 ENS A.K. Earnest, AMM3c H.H. Ferrier, AMM3c J.D. Manning, Torpedo Eight Midway detachment.
2 Lt. J.P. Muri, Lt. P.L. Moore, Lt. W.W. Moore, Lt. R. Johnson, S/Sgt. J. J. Gogoj, Cpl. F.L. Melo, Pfc. E.D. Ashley, 22nd BG
Chapter 10
Flight Deck, USS Enterprise, 0710 June 4, 1942
Lieutenant junior-grade Bud Kroeger gave a thumbs-up to the Bombing Six ordnanceman who crouched next to his left wing.
The 1000-pound bomb secure, the red-shirted sailor looked for a way to scramble clear amid the spinning propellers and choking exhaust fumes from the SBDs ahead. The CAP fighters were already airborne, and the scouts were taking off from spots abeam the island. Kroeger’s SBD was spotted on the Number 3 wire as Enterprise ploughed into the gentle seas to generate 25 knots of wind over the deck. The Dauntlesses in VB-6 would need it, carrying their heavy cargoes. Kroeger, flying with Skipper Best, would have a roll of 650 feet to the bow to get airborne. Signal flags snapped from the halyard: plenty of wind.
The SBDs of Lieutenant Lanham and XO Smith were acting up. Lanham’s wasn’t even started, and an impatient director motioned the mechs under the engine to clear away to push him out of traffic. The chief was standing on the wing next to Lanham as he cussed out the director, both shouting in rage. The deep whirrr of dozens of reciprocating engines around them was deafening, a vibration felt in their bones. Up forward, the roar of one of the scout SBDs at take-off power peaked and then faded as it became airborne. Even with the noise, the XO’s plane wasn’t sounding good, and looked like it was burning oil.
The CO was ahead in Baker 1. With unflappable calm and confidence, he nodded his approval to pull chocks. Fred Weber would go next, then Kroeger flying Baker 2. Plane pushers removed the tie-downs as Kroeger went over the takeoff checklist again. Relentless gusts of sea air mixed with gasoline exhaust swirled about his cockpit.
To the northeast, Hornet conducted her own launch with her own dangerous buzz saw of deadly propellers spinning over crouching men and live bombs. Kroeger wondered if they were going to launch their VT squadron as Enterprise would do once the VS and VB were launched. Bringing them up and spotting them would take time; Kroeger hoped it wouldn’t be too long as he and the others burned fuel as they waited. Going out together with some 100 planes was something he had never seen. The Devastators would have a hard time keeping up, and two squadrons of the old clunkers would be near impossible.
The director appeared and Kroeger gave him a thumbs-up. “Halterman, here we go.”
“All set, sir!” the radioman said over the interphone.
Lieutenant Best held his brakes and went to full power as the launching officer waved his flag in furious motion over his head. Kroeger watched his skipper give the controls a wipe-out as helmeted gunners along the catwalks and officers on the bridge gallery also watched and waited. Satisfied with the strong sound of Baker 1’s engine, the launch officer lunged and pointed forward. At that, Best released the brakes and the SBD bolted ahead. With purposeful movements of the rudder, the CO rolled toward the gently rising bow. Kroeger and the others watched close to determine where his main wheels would leave the deck before reaching the end. As it approached the bow, Baker 1 levitated into the air. We’ll make it, Kroeger thought.
Following his director’s signals, Weber eased ahead and lined up for takeoff. Another director taxied Kroeger behind him, and Weber’s exhaust flowed into and through the open cockpit. Off the bow to the right, the CO cleaned up and reversed left into the sun to initiate his rendezvous turn.
With his prop spinner mere feet behind Weber’s rudder, Kroeger held his brakes in wait. Prop wash from Baker 3 at full power buffeted Kroeger’s wings as he and Halterman bounced in their seats. Weber roared away, revealing the launch officer who now motioned to Kroeger to taxi forward before Weber had cleared the bow. He signaled a slight turn and Kroeger tapped the right brake as he modulated the throttle to taxi.
Enterprise rose and fell on the long swells, and with the flight deck empty before him, Kroeger carried a half ton more than he normally did. Skipper Best and Fred were safely airborne, but, in his mind, Kroeger prepared himself for any number of events that could put Baker 2 in the drink with a speeding carrier bearing down on them. His fingers grazed over the jettison handle to jog his muscle memory, and h
e pushed hard on the brakes in anticipation.
Impatient, the launch officer waved his flag and pointed at Kroeger, who jammed the throttle to the firewall. Manifold pressure – good. RPM – good. Oil pressure – good. His Dauntless bucked and strained as he held it in position on deck. Kroeger sensed the men along the island and the officers in the island galleries watching him. Ready.
He waited for the launch signal as his leg muscles burned to keep the SBD in place. Satisfied with the engine revs, the launch officer knelt and pointed into the wind.
With his left arm locked against the throttle, Kroeger released the brakes and his bomber jumped forward. His taps on the rudder pedals to maintain alignment down the deck were as natural as walking. Now past the island, he noticed the faces of men in the bow catwalks, some with arms held high, waving encouragement. It reminded him of a track meet. Running free to the tape!
Through his seat, Kroeger felt each plank and expansion joint his tires rolled over. His tail wheel came off, which allowed him to see the deck edge race up. With gentle pressure on the rudder pedals, he maintained his heading and soon felt resistance on the stick. The bow disappeared under his cowl, and, as it did, he sensed lift. He rolled to the deck edge, then bunted the nose to gain airspeed. Baker 2 was carried aloft by the warm North Pacific air.
Veering right, he slapped up the gear and flaps and entered a gentle climb. To his left, he saw Weber join on the skipper in a left-hand turn. He reversed into them as a sleek destroyer passed underneath.
The time was 0718.
