Nimitz found King’s advice less than helpful. A week before, perhaps in response to Nimitz’s transfer of air units to Midway, King had sent him a note reminding him that theater commanders were not authorized to “permanently transfer units” within their command area “without authority from War or Navy Department.” At the bottom of that message, Nimitz had scrawled: “In spite of unity of command.” It was as close as he came to open rebellion. Now, in response to King’s latest suggestion that Midway might be a mere diversion, Nimitz was tactful. “There may well be three separate and possibly simultaneous enemy offensives,” he wrote back, but they included “a major landing attack against Midway for which it is believed the enemy’s main striking force will be employed.” Since he lacked sufficient strength to oppose all three operations at once, Nimitz thought it logical to deploy the available American carrier assets to defend the most important of them—at Midway. Moreover, he preferred to keep the Yorktown operational and use the orphaned squadrons from the Lexington and Saratoga to fill out her complement of planes and pilots. Nimitz was willing to push back against King because he was confident that Rochefort and Layton knew what they were talking about. The Running Summary at CinCPac headquarters for May 16 read, in part, “Unless the enemy is using radio deception on a grand scale, we have a fairly good idea of his intentions.”18
King capitulated, writing Nimitz, “I generally agree with you.” Even now, however, he urged Nimitz to keep an eye on New Caledonia and Fiji and to be prepared to shift forces there if necessary. Though Nimitz did not expect it would be necessary, he promised that he would do so. “Will watch situation carefully,” he pledged, “and return Halsey to Southwest if imminent concentration is indicated.” He ordered Halsey to return at once to Pearl Harbor and to avoid being sighted by the enemy as he did so—his sense of urgency reflected in a follow-up message to Halsey to “expedite” his return. As King had anticipated, the removal of U.S. carriers from the southwest Pacific had implications for the Anglo-American alliance. When an alarmed British first sea lord queried King about why the carriers were being withdrawn, King risked a security breach by telling him that the “imminence of enemy attacks on Midway and Alaska” made it necessary.19
King had come around to the belief that Midway was the enemy target. Nonetheless, given the size and strength of the Japanese offensive, he advised Nimitz to be responsibly cautious in responding to it. “Our appropriate strategy,” he wrote to Nimitz, “is to … employ strong attrition tactics, and not repeat not allow our forces to accept such decisive action as would be likely to incur heavy losses in our carriers and Cruisers.” He even proposed sending the Yorktown back to Bremerton for repairs “in order to avoid exposure to attack.”20
But “decisive action” was exactly what Nimitz had in mind. He expected Halsey to reach Pearl on about May 25; the Yorktown was to arrive three days later. If Yorktown could be patched up in less than four days, he planned to send her out again, to join Halsey’s two carriers in a battle with the Kidō Butai. He had been willing to pit two American carriers against three or four enemy carriers in the Coral Sea. Now he was willing to send out two or three American carriers against four Japanese flattops. For all his cool manner and calm demeanor, Nimitz was eager to confront the Japanese. Unlike Yamamoto, he was no gambler, nor did he ignore inconvenient facts. His was the calculating mind of a man who reviewed all the available information, weighed the odds carefully, and planned accordingly.21
As he saw it, three American carriers, plus the airstrip on Midway Island, gave him four airplane platforms—the same as the Japanese; and if the airfield on Eastern Island at Midway could not maneuver, neither could it be sunk. Indeed, Nimitz greatly increased the number of planes on Midway. By the end of the month, it would house well over one hundred planes—patrol planes, scout bombers, torpedo planes, Marine fighters, and twenty-three U.S. Army bombers, including nineteen B-17 Flying Fortresses—more planes than on any carrier. To be sure, many of them were not frontline combat units, and few of their pilots had been trained in antiship tactics. Nonetheless, at the very least Midway seemed able to defend itself and would likely contribute to the attack on the Japanese carriers.22
Finally, and decisively, the Americans knew what was coming, where it was coming from, and more or less when it was coming. Nimitz believed he held a strong hand. He expected to win.
Though King now accepted that Midway was the object of the Japanese movement, Nimitz still encountered resistance from Washington, and in particular from Redman in OP-20-G and Richmond Kelly Turner, the head of the War Plans Division, both of whom continued to worry that the real Japanese target might be New Caledonia or Fiji. Rochefort was annoyed by this, and was tempted to tell them so. Instead, he sought to find a way to convince the skeptics, telling Jasper Holmes that they needed to do something that would “prove to the world that AF is Midway.” Holmes, whose background was in engineering, immediately thought of the large salt-water evaporators that supplied fresh drinking water to the Midway garrison. This led to a gambit that has subsequently become famous in the lore surrounding the Battle of Midway. On May 19, Rochefort asked that a message be delivered to Midway by submarine cable, ordering them to send a radio message to Pearl Harbor—in the clear—stating that their salt-water evaporator had broken down and that they were running short of fresh water. Sure enough, two days after this bogus report hit the airwaves, an intercepted Japanese message reported that “AF” was short of drinking water.* Rochefort did not wave this evidence in the face of the skeptics. In fact, he did not even report the message when it came in, allowing the stations in Melbourne and Washington to discover and report it on their own.23
Nimitz scheduled a staff meeting for the morning of May 25 to make final plans. Halsey’s Task Force 16 was due in that day, and Nimitz needed to be sure that everyone understood the timetable for the turnaround and redeployment. Nimitz invited Army General Delos C. Emmons, commander of the Hawaiian Department, and General Robert C. Richardson, a personal friend of General George C. Marshall, who represented the War Department. Nimitz wanted them to hear the latest intelligence report from Rochefort himself. It was the first time Rochefort had been invited to brief the high brass personally. The admiral and generals assembled at the appointed hour, but Rochefort was not there.
Rochefort was late because he and his team were cobbling together information from a dozen messages, all of them dated May 20, that collectively provided a much clearer view of the Japanese plan.* Though these messages had been intercepted four days earlier, they had been consigned to what was colloquially called the “crap traffic” bin because they were badly garbled and therefore less likely to reveal any useful intelligence. Layton noted in his private journal that Hypo analysts were “unable to do much with” the messages “due [to the] necessity [of] keeping up with current traffic,” which was exceptionally high, and that “only [a] garbled copy [was] available.” Nevertheless, as the cryptanalysts began to strip away the secondary cipher groups on one of those messages, the five number code for “attack” appeared in close association with the geographical designator “AF.” This provoked a burst of excitement, and both Hypo and Belconnen got to work on it in earnest. As it happened, the Melbourne version and the Hypo version were garbled in different places, which meant that with both versions in hand, more of the message could be recovered.24
Moreover, this message was accompanied by others. One noted the departure of two battleships and a cruiser division from Kure; another referred to a “main body” and a screen; a third referred to a rendezvous of this force with “the Striking Force” of CarDivs 1 and 2. One contained a reference to “AF and AO occupation forces.” The cryptanalysts at both Hypo and Belconnen worked furiously to break as many of these messages as they could, and the two units traded insights and information. Piece by piece, what emerged was, in Layton’s words, “a detailed report of Japanese forces to be used at Midway.” The time for Rochefort’s meeting with Nimitz came and
went, but Rochefort was determined to take this new key intelligence with him. When he showed up at Nimitz’s headquarters a half hour late, he apologized and handed Nimitz a sheaf of papers, saying he hoped “this would explain everything.”25
It did. The new decrypts not only confirmed that Midway was the target, they offered important details about the Japanese plan of attack. They did not reveal the complete order of battle—the Americans still did not know that Yamamoto himself planned to be at sea with the Yamato, for example—but there was enough about the Kidō Butai that Rochefort could tell Nimitz with some confidence that the enemy would have four carriers, and that those carriers would approach Midway from the northwest. Rochefort himself declared later that the intercepts contained “the strength of the attack and the composition of the attack forces,” and even “such things as where the Japanese carriers would be when they launched their planes,” though that last claim was slightly in error; all the messages revealed for sure was that the carriers would approach Midway from the northwest. Despite subsequent mythology about this intelligence breakthrough, it was not quite like having a copy of the enemy’s plans. Still, the information was detailed enough that some wondered if it might be a trick. Rochefort was convinced that it was genuine and stood his ground before probing questions from the flag and general officers. “I could not understand why there should be any doubt,” he later insisted.26
To all outward appearances, Nimitz remained impassive. When, years later, Rochefort was asked to describe the admiral’s reaction, all he could recall were those cool blue eyes looking at him. Nimitz did ask Rochefort whether he was certain about the number of enemy carriers. If the Kidō Butai consisted of all six carriers of the original Pearl Harbor strike force, the American carriers would be outnumbered two to one (or if the Yorktown could not be patched up in time, three to one). Rochefort predicted confidently that there would be only four enemy carriers. All of the message traffic referred only to Carrier Divisions 1 and 2, not to Carrier Division 5. Moreover, Rochefort knew that the Shōkaku had arrived in Japanese home waters some days before and an intercepted message sent on May 22 appeared to be the “arrival” message of the Zuikaku.
One missing piece of essential information was the date. To find it, Lieutenant Commanders Wesley Wright and Joe Finnegan stayed up all night in the Dungeon, trying to crack the various layers of encipherment in the messages. At 5:30 the next morning (May 26), Wright reported to Rochefort that the evidence suggested that the attack would begin at dawn on June 4 Tokyo time, June 3 Hawaii time. At the time they made that analysis they were correct, though that very afternoon the Japanese high command postponed the attack date from June 3 to June 4.27
Later that day, Nimitz asked his staff to outline the strengths and weaknesses of both sides in the forthcoming collision. The Japanese advantages were obvious: they would have more carriers and the gunfire support of two battleships; their fighters were superior; and their attack airplanes had a longer range. On the other hand, they were operating at a daunting distance from their base, and even moderate damage to their carriers might therefore prove fatal. The American advantage was their knowledge of Japanese plans. The wild cards were whether or not the Yorktown would be available, and the “uncertain” value of the Army bombers on Midway. Nimitz concluded that “we cannot afford to slug it out with the probably superior approaching Japanese forces” As King had suggested, the best approach would be to “reduce his forces by attrition.” To do that would require what Nimitz called “the principle of calculated risk.” As he had said in response to an earlier event, “Timidness won’t win this war, neither will foolish recklessness.” Much would depend, therefore, on the ability of the officer in tactical command, Vice Admiral William F. Halsey, to know the difference.28
As Nimitz soon learned, however, there was one more wild card in the deck.
Halsey’s two big carriers entered Pearl Harbor that afternoon (May 26). On board the flagship Enterprise, a haggard-looking Halsey prepared to go ashore. For weeks he had been suffering from a severe form of dermatitis that was aggravated by exposure to the sun. It was so painful that he could not leave his cabin in the daytime. In consequence Halsey had not slept in days, and he had lost more than twenty pounds. His ravaged skin hung on his frame like an old coat, and the ship’s doctor told him in no uncertain terms that he had to go to the hospital. Despite that, he was determined to call on Nimitz first. When he showed up at CinCPac headquarters, Nimitz was horrified by his appearance and ordered him at once to report to the hospital. Before he went, however, Nimitz asked him who should assume command of Task Force 16 in his absence. Halsey had anticipated the question and had an answer ready: Raymond Spruance.29
Fifty-five-year-old Rear Admiral Raymond A. Spruance (he would turn 56 on July 3) was a 1907 Academy graduate* who had served in cruisers and destroyers for his entire career, and currently commanded the cruiser escort of Task Force 16. At 5 feet 9 1/2 inches and 140 pounds, he had a slender, almost skeletal frame and a thin face. He was calm in his demeanor and courtly in his manners, reminding one interviewer of “a soft-spoken university professor.” His chief of staff noted later, “There were some who thought he had no sense of humor. He actually had a very keen one, but it was recognized only by those who knew him well and could spot a slight twinkle of the eye.” Spruance and Halsey were close friends. It was a curious friendship; Halsey was outgoing and affable, colorful, and emotional, while Spruance was cool, reserved, and disciplined. Halsey tended to shoot from the hip, and Spruance was “serene and methodical.” As the historian John Lundstrom aptly puts it, Halsey and Spruance were “fire and ice.” Yet in spite of those differences, or perhaps because of them, they had been close for years. They had seen duty together, and their families were also close. In some ways they complemented each other: Halsey admired Spruance’s ascetic intellectualism, and Spruance admired Halsey’s cheerful bonhomie. One great advantage in making Spruance the stand-in commander, was that he was already familiar with the personnel in Task Force 16.30
Rear Admiral Raymond A. Spruance commanded the cruiser escorts of Halsey’s Task Force 16. Just days before the Battle of Midway, he was charged with overall command of Task Force 16, including its two carriers. (U.S. Naval Institute)
The problem was that Spruance was a black shoe. Unlike Halsey, he had never earned his gold wings—or even the silver wings of a “naval observer.” Like Frank Jack Fletcher, he was a dedicated surface-warfare officer. Moreover, he was junior to Fletcher, which meant that Fletcher would be the officer in tactical command of the combined carrier group—assuming that the Yorktown could participate at all. Spruance’s selection to command Task Force 16 meant that the fate of America’s crippled and dwindling carrier force would be in the hands of two black-shoe admirals. Although Nimitz did not know Spruance personally, he admired his record and had already formally requested Spruance as his new chief of staff. Moreover, Spruance’s partnership with Halsey in all the operations of Task Force 16 since the raid on the Marshalls had prepared him to move into the command position. For his part, Halsey was so sure of his recommendation that he had prepared a letter, which he now handed to Nimitz. In it, Halsey praised his subordinate’s “outstanding ability” as well as his “excellent judgment and quiet courage.” He concluded: “I consider him fully and superbly qualified to take command of a force comprising mixed types [of ships] and to conduct protracted independent operations in the combat theater in war time.”31
Nimitz approved Halsey’s proposal on the spot. Halsey turned to his flag lieutenant, William H. Ashford. “Go back to the Enterprise and tell Ray Spruance he’s to take the task force out, using my staff. Tell him to shift his flag to the Enterprise.” Then Halsey went resignedly to the base hospital to begin what would stretch into two months of sick leave.32
The next afternoon (May 27) the Yorktown, still trailing a ten-mile-long oil slick, appeared off the entrance to Pearl Harbor, one day ahead of schedule. At dawn the next morning
, she crept cautiously into Drydock Number One, where special blocks had been set up to receive her. Ordinarily, safety concerns would have required her to spend a day purging her stored aviation fuel, but Nimitz was in a hurry; he issued a special order voiding the rule. When the massive gates of the drydock were closed and the water pumped out, the giant Yorktown settled onto the blocks, and gradually her damaged hull was exposed.33
Among those who inspected it was Nimitz. Wearing big hip boots over his khaki slacks, he sloshed through the foot or more of water in the bottom of the not-quite-dry drydock as he looked over the damage. Fletcher had radioed ahead that while the Yorktown had lost her radar and refrigeration system, her main power plant was still operating, the airplane elevators were working, and the bomb hole in the flight deck had been patched. The real concern was the Yorktown’s hull. The several near misses in the Coral Sea had opened seams in the skin of her hull from frames 100 to 130 and ruptured the fuel-oil compartments, which were still leaking. Jake Fitch had estimated that it would take ninety days in a shipyard to repair the hull. Nimitz didn’t have ninety days. Even before the Yorktown arrived, he had sent the yard superintendent and a team of specialists out to her to make a preliminary study. They radioed back that she might be patched up in time, but that it would take a supreme effort. Now, as he looked over the ship, Nimitz turned to the members of the inspection party. “We must have this back in three days.” There was an awkward moment of silence, and a few men exchanged glances, but there was only one possible response: “Yes, sir.”34
The Battle of Midway (Pivotal Moments in American History) Page 21
