by John Prados
Admiral Kurita was tired, beyond exhaustion. He had supervised the fleet personally, on the bridge continuously since he’d come aboard the Yamato. Before that, while flagship Atago still floated, Kurita had begun his bridge vigil when the fleet entered dangerous waters. By now he had been on duty more than seventy-two hours. Kurita had to know of Ugaki’s restiveness. The battleship admiral made no secret of his concerns—about the Sho goals, Kurita’s idea of making Yamato the fleet flagship, the war games, the Combined Fleet’s attempt to reassign the Nagato. It was unthinkable that Koyanagi, so close to his fleet commander, would not have kept Kurita apprised of Ugaki’s thinking. In most of these cases, Kurita had taken Ugaki’s point and played the issues as the battleship admiral wanted. Now that they were in combat, Ugaki wanted control. By all rights and prerogatives of the Imperial Navy, the fleet commander should have charge. And Kurita knew Koyanagi well, trusting his judgment. Acceding to Ugaki meant overruling his own chief of staff. Yet Kurita wanted earnestly to keep the peace. He made another of those quick judgments that Ugaki accused the fleet commander of being incapable of.
Out of exhaustion multiplied by urgency, Admiral Kurita let Ugaki take command.
Here came a true error. For Japanese prospects at Leyte, Kurita’s error would have horrific consequences within the hour, and the outcome of this sea fight lay balanced on the edge of a knife.
• • •
THE TORPEDOES THE Haguro avoided spelled the beginning of disaster for Kurita Takeo’s whole enterprise. They were early arrivals in a succession of American torpedo attacks. And because he had vested tactical command in Vice Admiral Ugaki, those torpedoes were going to afflict Admiral Kurita.
Chronometers were approaching eight o’clock when a “cruiser” burst from the smoke screen. Admiral Ugaki ordered the Yamato’s gunnery officer, Captain Kuroda Yoshio, to fight enemy ships ahead and to starboard. Yamato’s main armament and her 6-inch secondary guns took an array of enemy ships under fire. A target identified as a “destroyer,” likely the destroyer-escort Raymond, appeared, following the Heermann and Hoel out of the mist and smoke. Before long, Kuroda had instructed the 5-inch heavy flak guns to join. The enemy loosed their torpedoes at battleship Haruna, but once she evaded, those deadly tin fish were suddenly headed right for Yamato and, behind her, the Nagato.
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What happened next is a key error of the Leyte battle. Ugaki Matome, of course, predictably attributes it to Admiral Kurita. Turning to “fan the torpedoes” had long been a staple of evasive tactics. The helmsman could turn a ship toward torpedoes or away from them. The idea was to minimize the vulnerability of a ship by reducing the size of its target profile relative to the course of the torpedo. Which way to turn always depended on the situation. Here a starboard turn meant turning into the torpedoes that were running them down. That turn kept the ship headed toward Taffy 3. The port turn meant putting the ship on the same trajectory as the fish, but ultimately away from her prey. The battleship could not outrun the torpedoes, so she had to wait them out, until they either got ahead of her or expended their fuel and sank. A port turn also exposed the battleships’ rudders and screws—their motive power—to potential damage in the middle of a high-speed chase.
Lookouts saw the oncoming wakes of torpedoes off the starboard side. The Yamato and Nagato turned to port, to almost due north, away from the American carriers that Kurita wanted so badly to bag. Ugaki’s diary claims his fleet commander ordered that turn. Then, other torpedo tracks appeared to port, and torpedoes paralleled the Japanese battleships on both sides for nearly ten minutes. Yamato and her consort did not dare veer from a straight course.
We are left to deduce who made the decision, since there is no explicit record. Historian Robert Lundgren argues the turn to port was the only option because otherwise the battleships would have collided with the Haruna, which had been arcing to the south of them.*
Other depictions differ. While the ships were close just before the torpedo wakes appeared, the Haruna had already begun turning southeast as a result of a Kurita order at 7:46 a.m. A starboard turn would have put the Yamato and Nagato ships behind her, not on a collision course. By 8:00 a.m. Haruna lay four nautical miles from Yamato steering a still-divergent course.
Historian Ito Masanori attributes the choice to Rear Admiral Morishita Nobuei. The logic here is simply that Morishita was captain of the Yamato. This is unlikely for several reasons. First, because of the practice of marginalizing ship commanders, Morishita likely did not have the helm. Second, as Kurita explained right after the war, ship drivers usually made their own choices in evading attack—but the Nagato maneuvered in a fashion identical to Yamato. That suggests a unit order. Morishita had no authority to make a decision that would affect another vessel. And last, Morishita Nobuei had a reputation as a crack ship handler, held in very high esteem, and this is a mistake he would not have made.
As a matter of fact there is a signal—the Nagato records it at 7:53 a.m.—where the Yamato orders the other vessel of Battleship Division 1 to evade torpedoes. That would be Ugaki, the division commander, not Morishita. Equally to the point, Kurita Takeo, who would have been intent on staying on top of those U.S. carriers, would have realized that turning to port meant extending the torpedoes’ threat-time envelope, with Taffy 3 gaining sea room every minute. Called upon to evade torpedoes in this same battle, both the Kongo’s Shimazaki Toshio and the Haguro’s Sugiura Kaju chose the turn to starboard, not port.
The person on Yamato’s bridge who most lacked experience as a ship driver was Ugaki Matome—the very fellow who had staged a scene to wrest tactical command from Kurita. It is not likely that Ugaki, having gained control, would relinquish it for this decision. It is also true that the battleship boss, in the San Bernardino Strait the night before, had ordered a similar maneuver to counter an imagined torpedo threat. And there is the 7:53 a.m. order to the Nagato. The notion that Ugaki ordered the turn is a deduction, but a reasonable one.
As for Ugaki’s blaming Kurita, the problem there is the fact of his open animosity toward the fleet commander. Ugaki’s diary is studded with “recollections” aimed at Kurita, a number of them disingenuous or else based on superficial analysis, and this alone makes it difficult to agree with the accusation. In this case, there was a signal to the Kongo to evade torpedoes at 8:00 a.m., and that must have come from Kurita. But it seems to be a warning. By that time, the ships Admiral Ugaki controlled had been settled onto their contrarian course for five minutes.
The Japanese behemoths were safe, but suddenly they were seven miles out of position. Kurita could no longer see what was happening, and Ziggy Sprague obtained a considerable advantage as a result. Kurita’s concern is evident in the fact that now, in a sky dominated by desperate, marauding U.S. aircraft, he had Yamato’s aviation officer launch a floatplane at 8:12 a.m. Commander Ito Atsuo, the air officer, must have warned against putting up a plane in this hostile environment, but Kurita suddenly had no options.
• • •
NOW THE PROBLEM became one of making up for lost time. At 8:03 a.m., Rear Admiral Kobe Yuji of the Nagato had both his main and secondary batteries shoot at a “cruiser.” The 6-inch secondaries loosed the first of five salvos a minute later. Within a couple of minutes, gunnery officer Commander Inouye Takeo noticed the cruiser on fire and listing.
Suddenly, the American planes took center stage. Not until 8:22 did the Yamato speak up again. Then her 18.1-inch guns engaged an American “battleship.” She saw a carrier on fire at 8:23, and her secondaries engaged a “cruiser” at 8:34. Sure enough, contact with the Yamato floatplane would be lost at about 8:30.
The outside rim position on the turning Japanese wheel continued to be held by the Kongo. Rear Admiral Shimazaki believed he had already sunk an “Enterprise-class” aircraft carrier—Japanese ship identification remained terrible throughout. The prob
lem would not be confined merely to the airmen who had fought the Battle of Taiwan.
In any case, the Kongo had suffered damage to her ten-meter range finder already. Commander Noguchi Yutaka, gunnery officer, either effected a repair or crafted a jury-rigged version, because shortly after 8:00 a.m. both primary and secondary batteries were in action. Noguchi thought Kongo had neutralized another U.S. carrier at about 8:10, leaving her listing and afire. Suddenly, in the far distance (24,700 yards) the ship spotted vessels of Taffy 2. She resumed shooting at Ziggy Sprague’s escorts. Noguchi’s gunners used up 211 of her 14-inch armor-piercing shells plus 48 of the special 14-inch flak rounds and 272 rounds for the secondary armament.
Commander Gondarira Masao sailed as gunnery officer in battleship Haruna. Although the ship had a speed impediment, Rear Admiral Shigenaga Kazutake contrived to gain by cutting inside other Japanese pursuers. Haruna would end up the farthest advanced of Kurita’s battleships. Gondarira had his primary and secondary guns all firing at a cruiser shortly after 8:00 a.m., though controllers soon pronounced their target a carrier, not a “cruiser.” At 8:09, the gunner recorded hits on his first 14-inch salvo and a straddle on the third salvo of the vessel’s 6-inch battery. Shortly thereafter Shigenaga, too, sighted Stump’s Taffy 2 in the distance. Commander Gondarira reset his turrets for gun action to port. At 8:13, Haruna opened fire at eighteen nautical miles range. Over the next hour, Gondarira fired on several different targets, alternating between Taffy 2 and Taffy 3. His gunners expended 95 armor-piercing rounds plus 72 of the special flak shells and 353 munitions for the secondary armament.
Kurita’s behemoths might be out of position—and he himself struggling to regain a grasp of the battle—but with radar control, his battleships could get in some licks, even at long range. And some targets were still nearby, such as the “cruiser” the 6-inch battery engaged shortly after half past eight. At 8:40 a.m., Commander Kuroda recorded the “cruiser” sinking. Five minutes later the Yamato regained sight of three U.S. carriers. By 8:54, one, most likely the Gambier Bay, seemed to be on fire. At 9:05, the superbattleship would steam through waters where the carrier had sunk. Wreckage, rafts, life preservers, and many survivors marked the area. The Nagato recorded this as a U.S. light carrier of the Independence class. The Yamato expended 100 of her 18.1-inch armor-piercing shells (plus 24 of the antiaircraft versions) and 127 rounds of 6-inch ordnance. Nagato’s consumption amounted to 45 armor-piercing and 52 high-explosive 16-inch shells, 84 of the antiaircraft type, and 133 shells from secondary.
Despite the imperfections of Japanese gunnery and their use of the wrong ammunition, the cannonade took its toll. Admiral Kinkaid resorted to another plaintext appeal at 8:29 a.m.: “MY SITUATION IS CRITICAL FAST BATTLESHIPS AND SUPPORT BY AIR STRIKE MAY BE ABLE PREVENT ENEMY FROM DESTROYING CVES AND ENTERING LEYTE.” Delays continued to prevent these messages from reaching Halsey in a timely manner, but the Third Fleet commander had seen enough by 8:48 a.m. that he ordered Slew McCain into action.
Taffy 3 now played with another squall, on a west-southwest course. Admiral Sprague’s escorts were arrayed in a rough arc in between his escort carriers and the Japanese. Wounded ships were beginning to fall out of formation. The Kurita fleet held positions analogous to the outside lines of a right triangle. Across the baseline were the destroyer flotillas and—bringing up the rear—the Yamato and Nagato. Arrayed down the sideline were the four remaining heavy cruisers and the two ships of Battleship Division 3.
Tone led the cruiser column. Captain Mayuzumi’s ship immediately attracted the attention of American planes, leading to repeated attacks. A strafing fighter plane skewered the bridge, inflicting many casualties, including Mayuzumi himself, hit in the right thigh by a machine-gun bullet. A surgeon attended to the captain right on the bridge, for Mayuzumi refused to leave his post. The other major damage, inflicted by splinters from a shell that fell in the sea nearby, took place right after the captain had ordered torpedoes launched. A shell splinter ignited oxygen flasks on two torpedoes in the number three mount, setting a fire. Only the immediate launching of the torpedoes prevented detonation and much greater damage. This was part of an exchange with a “light cruiser,” believed to be Heermann. Mayuzumi recorded a destroyer exploding at 8:45 a.m. In fact, Amos Hathaway’s tin can, though grievously damaged, never sank. The Hoel did, at 8:55, as did the Johnston (but not until 10:10) and the destroyer-escort Roberts (at about that same time).
Third in column had been Captain Sugiura in the Haguro. Shortly after 8:00 a.m. a concentrated assault by ten planes blasted her. Haguro sustained slight damage from a hit aft, but the more dangerous was a direct hit on the number two turret. Thirty sailors expired around the 8-inch guns or within the protected area of the barbette. Commander Ono Itaru saved the ship by instantly flooding the magazine serving that turret, closing antiflash doors to prevent any spreading ignition of explosives. Flash detonations like that had destroyed British battle cruisers at Jutland and were probably responsible for the 1943 loss of the Imperial Navy battleship Mutsu. Executive officer Ono earned his pay that day.
Sugiura continued pursuing the jeeps, making twenty-eight knots and drawing closer every minute. Haguro had one CVE under fire, observing her listing sharply to starboard and sinking. By 8:52 a.m., there were several more in view, laying smoke and trying to flee. Sugiura took them under fire too, as well as a destroyer that tried to close. On the sixteenth salvo (78 rounds) against the new targets, gunnery officer Sato Hiroshi saw hits on the bow, amidships, and on the after section. Already on fire, the jeep blew up. Sato thought Haguro had badly crippled another CVE too, but her effectiveness against a third remained unknown. The cruiser also launched eight torpedoes. She consumed 582 armor-piercing and 211 high-explosive rounds for her 8-inch guns.
Around ten minutes before nine, a coordinated air attack played havoc with the Japanese warships. The Tone and the Haguro managed to outwit the attack planes. Mayuzumi Haruo wanted to make a torpedo attack and the two cruisers set up, but Rear Admiral Hashimoto Shintaro of Cruiser Division 5, in the Haguro, did not fancy wasting Long Lance fish against the little carriers. Hashimoto had Haguro stand down. Tone followed suit.
Captain Tanaka Jyo’s Chokai took a bomb in the forward engine room. She dropped out of the chase, and twenty minutes later, Tanaka informed Kurita she also had a damaged floatplane. Just after nine o’clock, simultaneous attacks from Grummans off both sides made a torpedo hit unavoidable. At least one torpedo hit Chikuma’s stern, with a burst of flame and a waterspout as tall as the cruiser was long. Sailors aboard Tone could see light 23mm flak guns blown into the air by the force of the blast. At 9:07 a.m., Captain Norimitsu Saiji reported to Admiral Kurita that his cruiser had become unnavigable. Strenuous efforts were made to control the damage. Speed fell to eighteen knots, then to nine. She would be attacked again later in the morning, and planes would finish her off that afternoon.
SALVATION
The plucky, resilient men who crewed Rear Admiral Clifton Sprague’s ships were brave, resourceful, and inspired. The Japanese made no end of mistakes, from ship identification to ammunition. They made use of radar-ranged gunfire for the first time, and that helped diminish accuracy too. Plus the weather remained a good friend to Ziggy Sprague, repeatedly enabling his hard-pressed ships to shelter from Kurita’s guns.
For all of that, though, time had started to run out. Almost his last gambit was to order destroyer-escorts John C. Butler and Dennis to abandon their guard posts on the starboard side of the formation and join the other escorts trying to stave off the Japanese.
At first, some thought their ships could be inundated just from the waterspouts kicked up by all that action. The CVE White Plains became an early victim. One salvo’s near misses created enough concussion to toss airplanes together. Two Wildcats just taking off were blown together like pieces of paper and ended up as junk on the flight deck. The rainsqualls were a blessing. Kurita’s fleet concen
trated its fire on the destroyers, visible because they were laying a smoke screen, and later because of their torpedo attacks.
Historian James D. Hornfischer has written movingly of the last stand of the tin can sailors, and their courage, skill, and determination are magnificent. But their luck is equally impressive. The Heermann, for example, having nearly collided once (with the Roberts), and then a second time (with Hoel), continued her violent maneuvers and almost crashed into the escort carrier Fanshaw Bay and then the Johnston. All the while, she remained the target of many enemy ships. Yet she survived.
The Japanese flotillas were in action by now, with light cruiser Yahagi and Destroyer Flotilla 10 ships engaging “destroyers” from 8:35, just the moment of Heermann’s near collision with CVE Fanshaw Bay. Commander Terauchi Masamichi, on the Yukikaze, felt the fleet had done nothing except allow itself to be attacked. He was happy for action.
The jeep carriers were careening around too, thus Fanshaw Bay’s near mishap. Carrier St. Lo, just renamed to honor Americans fighting in Normandy, endured several near misses early in the fight. Captain T. B. Williamson’s Kalinin Bay suffered her first damage from near misses too, but the Japanese hit her with an 8-inch shell that swam through the sea to hole her below the waterline. Flooding almost incapacitated the forward engine room but did not. Kalinin Bay would be hit fourteen times. Thanks to the Japanese belief that they needed armor-piercing shells, the CVE still floated.
Worst off would be Captain Walter V. R. Vieweg and his CVE Gambier Bay. Japanese cruisers first targeted her right when she emerged from the early squall. Vieweg tried to steer the ship for the place the last enemy salvo had hit, chasing the shell splashes for a good half hour. But his luck ran out at about 8:10 a.m., when an 8-inch shell struck the flight deck just behind the after elevator. By then, the first outliers of Rear Admiral Stump’s Taffy 2 were visible on the horizon to the southeast. The Japanese hardly let up. Another hit came near the bow.
