The Ragged, Rugged Warriors

by Martin Caidin

  The Tenth of December

  December 10, 1941, went into the history books of the Pacific War for a number of reasons—two among them being the destruction of a myth at the expense of the British, and the creation of a myth from amidst the shock that had swept the United States. The British paid the price of losing two of the greatest battleships in existence to land-based Japanese airpower, drawing the curtain once and for all on the fable that the battlewagon was still the ruler of the seas. The United States, desperate for a measure of success against the rampaging Japanese, sought for—and created—a fable of heroism. Strangely enough, the fable could not match the truth of which our people back home knew nothing.

  In the case of the British, the debacle about to befall them centered upon the mighty battleship Prince of Wales and the fast and deadly battle cruiser Repulse. The Japanese considered the unexpected appearance of the powerful British warships in the Singapore area as seriously endangering their plans for the invasion of Malaya and surrounding territories. Japanese intelligence made it clear to their fleet commanders that the British dreadnaughts were better gunned and far more dangerous than even the fast battleships Haruna and Kongo, at the time under the flag of Vice-Admiral Nobutake Kondo, Commander in Chief of the Second Fleet, and operating off the Malayan coast. Despite the heavy concentration of Japanese sea-power against the British—the Japanese mounted two battleships, seven heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and 14 destroyers in the area—Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto was so concerned about Prince of Wales and Repulse that he ordered a major land-based air fleet into position to attack the British vessels. Yamamoto’s concern was not that the Japanese surface fleet could not handle the British, but that if the British warships ever broke loose amidst the Japanese landing forces, they could swiftly wreck many or most of the transports, with terrible loss of life among the invasion troops.

  Even the attack at Pearl Harbor and the carnage spread along Battleship Row had not decided the issue of the battleship’s supremacy on the high seas. It was one thing to destroy warships tied up helplessly in a harbor, and something else again to sink such dreadnaughts when they were moving swiftly on the ocean, with all guns firing in their own defense. The Japanese were about to settle the matter.

  At 12:20 p.m. the Japanese bombers searching the seas off the Malayan coast for the British warships received a flash alert from a single reconnaissance plane: “Sighted two enemy battleships. Seventy nautical miles southeast of Kuantan. Course south-southeast. 1145.**

  The first torpedo slammed into one of the British warships (the Prince of Wales and the Repulse were escorted by three destroyers, and were accompanied by a single merchant ship) at 12:45 p.m., just 25 minutes after they were tracked by the reconnaissance aircraft. Shortly after one p.m. a second major bomber force arrived on the scene. Lieutenant Sadao Takai, a squadron leader of the Genzan Air Corps, who participated in the preattack sea patrol and, later, in the sea battle off Malaya, kept detailed notes of his activities. Excerpts from those notes reveal in intimate detail the events of the day:

  . . At exactly 1:03 p.m. a black spot directly beneath the cloud ahead of us was sighted. It appeared to be the enemy vessels, about twenty-five miles away. Yes—it was the enemy! Soon we could distinguish the ships. The fleet was composed of two battleships, escorted by three destroyers, and one small merchant vessel. The battleships were the long-awaited Prince of Wales and the Repulse!

  “The 1st Squadron picked up speed and moved ahead of my squadron. Lieutenant Commander Nakanishi ordered: *Form assault formation!’ A little later: 'Go in!’

  “The enemy fleet was now about eight miles away. We were still flying at eighty-three hundred feet and were in the ideal position to attack. As we had planned, Nakanishi’s bomber increased its speed and began to drop toward the enemy fleet. He was headed to the right and a little ahead of the warships. Trying to maintain the same distance and not be left behind, the bombers of my squadron also increased their speed as I started a gradual dive. I headed toward the left flank of the enemy formation.

  “. . . Coordinating my movements with those of the 1st Squadron, I led my squadron to the attack so that the enemy ships would be torpedoed from both flanks. The 1st Squadron was circling about four miles to the left and forward of the enemy ships and was about ready to begin its torpedo run. Antiaircraft shells were exploding all around the circling bombers. The planes could be seen between the flashing patches of white smoke as the shells exploded....

  “We began the attack at an altitude of 1,000 feet and about a mile and a half from the enemy. No sooner had we emerged from the protection of low clouds than the enemy gunners sighted our planes. The fleet opened up with a tremendous barrage of shells, trying to disrupt our attack before we could release our torpedoes. The sky was filled with bursting shells which made my plane reel and shake.

  “The second battleship had already started evasive action and was making a hard turn to the right. The target angle was becoming smaller and smaller as the bow of the vessel swung gradually in my direction, making it difficult for me to release a torpedo against the ship. It was expected that the lead torpedo bomber would be compelled to attack from the most unfavorable position. This was anticipated, and it enabled the other planes following me to torpedo the target under the best of conditions.

  “The air was filled with white smoke, bursting shells, and the tracers of antiaircraft guns and machine guns. As if pushed down by the fierce barrage thrown up by the enemy, I descended to just above the water’s surface. The airspeed indicator registered more than two hundred knots. I do not remember at all how I was flying the airplane, how I was aiming, and what distance we were from the ship when I dropped the torpedo. In the excitement of the attack I pulled back on the torpedo release. I acted almost subconsciously, my long months of daily training taking over my actions.

  “A giant battleship suddenly loomed before the plane. Passing very close to the towering stem I swung into a hard turn and sped away from the warship. I began a wide circling turn in a clockwise direction, hastily easing the complaining bomber out of its steep climbing turn.

  “Not many shells appeared to be bursting about us. The engines were still roaring loudly and only moderate damage had been inflicted upon my airplane. I pulled up again in a steep climb and leveled off, once we were within the clouds. I took a deep breath, and forced my taut muscles to relax.

  “Suddenly my observer came stumbling forward through the narrow passageway, crying, ‘Sir! Sir! A terrible thing has happened!’ When I looked at him in surprise, he shouted, The torpedo failed to release!’

  “I felt as though cold water had been dashed over my head and entire body. We were still carrying the torpedo! I forced myself to be calm and reversed our course at once. I passed on my new orders to the men. ‘We will go in again at once.’

  “I began to lower our altitude as we flew through the clouds. The second torpedo run on the battleship would be very dangerous; the enemy gunners would be fully alert and would be waiting for us. I did not like the idea of flying once again through a storm of antiaircraft fire which would be even worse than before.

  “We dropped below cloud level. We were on the side of the enemy battleship, which was just swinging into a wide turn. Our luck was good—no better chance would come!

  “I pushed the throttles forward to reach maximum speed and flew just above the water. This time I yanked hard on the torpedo release. Over the thudding impact of bullets and shrapnel smashing into the airplane, I felt the strong shock through the bomber as the torpedo dropped free and plummeted into the water. It was inexcusable that we did not notice the absence of this shock during the first torpedo run....

  “I waited for the bombers of my squadron to assemble.

  “All through the attack we had concentrated only on scoring direct hits on the enemy vessels. We had ignored everything but the release of our torpedoes into the British battleships. We had even forgotten to worry about our own safety. Once we h
ad released the torpedoes, however, we were able to study the situation around us. Tracer bullets and antiaircraft shells filled the sky all about the airplanes, and we could feel the thud and shock vibrating all through the fuselage and wings as bullets and shrapnel ripped through the plane metal. It seemed to each of us that all the guns were aimed at our own plane. We became afraid of losing our own lives.”

  Describing the situation as the Japanese bombers completed their runs, Takai continues his account:

  “By now the Repulse was a shattered hulk. It was still moving, but slowly, and was gradually losing speed. It had completely lost all fighting power and was no longer considered a worth-while target. It was only a matter of minutes before the battle cruiser went down.

  “To all appearances, the Prince of Wales was intact, and defending herself furiously with an intense antiaircraft barrage. She was selected as the next bombing target. Fourteen 1,100-pound bombs were dropped; several scored direct hits on the enemy warship. The bombs struck directly in the center of the battleship....

  “Ensign Hoashi’s plane caught the dramatic last moments of the two battleships. Minute by minute, as he circled above the stricken warships, he radioed back a vivid report of what was happening far below him. Twenty minutes after being hit by torpedoes, the Repulse began to sink beneath the waves. By 2:20 p.m. the great ship was gone.

  “A few minutes later a tremendous explosion ripped through the Prince of Wales. Twenty minutes after the Repulse had sunk, the Prince of Wales started her last plunge and disappeared quickly... .”6

  More than 26 torpedoes and three heavy bombs completed the mission upon which the Japanese had set out. It enabled the Japanese to draw the conclusion that it was a “mistake leading to the most serious consequences that the British failed to . . . provide air protection for their prized battleships. ... It was completely incredible that the two warships should be left naked to attack from the skies. Interception of our level and torpedo bombers by British fighter aircraft might have seriously disrupted our attack and perhaps permitted the two warships to escape destruction. The battle of Malaya illustrated in the most forcible manner that a surface fleet without fighter protection was helpless under enemy air attack. The battleship, long the ruler of the seas, had been toppled from its dominant position and was now just another warship to be destroyed by aerial assault.”7

  The Last Few Flying Fortresses

  Despite the staggering blows inflicted by the Japanese against our air forces in the Philippines, American bomber crews strained to fly reconnaissance missions and bombing strikes. The invasion of the Philippines was considered to be only a matter of hours, perhaps a few days at the most, and the transports moving southward into the islands would be packed with troops and equipment. Several sharp attacks delivered quickly could influence tremendously the fighting that would rage on the ground.

  Complicating the attempts at reconnaissance and bombing, however, were the frequent, continuing attacks of the Japanese. Often the bombers were forced into the air, in darkness and in daylight, simply to escape destruction on the ground from Japanese bombers and fighters heading for their fields.

  Further complications arose from the confusion that attended much of the activities during those early days of the war. The Army Air Forces in World War II notes of this period that “reports both from the warning net and from patrol planes revealed principally the confused and nervous state into which our defenses had been thrown by the enemy. As Admiral Hart later reported, ‘an extraordinary crop of incorrect enemy information* came over the warning net, and there were reports of ‘enemy sightings when nothing was actually sighted and when a vessel was really seen she was usually reported in one of two categories: irrespective of size, she was either a Transport or a Battleship.’ ”8

  On the night of December 9-10, however, there could no longer be any doubt but that the Japanese were making their move. Factual confirmation of a Japanese invasion force moving against the Philippines was received (these were elements of the Japanese Third Fleet), and the Japanese opened the 10th with a powerhouse assault against remaining American defenses.

  Nichols Field and the naval base at Cavite were literally wiped out as military installations. Japanese bombers flew with impunity—guaranteed them by the maneuvers of the Zero fighters that smashed all attempts to break up the bomber formations—and pounded their targets. The official evaluation of “completely ruined” was made of the power plant, industrial facilities, and supply depots at Cavite. Many naval craft suffered heavy damage, and the submarine Sea Lion was ripped open and sent to the bottom.

  December 10 was also the date of the first offensive strike by our bombers against the enemy—and the birth of the myth which saw the destruction of the Japanese battleship Haruna, sunk as a result of a suicide dive in a B-17 flown by Captain Colin P. Kelly, Jr. There were many other aspects to the myth of this incident, among them the belief (that persists to this day) that Kelly was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor (he wasn’t). But that is part of our story....

  During the 9th of December, the AAF was staging its few B-17 bombers into the Philippines to join those already there, to prepare attacks against the warships and transports of the Japanese Third Fleet. Included in the northward transfer was a Boeing B-17D piloted by Colin P. Kelly, Jr.; he flew with six other bombers from the field at Del Monte in Hawaii to the combat-area base at San Marcelino.

  Units of the Japanese Third Fleet had sortied from their ports in Formosa, and were landing troops and equipment at Aparri in the extreme northern section of Luzon, and at Vigan on the northwest coast. These attacks tied up the defending forces and enabled the Japanese to carry out their preparations for the major invasion yet to come—which would be at Lingayen Gulf. The Japanese fleet thus spread out into three task forces. These included the Aparri and Vigan invasion groups, while the third, consisting of warships, stood by to provide general firepower support as the situation might warrant.

  At 0600 hours on the 10th (while the Japanese themselves were getting their own air strike forces in position to attack the Philippines), five Flying Fortresses, led by Major Cecil Combs, took off from the shambles of Clark Field. Each bomber carried 20 demolition bombs of 100 pounds each, and raced forward to attack the Japanese forces at Vigan. As they climbed for altitude they rendezvoused with other bombers of the 17th Squadron.

  Over Vigan the bombers struck from different altitudes at the Japanese ships, which already were unloading supplies to support the invasion. The Fortresses made their bombing runs not in a solid pattern, but at altitudes extending from 7,000 to 12,500 feet, releasing long strings of their small missiles.

  As the Fortresses made their strikes, another force roared in against the Japanese. These were the Curtiss P-40E Kittyhawks of the 17th Pursuit Squadron and the obsolescent Seversky P-35s of the 34th Pursuit Squadron. Immediately upon their arrival at the battle scene the fighters swept in to strafe the flak guns on the ships, hoping to draw the heavy antiaircraft fire away from the Fortresses.

  When the brief strike ended, one Japanese transport had exploded and rolled over, sinking immediately in the shallow water. Three of our fighters also had been lost in the fierce battle, among them the P-35 of Squadron Leader Lieutenant Samuel H. Marret. Marret had screamed in low against a transport for a deck-high strafing run when the vessel exploded; the thundering blast caught Marret unawares and flipped his plane entirely out of control. The fighter was destroyed and Marret killed— one of three fighters lost in the battle.

  Another bombing mission had been scheduled that morning to coincide with the strike against the Japanese forces at Vigan. The second mission was delayed when Major Emmett O’Donnell’s 14th Squadron was forced to stage northward from San Marcelino to Clark Field so that the planes could refuel and bomb up before departing on their missions. Colin Kelly was the pilot of one Fortress in this squadron.

  Boeing B-17D Flying Fortress . .. undergunned, obsolescent models of our main heavy bomb
ers were in the Philippines during Japanese air attacks, proved ineffective in hitting Japanese invasion forces.

  Clark Field was a smoking, gutted shambles when the big Flying Fortresses slid from the sky for their landings. Japanese attacks had ripped the runways into pitted and gouged strips so badly mangled they were considered “impossible for use” with four-engine heavy bombers. Nevertheless, men working feverishly had managed to scrape clear a tiny strip no longer than 2,000 feet in length which could be used by the B-17s. Leaving this short clear area the Fortresses taxied in weaving paths to remain clear of craters and the charred skeletons of dozens of our planes. Farther out from the runway, buildings had collapsed into blackened ruins, and aircraft hangars loomed starkly as gutted shells.

  Preparing the mission was a task demanding superhuman efforts on the part of the ground personnel at Clark—since many of the men assigned to the air base had bolted in terror for the hills when the first shriek of falling Japanese bombs split the air. Dozens of men had dashed away for their lives, openly terrified by the shattering roar of the Japanese bombs and the strafing runs of the Zero fighters. By the time the Fortresses staged in to Clark for their missions the air base was still critically shorthanded. Many of the men working on the airplanes were wounded and in need of hospital rest; nevertheless they refused to leave the airplanes until they were ready for takeoff.

  O’Donnell’s big airplanes slid into the runway at Clark two and three at a time, staging in low and cautiously to avoid the attention of any Zero fighters that might be prowling for exactly such a kill. It took better than expert piloting by the men at the yokes of the Fortresses to bring their heavy airplanes down on the tiny runway, and it is a tribute to their skill that every B-17 made it down without damage.