The USS Balch (DD-363), at right, picking up survivors from the badly listing Yorktown on the afternoon of June 4. (U.S. Naval Institute)
As the Yorktown was fighting for her life, Bill Brockman on the Nautilus was getting his second good look that day at an enemy aircraft carrier. After finding himself alone on the surface at 10:00 that morning, he had continued northward for half an hour when he spotted a tall cloud of smoke on the horizon. Because of enemy airplanes in the vicinity, he went to periscope depth, where he had to rely on the boat’s electric power. He was concerned about how long his batteries would last. However, deciding that they had enough juice to last until nightfall he continued submerged until, at 11:45, he “identified the source of the smoke as a burning carrier” guarded by what he thought were two cruisers, but which were the destroyers Hagikaze and Maikaze. Closing this formation proved difficult since the burning carrier was still making headway at one or two knots, and with her depleted batteries, the submerged Nautilus herself was only marginally faster. As Brockman watched through his periscope, it seemed to him that the two “cruisers” were making preparations to take the carrier under tow. He thought about attacking the escorts, but in the end he decided it was more important to finish off the carrier.30
At two o’clock, about the time that Tomonaga was beginning his attack run on the Yorktown, Brockman calculated the range and the angle on the bow. He and the other officers carefully studied the ship identification books—”to make sure this couldn’t possibly be one of ours.” Satisfied that it was not, he fired a spread of four torpedoes at what he thought was a Sōryū-class carrier but was instead the mortally wounded Kaga. One of the torpedoes misfired, and two missed. The fourth ran straight and true and struck the Kaga flush on her starboard side. At the time, Brockman’s enthusiasm led him to imagine that he saw it explode and reignite fires on the big carrier. In fact, however, when the torpedo hit the Kaga’s armored battleship hull, it did not explode, and instead broke in half. The heavy nose containing the unexploded warhead sank from sight, and the after section floated harmlessly nearby. Ironically, several Japanese crewmen who had evacuated the Kaga used it as a flotation device until they were picked up by one of the destroyers.31
Brockman had no time for a lengthy assessment, since the Kaga’s two escorts immediately charged toward him and he had to dive. He went down to three hundred feet—as deep as the boat would go. The Japanese destroyers dropped eleven depth charges, but their deepest setting was two hundred feet, and all of them exploded well above him. Despite that, the multiple concussions at such an extreme depth started several leaks in the boat’s hull, and the dripping water led to some tense moments on board the Nautilus. Brockman stayed deep for almost two hours, then crept back up to periscope depth just past 4:00 p.m. The carrier was still there, smoke pouring out of her. The duty officer on the Nautilus watched the towering column of smoke climbing up “to the height of a thousand feet” and told Brockman with evident satisfaction that it reminded him of the smoke that rose up from the USS Arizona on December 7.32
By then, Nagumo had finally, and reluctantly, given up on the idea of forcing a surface action. At 3:40 he ordered what was left of the Kidō Butai to change course from northeast to northwest. It was the right decision, if somewhat tardy. By now Hiryū had only nine attack planes left (four Vals and five Kates), plus perhaps a dozen Zeros. Though Yamaguchi reported (incorrectly) that his two air strikes had “accounted for 2 carriers damaged,” another report from a scout plane informed Nagumo that there were still two more undamaged American carriers east of him. For his part, Yamaguchi was planning one more desperate attack at dusk. He hoped to launch his last nine attack planes, plus six Zeros, at about 6:00 p.m. and hit the Americans at twilight when they would not be expecting it. Though the pilots were woozy with exhaustion, the planes were ready and waiting on the hangar deck. Meanwhile, Yamaguchi kept an active CAP flying over what was left of the Kidō Butai.33
The Americans, too, were planning a strike that afternoon, and they had many more tools to hand. Without question, their morning losses had been heavy and sobering. All three of the torpedo squadrons had been virtually annihilated, and whatever happened from now on would depend entirely on the rugged and dependable Dauntless dive-bombers. Of the thirty-two dive-bombers that Wade McClusky had led away from the Enterprise that morning, however, only eleven had returned, and two of those were so badly damaged as to be of no further use. These losses were due less to enemy fire than to the long flight and lengthy search; most of the planes had simply run out of gas on the way back and ditched in the water. The vast majority of their pilots would eventually be recovered, but for now Enterprise had only about as many attack planes left as Hiryū did: seven from Earl Gallaher’s Scouting Six and four from Dick Best’s Bombing Six. There was, however, Max Leslie’s Bombing Three from Yorktown, When Leslie’s bombers had returned from their strike on the Sōryū to find the Yorktown under attack, Pederson had ordered them to help defend the task force and then sent them off to find refuge on the Enterprise. Leslie himself and two others ran out of gas en route and ditched in the water, but fourteen of them had made it, and those fourteen were on board Enterprise now. Adding them to the remnants of Gallaher’s and Best’s squadrons gave the Enterprise a strike force of twenty-five dive-bombers.34
As for the Hornet, thanks to the “flight to nowhere,” her air group had not been in action at all that day save for Waldron’s martyred Torpedo Eight. Despite that, ten Wildcats had been lost, and only three of Ruff Johnson’s planes from Bombing Eight had returned. Hornet still had all eighteen dive-bombers of Walt Rodee’s squadron, plus the three planes of Johnson’s squadron, so that altogether Spruance had more than forty bombers that he could commit to a second strike.
Certainly the pilots were eager for it. After landing on the Enterprise, Dick Best climbed out of his cockpit and hurried up to the flag bridge to convince Spruance to send out another strike at once. Miles Browning intercepted him, and Best made his case. “There are three carriers aflame and burning,” he told Browning. “But there’s a fourth one up to the north. He requested that he be “rearmed and sent out right away.” Before Browning could reply, McClusky came up to make his report. Commander Walter Boone noticed that blood was running down McClusky’s arm and dripping onto the deck: “My God, Mac, you’ve been shot!” he exclaimed. In fact, McClusky had parts of five bullets in his arm and shoulder, and he was hustled off to sick bay.35
Browning and Spruance were surprised to learn of a fourth undamaged carrier. At 2:04, Spruance had notified Nimitz, “All four CV believed badly damaged.” Yet Best’s report, and the attack on Yorktown, proved that at least one undamaged enemy carrier was still operating. Even so, Spruance did not launch at once. The losses among the American strike aircraft that morning had been “horrific,’ and he was aware that if he launched a second strike now, the planes would probably have to return in the dark. Most important, he didn’t know with any certainty where that fourth carrier was other than, in Best’s words, somewhere “up to the north.” He therefore rejected Browning’s suggestion to launch at once and decided to wait until he had more information.36
It came in at 2:45. That morning, as we’ve seen, Fletcher had kept the planes of Wally Short’s Scouting Five back from the strike in anticipation of finding the presumed second group of Japanese carriers. At 11:30, just twenty minutes before Kobayashi’s attack, he sent ten of them off on a combination search and attack mission. Short’s ten planes flew in five two-plane sections in order to cover an arc of the sea from 280 degrees (almost due west) to 020 degrees (almost due north)—see map, p. 334. They were to fly two hundred miles out, turn left for sixty miles, then fly back. At 150 miles, most of them encountered a thick fog bank. “We’d fly through thick fog for five or ten minutes,” one pilot recalled, “and then break out into the open for a few miles, then back into a fog bank again.” Nevertheless, at 2:45 p.m., just as Tomonaga was attacking the Yorktown, Lieutenant Sa
muel Adams called in a sighting. Adams was in a buoyant mood, for he had received word just that morning that his wife had given birth back in the States. Perhaps somewhat giddy as a result, he had flown off the Yorktown still wearing his blue pajamas under his flight jacket. Now, however, he was all business. Finding no enemy ships in his assigned sector, he took the initiative to fly further south and at 2:45 reported “One carrier, two battleships, three heavy cruisers, four destroyers. Course north, speed 20 knots.” The enemy ships bore 278 degrees from Task Force 16 and they were only 110 miles away. Adams’s radioman/gunner, Joseph Karrol, sent in the sighting report, and when Adams asked him to send it again, Karrol interrupted him: “Mr. Adams, would you mind waiting a minute. There’s a Zero on our tail.” Karrol transferred from the radio to the twin .30-caliber machine guns to fend off the Zero, then went back to the radio to send the voice message.37*
The popular and boyish-looking Lieutenant Samuel Adams spotted the Hiryū on the afternoon of June 4 and reported her location. (U.S. Naval Institute)
After receiving that news, Spruance ordered Enterprise and Hornet to “prepare to launch attack group immediately.” For whatever reason, that order never reached the Hornet. So far the day had been an unalloyed fiasco for the Hornet. It would get no better in the afternoon. Anticipating an order to launch a second strike, Mitscher had spotted Walt Rodee’s scout bombers on the Hornet’s flight deck. Then just a few minutes before 3:00, Mitscher learned that the eleven bombers of Ruff Johnson’s VB-8 that had landed on Midway that morning were at last returning. Mitscher decided to “break the spot” (as it was called) and push the planes of Rodee’s strike force forward in order to recover Johnson’s bombers. As a result, when at 3:17 Spruance ordered both carriers to begin launching at 3:30, the Hornet was not ready. Enterprise began launching at 3:25; the Hornet did not get her first plane into the air until after 4:00.38
That first plane lifted off at 4:03, and one by one, sixteen Dauntless bombers got airborne. Almost at once, however, two of them reported engine failure and had to return. By the time they were back aboard, it was past 4:30, and, deciding it was too late now to continue launching, Mitscher turned the Hornet west to the point-option course. That decision stranded fifteen planes of the Hornet’s strike force that were still on the hangar deck. Worse, among those fifteen were the planes of Stanhope Ring, the air group commander, and Walt Rodee, the squadron commander. Mitscher’s report is silent on how he learned of this latest snafu. Did Ring and Rodee come running up to the bridge to ask why they had been left behind? Did they then consult the roster to find out who the senior officer with the strike group was? In any case, only after he was in the air did Lieutenant Edgar Stebbins learn that he was in charge of the mission. It was yet another humiliation for the hapless Hornet, her frustrated commanding officer, and her even more frustrated air group commander.39
As for the Enterprise, once she had launched her strike group, she began recovering the orphaned Wildcats from the stricken Yorktown. Jimmy Thach was the last to come aboard, and when he climbed out of his cockpit, he was told that Admiral Spruance wanted to see him. Thach rushed up to the flag bridge, where the sober-faced admiral was waiting for him. He asked Thach how he thought things were going. “Admiral, we’re winning this battle,” Thach replied. “I saw with my own eyes three big carriers burning so furiously they’ll never launch another airplane.” He told Spruance that he felt that they ought to go after the fourth one. Thach remembered that Spruance “kind of smiled” at that, which was about as demonstrative as Spruance got.40
The Enterprise strike force of twenty-four planes (one of Gallaher’s planes had to return because of engine trouble) flew toward the target at 13,000 feet in three squadrons. Each squadron was a mere shadow of what it had been that morning. Earl Gallaher’s VS-6 had only six planes; Dick Best’s VB-6 had four; and Max Leslie’s VB-3 from Yorktown had fourteen. Neither McClusky nor Leslie could take part—McClusky because of his shoulder wound and Leslie because his plane had never made it to the Enterprise. That made Earl Gallaher the senior man, with Lieutenant Dave Shumway leading the Yorktown planes. Gallaher planned to have the ten Enterprise planes (his own and Dick Best’s) attack the enemy carrier, and he wanted Shumway’s fourteen planes from Yorktown to hit the escorting battleships. This was a curious decision, since battleships—though big and impressive—were of little operational importance compared to the carrier. Very likely, Gallaher was remembering the doctrine that called for two squadrons flying together to select different targets. But with the American squadrons so reduced by battle damage, and with only one enemy carrier left, it would have been understandable in this case for all the planes to attack the primary target. Despite doctrine, that is exactly what happened.
The strike force from Enterprise spotted the Kidō Butai just before 5:00. Gallaher led his group of twenty-four planes up to 19,000 feet and around to the west in order to attack out of the setting sun. The Japanese had a handful of Zeros flying CAP at altitude, but they did not discover the threat until Gallaher was nearly ready to push over, and for the second time that day the Japanese were caught by surprise when American dive-bombers came hurtling down on them. Despite that, they put up an impressive curtain of antiaircraft fire. In the growing darkness, the gunfire flashes along both sides of the carrier were clearly visible.41
Gallaher began his dive just as the Hiryū made a radical turn to port. The Hiryū was agile for a big ship, and it turned tighter than Gallaher had calculated. He was already committed to his dive, so he tried to adjust for the Hiryū’s sharp turn by pulling up abruptly when he released his bomb, hoping to “throw” the bomb at the rapidly retreating carrier. The bomb missed astern, and Gallaher succeeded only in wrenching his back so badly that after he landed back on the Enterprise he had to be lifted bodily out of his cockpit.42
The next two bombs also missed, and after witnessing that, Shumway decided to forget about the battleships and lead his squadron against the carrier. It was the right decision, though it caused some confusion, since his group and Best’s four-plane section both dove on the Hiryū at the same time. Once again, Best had to maneuver at the last moment while he was preparing to dive. That gave the Zeros flying CAP a second chance at him, and they shot down one of Best’s wingmen, Ensign Fred Weber. Then, as Shumway targeted the Hiryūs starboard bow, Best led his other three planes against her port bow.43
The first to hit the Hiryū was Ensign Richard Jaccard. His 500-pound bomb struck the forward elevator, blowing a section of it into the air and propelling it back against the Hiryūs small island. Three more hits quickly followed, one of them Dick Best’s—his second of the day. Norman “Dusty” Kleiss, who had landed a bomb on the Kaga that morning, also got a second hit on Hiryū. All four American bombs landed forward of the ship’s island and created a single, massive crater in her flight deck; the Hiryū looked as if a giant’s hand had reached down and scooped out her bow section, leaving a gaping cavern. The Hiryū suffered less secondary damage than the other Japanese carriers because there was less ordnance to cook off on the hangar deck, but the primary damage was enough. Like her sister ships, she had been wrecked beyond recovery.44
Only then did Stebbins’ fourteen planes from Hornet arrive on the scene. Seeing that the Japanese carrier was already smashed and “burning throughout its entire length,” Stebbins led his squadron against the heavy cruisers Chikuma and Tone. Based on the pilots’ assessments, Mitscher later reported three hits on a battleship and two on a heavy cruiser, though in fact none of the bombs from the Hornet’s planes hit home.45
In an epilogue to this very long day, a dozen Army B-17s—six from Midway and six from Barking Sands Airfield on Kauai Island—appeared overhead just at dusk and dropped more than thirty 500-pound bombs on what was left of the Kidō Butai. They scored no hits, though they returned to base claiming one hit on a carrier and the sinking of a destroyer.46
By the time all the Navy planes were back aboard the carriers, it was fu
ll dark.* Spruance called Fletcher on the TBS to ask if he had any orders. “Negative,” Fletcher replied; “will conform to your movements,” in effect releasing Spruance to operate his task force independently, a vote of confidence that Spruance greatly appreciated. Spruance’s first decision was to turn Task Force 16 to the east, away from the enemy. He was aware that this might allow the remnants of the Kidō Butai to escape during the night. He knew, however, that four Japanese carriers had been hit, and he was sensitive to the possibly of a Japanese night attack by their heavy battleships or by destroyers launching torpedoes. As he put it in his subsequent report to Nimitz, “I did not feel justified in risking a night encounter with possibly superior enemy forces, but on the other hand, I did not want to be too far away from Midway the next morning.” Though Spruance’s decision was subsequently controversial, it was a sound one. Nimitz had told him—and Fletcher—not to risk the fleet.47
As for Nagumo, with his last carrier in flames, and lacking any aircraft beyond the few scout planes on the heavy cruisers and battleships, he at last faced reality and directed the remnants of his command to head west into the setting sun.
* Altogether, Yamaguchi and the Hiryū could count up to sixty-four aircraft. That included twenty-seven Zero fighters from all four carriers, most of them still flying CAP. There were an additional ten Zeros on the Hiryūs hanger deck, the eighteen Val dive bombers, and nine Kate torpedo planes, plus one more orphaned Kate from the Akagi.
* Though the Zeros failed to shoot down any of Ware’s dive bombers, none of the American planes made it back to the Enterprise, presumably because they subsequently ran out of gas. The crew of one of them—Ensign Frank W. O’Flaherty and his backseat gunner, Avation Machinist’s Mate First Class Bruno Gaido—ditched in the water and were subsequently taken prisoner by the Japanese destroyer Makigumo. Gaido was the man who had won Halsey’s approbation four months earlier by attempting to fight off a Japanese Nell from the stern of the Enterprise during the raid on the Marshall Islands (see chapter 4). After the Japanese interrogated the two Americans, they tied weights to their ankles and dropped them over the side.
The Battle of Midway (Pivotal Moments in American History) Page 36
