In ticking off the things that weren’t done, it was easy to forget the big thing that was done. Against overwhelming odds, with the most meager resources, and often at fearful self-sacrifice, a few determined men reversed the course of the war in the Pacific. Japan would never again take the offensive. Yet the margin was thin—so narrow that almost any man there could say with pride that he personally helped turn the tide at Midway. It was indeed, as General Marshall said in Washington, “the closest squeak and the greatest victory.”
None knew this narrow margin better than Commander Brockman, skipper of the submarine Nautilus, as he approached Midway on June 5. He had been called in to patrol offshore, and at this point he had no idea how the battle turned out … whether Midway was still in U.S. hands or not. The place looked the same, but it always did—the swooping birds, the pale blue lagoon, the white surf pounding on dazzling sand. His periscope swept the atoll, and then at last he knew. There, high above the Sand Island command post, still flew the American flag.
The Riddles of Midway
AS THE JAPANESE BOMBS rained down on Midway a Marine sergeant named Anderson was hit on the bridge of his nose by a flying can of beans, nuts or tomato juice—depending on who tells the story. Anderson has never been located, and the incident remains one of the minor riddles of Midway.
There are many more. The excitement and confusion of battle always breed conflicts on numbers, distances, hits and misses, the time things happened. Added to these, Midway has a built-in problem of its own: it was fought back and forth over the international date line. The log of one PBY showed that it took off on June 3, made an attack June 5 and landed June 4. To complicate matters further, the Japanese always used Tokyo time. In this account, local time is followed during the preparations, but once the fleets are at sea, everything has been translated into Midway time.
Beyond these minor problems, two major riddles remain. They will never be solved for certain. Like the skill and courage of the men who unconsciously propounded them, they are now a living part of the incredible victory at Midway… .
The Riddle of the Dive Bombing Attack
At 10:22 A.M. on Thursday the 4th of June 1942, the crack Japanese carriers Akagi, Kaga and Soryu were heading proudly for the battle that was to finish the U.S. Pacific Fleet. By 10:28 all three were blazing wrecks. The job was done by three squadrons of American dive bombers—two from the Enterprise, one from the Yorktown. Each attacked a different carrier, but to this day the debate has continued over who got which ship,
If the squadron action reports are taken at face value, everybody hit the Akagi or the Kaga. Nobody claims the Soryu—she presumably got back to Japan. Yet if the specific recollections of the three attack leaders are accepted, nobody got the Akagi. Each is convinced his target had its island on the starboard side—yet the Akagi’s island was to port.
It’s the very similarity of impressions and experiences that makes the problem so baffling. Approaching at nearly right angles (the Enterprise planes from the southwest, the Yorktown’s from the southeast), both groups sighted the Japanese force a few minutes after 10:00. In both cases the enemy carriers appeared as yet untouched. Both groups selected as targets what appeared to be the larger carriers in the formation. Pulling out, both leaders had the same experience: each saw the other attacking for the first time.
The problem is compounded by a common misconception as to what the Japanese carriers looked like. The pilots’ recognition cards were absurdly outdated, assuming those used by one Enterprise squadron are a fair example. The Akagi was depicted as of 1936, before she was given a full-length flight deck, and there was no silhouette at all of the Soryu. It’s ironic that the writer sitting in the Yale Law School had better information through Jane’s Fighting Ships than the fliers who depended on these silhouettes that morning.
Also, the Soryu was much bigger than she was thought to be. Even today it’s generally assumed she was around 10,000 tons, and more than one pilot has indignantly protested, “You can’t tell me I got the small one.” Actually she was about 18,000 tons and roughly comparable to the Enterprise and Yorktown.
Despite all this, there do remain clues that suggest what really happened. First is the Japanese formation at the time of the attack. During the southeasterly approach to Midway the carriers steamed in a box: the Akagi leading the Kaga on the southwesterly side, the Hiryu leading the Soryu on the northeasterly side. (See Fig. 1.)
Then at 9:17 an important turn took place as Nagumo swung northeast to meet the new threat of the U.S. carriers. In making this change in course, the Japanese did not turn in formation, as is often supposed; rather, the individual ships turned in their tracks. Both Admiral Kusaka, Nagumo’s chief of staff, and Commander Sasabe, his staff officer for navigation, have been interviewed at length on this, and both are firm that this is the way it was done. The result left the carriers still in box formation, with their position changed relative to each other but remaining the same in terms of the compass. That is, the Akagi and Kaga were still to the southwest, the Hiryu and Soryu still to the northeast. (See Fig. 2.)
About 10:00 Nagumo made a further change in course, still more to the northeast, and again each ship individually turned in its tracks. But by now the situation was complicated by American torpedo plane attacks. The box was loose, and the distances between the ships much greater. Judging from the accounts of Japanese survivors, the Akagi and the Kaga were still fairly close together, but the Soryu had pulled ahead, and the Hiryu even more so. (She was now almost on their horizon.) But the basic situation remained the same: the Akagi and Kaga lay to the southwest, the Hiryu and Soryu to the northeast.
Another clue to bear in mind lies in the position of the three carriers when they finally sank. They did not move much after the bombing. The Akagi’s engines worked erratically from time to time, but the Kaga and Soryu soon went dead in the water and finally sank toward evening within a few minutes of each other. Their relative position when they sank strongly suggests their relative position when hit: the Kaga lay to the southwest, the Soryu to the northeast. (See Fig. 3.)
The next clue lies in the position of the ships as seen by the approaching U.S. dive bombers. Both the Enterprise and Yorktown pilots seem agreed that the three carriers lay in a rough row, running from southwest to northeast, or as the leader of Bombing 3 saw it, more from west to east. In either case, the two Enterprise squadrons took the two westerly carriers, while the Yorktown squadron took the easterly one.
Moving to the actual bombing, another clue emerges. Of the two attacking units from the Enterprise, Dick Best and the 1st Division of Bombing 6 certainly dived after Wade McClusky’s mixed group. This happened when McClusky dived on the carrier Best planned to take. Best made a quick shift to the next one up the line but inevitably lost, several minutes in the process.
This becomes important when considered in terms of what was happening below. Japanese accounts differ on many things about this attack, but there’s marked agreement that the Kaga was hit first. Seven witnesses on six different ships are sure of this. Assuming it is so, it means that whatever, else occurred, Dick Best did not hit the Kaga.
What then did happen? It’s a rash man who sets himself up as final arbiter on those six fantastic minutes, but based on the known facts, and other more murky clues, here are the probabilities… .
1. Dick Best and the 1st Division of Bombing 6 attacked the AKAGI.
He approached from the southwest, and that’s where the Akagi was. The Soryu, on the other hand, was to the north and east. He attacked with five planes, which comes closest to the Japanese estimate that the Akagi was bombed by three planes. Certainly it’s hard to square this estimate with McClusky’s 25 or Max Leslie’s 13 from the Yorktown. (Leslie had 17, but four dived on other ships.) Conversely, Best’s five don’t fit the 12-13 bombers that the Japanese say attacked the Soryu.
Other reasons: Best spotted a Zero taking off as he dived, and the Akagi launched one just before the first
hit. Best saw a group of TBDs coming in as he was pulling out, and the Akagi reported torpedo planes at just this time. Best’s men recall damage concentrated on planes parked aft on the flight deck—just where the Akagi was hardest hit. In contrast, the Soryu was hit hardest up forward.
The time also fits. Best recalls a third carrier (in addition to McClusky’s) just coming under attack farther east as he was pushing over. This would make his carrier the last one hit. Japanese sources indicate the Akagi was bombed at 10:26—i.e., the last of the three.
Against all this are two major stumbling blocks. Best and at least one other pilot in his group are certain his bomb was a hit, while most Japanese sources say the first bomb dropped on the Akagi was a near-miss, just off the bridge. But the Japanese evidence is not conclusive: the near-miss and the first hit came so close together it was hard to tell. Also, one of the planes following Best down released its bomb before he did—and that might have been the near-miss.
The other hitch concerns the location of the Akagi’s island structure. Best has always felt the island on his target was on the starboard side, yet the Akagi’s island was to port. On the other hand, one of Best’s pilots, Bill Roberts, is certain that the target’s island was indeed to port; he says he especially noticed this because it was the opposite of U.S. practice. If so, the target, would have to be the Akagi, since both the Kaga and Soryu had the usual starboard-side islands.
2. Wade McClusky and the rest of the ENTERPRISE planes attacked the KAGA.
As the other carrier to the southwest, she too was a logical target for the Enterprise planes approaching from that direction. Again, the Soryu was to the north and east—farthest off in the line of advance. McClusky dived with 25 planes, and that seems to fit with the deluge that poured down on the Kaga. Her air officer says she was attacked by 30 planes; Nagumo’s antiaircraft records indicate 18; his battle report says nine; but all agree she took at least four hits and five near-misses. Leslie’s planes from the Yorktown were also capable of delivering this kind of punishment, but they were approaching from the southeast, while the Kaga was the most westerly of the three carriers.
The pattern laid down by McClusky’s group also fits the Kaga’s experience. The first three bombs dropped were near-misses; so were the first three that fell on the Kaga. The fourth bomb, according to the Scouting 6 action report, hit the center of the flight deck about 200 feet from the stern. This roughly corresponds to the best information on the Kaga. Later bombs hit up forward; the same was true with the Kaga. There’s some evidence, although inconclusive, that McClusky’s target had only a few planes on the flight deck; this would match the recollection of the only Kaga survivor to comment on this point.
The time also fits. Radio traffic monitored on the Enterprise indicates McClusky pushed over between 10:21 and 10:23. Nagumo’s battle report says the Kaga was dive-bombed at 10:22.
3. Max Leslie and Bombing 3 attacked the SORYU.
This is more than a matter of elimination. It’s backed by positive evidence. Approaching on a northwest course, Leslie took the first carrier he came to—the most easterly or northeasterly of the three attacked. The Soryu was to the north and east of the Akagi and Kaga.
Also: Leslie’s, target had many planes on the flight deck; the same was true of the Soryu. Leslie dived with 13 planes; some 12-13 attacked the Soryu. Leslie’s last four planes shifted to other nearby targets; the Soryu’s screening destroyer Isokaze was bombed at this time. None of the other squadrons attacked the screening ships, and the only screening destroyer bombed was assigned to the Soryu.
The pattern of hits likewise suggests the Soryu, although there is nothing conclusive here. In his action report, the acting squadron commander, Dave Shumway, says the first bomb landed in the midst of planes spotted on the flight deck, but most accounts—including Shumway’s in a later Navy interview—say it landed amidships forward. According to most Japanese sources, this is also where the first hit landed on the Soryu. In any event, Bombing 3’s recollections tend to rule out the Kaga. There’s emphatic agreement that the squadron’s first bomb was a hit, while Japanese sources indicate that the first three bombs on the Kaga were near-misses.
Finally, the time of Bombing 3’s attack fits the Soryu best. Leslie’s action report says the Yorktown planes pushed over at about 10:25. He also recalls glancing at his instrument panel clock in pulling out, and that it said between 10:25 and 10:26. Nagumo’s battle report says that the Soryu was first hit at 10:25.
The Riddle of the Submarine Attack
After three and a half hours of the most patient stalking, the U.S. submarine Nautilus fired three torpedoes at a stationary burning Japanese carrier in the early afternoon of June 4. The Nautilus’s skipper, Lieutenant Commander Bill Brockman, was sure the torpedoes hit: the fire on the carrier, which appeared to be under control, suddenly erupted anew. All five officers in the sub’s conning tower had a chance to view the results of the attack.
From the recognition materials available, they identified the carrier as the Soryu, and the Navy has always credited the Nautilus with delivering the coup de grâce that finally sent her to the bottom. Yet most Japanese sources maintain that the Kaga was the only carrier attacked by a submarine, and that the torpedo that struck her was a dud. It would appear these sources are right:
1. The carrier’s position fits the Kaga far better than the Soryu. The Nautilus’s action report says the target she attacked lay in latitude 30° 13’ N, longitude 179° 17’ W. According to Nagumo’s battle report, the Kaga sank in 30° 20’ N, 179° 17’ W, while the Soryu sank in 30° 42’ N, 178° 37’ W.
2. The Nautilus approached from the south, and the Kaga sank farthest to the south of the three wrecked carriers. She should have been the first one the Nautilus encountered. In contrast, the Soryu sank farthest to the north.
3. The Nautilus action report says she fired her torpedoes between 1:59 and 2:05 P.M. Nagumo’s action chart indicates a submarine attacked the Kaga at 2:10 P.M. No Japanese records mention any other carriers receiving an attack; no U.S. records mention any other submarine delivering an attack.
4. Survivors from the Kaga remember a submarine attack, but none is recalled by those from the Soryu. Her executive officer, Commander Ohara, is quoted as saying there was one in a U.S. Strategic Bombing Survey interrogation right after the war, but he has since maintained that this was not so.
5. Only one other Japanese has been quoted as saying the Soryu was attacked by submarine. This is Rear Admiral Komura, captain of the screening cruiser Chikuma. In another USSBS interrogation he recalled the torpedoing, said he attacked the sub and sent a boat over to help the Soryu. But in a recent interview he denied ever seeing the Soryu attacked—he merely recalled a sub warning while he was trying to help the carrier. Moreover, Nagumo’s radio log shows that Komura sent his boat over at 11:12 A.M.—after the dive bombing—and by the time the Nautilus attacked her target, he had rejoined the Hiryu far to the north.
6. The Nautilus fired three torpedoes at the starboard side of the carrier she was attacking. According to Lieutenant Commander Kunisada, damage control officer of the Kaga, the sub attacking her also fired three torpedoes at the starboard side. He saw them all. The first passed across the bow, the second just astern, the third hit amidships but was a dud.
Nothing is certain, but in view of all this it would seem that the Nautilus mistook the Kaga for the Soryu. They looked fairly similar, and certainly the opportunities for study were fleeting and difficult. Mistakes were easy—it’s interesting to note that the Nautilus also identified two stand-by destroyers as cruisers. As for the “hits,” it’s suggested they were one or two more of the internal explosions that occasionally racked the Kaga throughout the afternoon until she finally sank at dusk. Duds, incidentally, were no novelty to attacking American submarines in these early days of the war.
None of this should detract from the Nautilus’s glory, or the magnificent work of her crew. She remains the only U.S. subm
arine to have struck a blow at Midway.
l. The Japanese carriers approach Midway, early June 4. Akagi and Hiryu lead the box formation. Course 140°. Distance between ships roughly 1,300 yards. The screening battleships, cruisers and destroyers (not shown) are deployed in a rough circle around the carriers.
2. Nagumo changes course at 9:17A.M. Carriers turn individually, not in formation. New course 700, later adjusted to 300. Distance between ships still 1,300 yards, but lengthens as U.S. torpedo attacks begin. Screen still in rough circle around carriers.
3. Positions of the Japanese carriers when they finally sank, according to Nagumo’s battle report. Akagi: 30°30’N, 178°40’W; Kaga: 30°20’N, 179°17’W; Soryu: 30°42’N, 178°37’W. The Hiryu, which escaped the first U.S. carrier strike, was caught later and finally sank at 31°27’N, 179°23’W.
Acknowledgments
“AFTER 24 YEARS, I can still feel like weeping with pride, admiration, and humility when I recall the courage those men displayed,” writes Daniel Grace, then a Marine Pfc stationed on Midway. He was referring to the American fliers, but judging from the correspondence, it could have been almost anyone speaking of almost anyone else at the Battle of Midway.
Perhaps because it was such a close thing … perhaps because the sacrifices were so great … perhaps because the war was so young and the warriors so impressionable—whatever the reason, the men of Midway have a generosity all their own. They show it in viewing each other, in sharing their triumphs, in understanding the other man’s problem when something went wrong. They are deeply reflective about this battle and what it meant to them.
Happily their spirit has overflowed on this book. Some 350 American participants have contributed their recollections, and there has seemed no limit to their willingness to help. “Deacon” Arnold takes the evening off to explain how he made all those booby traps; Doug Rollow borrows time from a hectic business trip to talk about VMSB-241. Don Kundinger writes 16 pages on flying with, the B-17s; John Greenbacker tops him with 19 on the Yorktown. Admiral Fletcher patiently discusses the uncertainties of war; Admiral Spruance even throws in one of his famous walks.
The World War II Collection Page 92
