by Kevin Miller
Kroeger counted eight SBDs ahead of him, seven of them from the Sails. Fred was tail-end Charlie again. “We’ve got company up here!” Gallaher radioed. Good, he sees what I see. In his plane, Best turned and gave Kroeger a thumbs-up as he waited for a response. In exaggerated motion, Kroeger nodded and pointed at the enemy specks to acknowledge. Best nodded back as Kroeger passed the signal to Fred. In response, the pilot held his thumb up high at the top of his windscreen.
They overtook the Japanese ships on the left, and Kroeger once more checked his switches, latched his plotting board, charged his fixed guns, and ensured his bomb was armed. His breathing became deep and rapid as adrenalin coursed through him. High to his right, he spotted five Zeros, all gray, orbiting three miles north. He checked south, pleased to see the horizon offered a cloud background that he and the other Dauntlesses could blend into. Kroeger sensed they were a bit over ten miles from their roll in. Should be another five minutes…
In unison – and with no warning – the ships turned left into the American formation. Maybe they see us! Kroeger thought, and monitored Gallaher’s plane to see if he was reacting. The turn would force everyone to be steep.
“Halterman, get ready. Think they see us… I’ve got three Zeros high at our three.”
“Tallyho, sir, I’ve got ’em,” the gunner answered. Behind him, Kroeger felt Halterman swivel to the right.
The Japs continued their turns, yet Kroeger saw no gunfire, no sign of resistance. The Zeros to his right held in lazy circles, oblivious. The SBDs were going to come in under their noses, hit them, and run, like he had when he played doorbell-ditch as a kid. Long ago. Yesterday.
The ships steadied out, and he could see no planes on the carrier’s flight deck, nor in the landing circle. Unlike the morning’s targets, this carrier was smaller, just a slab of deck with a big red dot forward. An aiming bullseye. Nice of them to do that for us. Scanning the water, Kroeger noted a float plane approach the lee of the close cruiser, the one they would’ve flown over. By the time the crane hooked up the little fellow, Kroeger and his mates would be in and off on the carrier.
Gallaher initiated his turn and his squadron followed, echelon left. Best slid further outside, and Kroeger opened the throttle to stay with him. Fred held position, and, behind him, the Yorktowners fell back into trail. This was going to work out just like Lieutenant Gallaher had briefed it.
The right-hand turn allowed a full scan of the airspace over the task force. Above his lowered wing Kroeger saw them – Zeros, black dots, constant bearing and… Coming at me!
We’ve been spotted!
Kroeger overbanked for a moment to look down his wing line. Some two miles below, the same cruiser fired from guns amidships and on the forecastle. Beyond Skipper Best’s plane was the carrier. Like an electric light switch, it suddenly lit up: two solid rows of lights along its catwalks.
“Under attack by fighters!” Gallaher radioed.
In a race to the push-over point, the Zeros swung their wing line, and an impatient Kroeger saw Gallaher had at least thirty degrees to go. “C’mon,” he muttered as he kept one eye on the Zeros. They’d be shooting soon, about the time he’d be in, diving down in column behind the skipper. Kroeger’s head whipped back to the Yorktown bombers, easing away toward the big ship up north. Maybe the fighters would follow them. No, they won’t follow them! They know you – you! – are trying to sink their home.
The CO signaled for dive brakes, and, ahead, the Sails followed Gallaher up and over. Antiaircraft shells burst below them like camera flashbulbs and turned to a black smudge in an instant. Tracers arced up like sparks of flame from the carrier and surrounding ships, too low to hit them – until Kroeger and the others dove into their grasp.
The AA beckoned silently. We see you. Come, come! All the ships around the carrier fired what they could, their blazing pulses a brilliant yellow in the late afternoon light. Skipper Gallaher was established in his dive. His dutiful wingmen, sequenced evenly, followed in graceful rolling pull-downs. Kroeger could not hear the guns or shell bursts below, only the high RPM of the engine as he held to the outside of Best. He found the scene fascinating. I’ll remember this moment.
With the Sails all in, Best lifted his nose, up on a wing as Kroeger followed, as Fred must be following. The CO knifed down and Kroeger held it for a count as he was taught to, as he had been trained to do by rote. The Zeros closed the range, seconds to go. We’ll make it.
“Halterman, stay on the guns. We’re in!”
“I see ’em, sir!”
From his windswept precipice, Kroeger pushed down, on top of the carrier outlined by an oblong ring of steady yellow muzzle flashes, on top of Scouting Six, on top of the skipper…when Best suddenly rolled left and pulled up. What the…?
Alarmed and with the Zeros closing in, a frantic Kroeger scooped out to follow and searched above to avoid a midair collision. What now? Far below, two white circles formed on the surface next to the carrier. Misses! The ship turned hard into them trailing a huge wake.
He then saw why. The Yorktown squadron was in, about six of them, maybe more, converging in their own line toward the Sails in their dives. Best pulled up as Kroeger stepped on the rudder to match his roll and stay with him. Whipping his head back, Kroeger saw a Zero fire at Fred in a slashing attack. Another Jap yo-yoed up…
“No!” Kroeger cried as the fighters repositioned above them. In the CO’s plane, Chief Murray fired at something over Kroeger’s canopy. In front, the last of the Yorktowners were in their dives – Those guys were supposed to go for the battlewagon! – and Best with Kroeger tucked in behind followed them. Kroeger popped the stick to get some separation and pushed down, rolling again with rudder into a vertical dive behind his lead. Fighters above and flak below – into the valley of death.
Passing eight thousand, he was established, leading the target’s curving track on the water. Smoke roiled up from the carrier’s bow. A hit! A second massive explosion bloomed from the forward flight deck as another of the Sails – or Yorktowners? – connected. The SBDs ahead of him, underscored by their red dive-brakes, attacked in an orderly column over the dark water. Steamers of condensation formed on their wingtips as they pulled off in every direction. American kids dove their screaming planes in a headlong rush to hit the ship before the ship could hit them. Behind him, Halterman fired a short burst, and Kroeger flinched as he squeezed the stick in a death grip.
He heard them now, the shells: sharp pops all about them, close but not hitting. Tracers reached up, fiery fingers that swayed in slow motion to grasp him. But it was that sound, an eerie WHUFF, whuff, whuf of the heavy flak hurtling past his canopy. He knew what it was at once. Will they explode behind Fred?
Smoke covered the carrier’s forward half and more condensation marked the pull out flight paths of the bombers ahead. The after half of the ship appeared undamaged. He aimed for that, holding his crosshairs on the pit of flame the forward part of the flight deck had become. He’d drop his bomb into it and expected the ship to move hundreds of feet as the weapon fell on it in mere seconds.
Flame poured out of the bow as the ship turned hard among geysers of near misses. The carrier’s guns blazed away and tracers arced past. Kroeger flinched when fragments lashed his right wingtip, pebbles against tin. We’ve gotta get outta here!
Best released and pulled off. Kroeger was high and shallow, but wasn’t willing to press it, not here, not into this hellish inferno. With one last correction – Close enough! – he mashed down on the release. Another half-ton of ordnance fell away, and Halterman let out a whoop that became a raspy grunt as Kroeger reefed the nose up. Eight g’s fell on them like a breaking wave.
Kroeger jammed the throttle forward as he retracted the flaps, leveling on the wave tops as sudden splashes jumped up around him. Gasping from exertion and pressure, he looked for the CO. How could he lose him? Kroeger then found him, turning hard away, and rolled behind to follow. Best reversed back, and Kroeger had no
choice but to slide to the outside as he overshot.
“Mister Weber!”
Kroeger looked back. A smoke trail led to a cloud of spray and mist that hovered above the water and veiled the bright gunfire of a ship on the horizon.
“What? Was that Fred?” he shouted over his shoulder.
Halterman answered him on the interphone. “Yes, sir…Mister Weber and Ernie! Didn’t pull out!”
Kroeger and Best jinked out of phase as they made for a hole in the screen that an uneasy Kroeger saw was west. Around them the Zeros continued their attacks, and one of them suddenly lit up and fell into the sea, shot by a gunner. As Kroeger hung on, Best calmly assessed the scene around them. Cocky SOB. Indestructible.
They burst through the hole into freedom, running away to the west even though home was to the east. Clear, Best then led them in a wide turn to the south. No Zeros in pursuit. The carrier burned from hits forward, yet still ran hard at flank speed. Nearby, cruisers and escorts twisted and charged in every direction as they kept up their furious gunfire. An anthill. They had knocked over an anthill.
Best throttled back and motioned for Kroeger, who eased up to his CO. Best pointed behind Kroeger and shrugged his shoulders. Where’s Weber?
Kroeger made a motion of a plane flying into the water and raised his hands as if to say he didn’t know the reason. Best nodded and continued ahead. Behind him, Chief Murray signaled to Halterman, using his hands in semaphore code, a personal message between the gunners that Kroeger didn’t try to decipher.
Fred. They’d both flown the search west of Pearl Harbor that awful morning, flown combat together in the Carolines. The beer busts at Ewa Beach, mocking the CO behind his back in the bunkroom. Throughout, Fred was like a kid brother…closer than a brother. Gone, culled away seconds ago by a Jap that, by Divine Grace, selected him from all the blue planes. Slow and heavy, dive brakes out – Fred didn’t have a chance. Must have been an execution. Or was it flak that got him? Kroeger looked back at the burning carrier, and, for a moment, shocked himself when his subconscious mind asked the unthinkable. Was it worth it?
As the others raced out of danger and back to Enterprise, Best and Kroeger flew south toward the three black columns. It was too early to mourn. That would come later. The Japs were out here, and what was left of Bombing Six still had a job to do, and probably at first light. Compartmentalization, they called it. Keep to the task at hand and sink the damn Japs. The ceremonies – and tears – would come soon enough, and Kroeger had already seen too many. Put it out of your mind! He got slow. He wasn’t looking. Tunnel vision. Pulled too late. It happens…it happens.
The CO entered a shallow climb as they approached the burning carriers. Near each one, escort destroyers stood off. While Kroeger and the two gunners looked for enemy fighters, Best swept his head left and right along the surface. Kroeger joined him. Maybe we’ll find Johnny or Norm, or the XO in a raft. He scanned the waves below, but no rafts. Nothing.
Ahead, lights flickered from the burning hulks. Except for their flight deck overhangs, they were unrecognizable as carriers. The two SBDs approached them inside ten miles. The sun was now hidden by a ridge of cloud that revealed only shadows of the ships. Kroeger counted five tin cans, all of which gave the derelicts plenty of room. One of the carriers flashed up for a moment, adding another black appendage to its already substantial smoke column.
Best got as close as he dared and veered left as Kroeger followed. The four Americans got a good look at what they had helped create only seven hours earlier. Kroeger wondered if anyone was still aboard the doomed ships, ships that had sailed with hundreds of men on each. Like his ship.
Kroeger remained to the outside as Best banked left for home. The threat was to the north, and the carrier they had just bombed flashed from induced explosions. Steady flame blazed on the forward half. Antiaircraft guns blinked here and there.
Halterman changed the coils and got a good signal from Enterprise. The skipper was right on it. Good. Should be home in an hour or so. Kroeger realized he hadn’t said anything to Halterman about his lost friend Ordnanceman Hilbert. Long periods of time could pass before a pilot and gunner would say anything to one another. Some men liked to be alone with their thoughts, even though separated by only six feet.
“Halterman, I’m sorry about Hilbert. He was a good man.”
Awkward seconds passed, and Kroeger wondered if he had somehow offended his gunner. Halterman then keyed the interphone.
“I’m sorry about Mister Weber, sir. He was tops and treated us great.”
Kroeger shook his head up and down in vigorous motion so Halterman could see his strong agreement. Fred would be missed by all.
High above, in the lowering light, Kroeger picked up a formation of dark specks, about a dozen, heading west.
Must be the Hornet boys.
Gripped with fear and shouting nervous encouragement, Maruyama and the other pilots hurriedly climbed the ladder as smoke swirled about them. Through the opening to the weather deck, dense gray smoke raced along the catwalk, and the men pushed and jostled to reach fresh air. Bursting free, they climbed onto the flight deck and into a suffocating oven forward. Rising to their feet, they were at once knocked down by a shock wave of heat and a deafening blast from another induced explosion.
They had been inside the ready room – some dozing, some stuffing themselves with rice balls – when the antiaircraft opened up. Hashimoto woke up at the sound, his eyes meeting those of Maruyama. Both men stood as all in the room looked at each other with foreboding. Outside, a man shouted.
“Hell-divers! Port side!”
They were back, not giving up, even after Hiryū’s planes had just sunk two of their carriers! How many did the Americans have? In the Type 97 ready room, nobody had the answer, and all they could do was wait. “Bend your knees!” Hashimoto commanded, and all crouched with their arms out for balance, like Hawaiian surfers.
The first explosion rocked the ship close aboard. Hiryū’s turbines propelled the great ship through the light seas as she heeled to starboard. Another near miss. And then another amid the chattering automatics and painful reports of the heavier guns amidships. The aviators could only wait.
The first hit was a crunch forward followed by a booming explosion and shock wave that pushed the men aft and rattled Hiryū’s frames. Seconds later, another thunderous boom caused dust and debris to fall from the overhead. The shock of the impact transferred throughout the ship, and every man felt in in the soles of his feet.
Another hit and another wave of invisible force knocked them down. Some of the pilots crouched under a table. The room filled up with smoke and heat blew through the space. Maruyama noted a bulkhead seam forward was cracked, with smoke gushing through.
Another devastating detonation forward, followed by shouts and screams outside. The ship heeled hard under the sledgehammer blows, and Maruyama wondered if it was capsizing. Fearful men huddled together coughing, eyes squinting through the acrid smoke, in anticipation and dread of the next…
A thunderous BOOM blew out the bulkhead wall, spraying debris and heat into the room. “Topside! All go topside!” Hashimoto bellowed as the compartment filled with smoke. Those who could dragged those who could not out of the space and into the smoke-choked passageway clogged with men, fallen pieces of overhead piping, and arcing wires.
Once on deck, a stunned Maruyama saw the forward elevator above him, resting against the starboard side of the bridge. The warped and smoldering steel was hideous to behold, and thick, dark smoke flowed from the gaping hole of the elevator well. Behind it, burning timbers of flight deck were curled up like a bamboo mat.
The wounded and the dead lay on the deck as firehoses were dragged across them. The ship’s XO screamed at Hashimoto. “Get your fliers! Help cut down the mantelets!”
A thunderclap from below blew more of the flight deck up and over on itself. Maruyama fell to the deck and covered his head with his hands.
Hashimot
o grabbed a man by his collar and pushed him forward. “Get up!” He then saw Maruyama also get to his feet.
“Maruyama! Grab a fire ax, your survival knife, anything to cut down the mantelets before they burn! Throw them over the side!”
Now focused, Maruyama found a shard of tie-down track to use as a makeshift knife and bounded up the aft ladder to the Air Platform. In frantic motion he cut the binding ropes as deck sailors below pulled on the mantelets. As one row of hammocks broke free, Maruyama moved to the next. Together, the men, unfamiliar to each other, improvised to save their ship.
The elevator acted as a shield from the smoke and heat as Hiryū pounded through the waves at full speed. Looking aft, Maruyama saw smoke coming out of openings along the flight deck as the winds fanned the flames in the hangar bay. To his left, the bridge windows on his side had been smashed. He would have to enter the bridge to cut more.
Another thunderous explosion from below caused the gigantic elevator platform to shift against the island. Maruyama had had enough. He returned to the flight deck, and saw smoke now coming up through the timbers and tracks. An injured and immobile man – a boy like him! – cried as a sudden spot of flame drew near him. With superhuman strength, Maruyama grabbed the man’s arm and, as the apprentice sailor screamed in pain, pulled him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Aided by the wind at his back, he trundled down the smoldering and boiling deck to a safer area aft while hose-teams slogged forward. An explosion shook the deck behind him, and he fell.
The wounded man shrieked as he rolled off Maruyama’s shoulders. Before he could help him, two petty officers appeared and dragged the crying apprentice off. Maruyama watched from his knees, gasping for breath as smoke raced along the flight deck.
He never saw the young sailor again.
Chapter 30
