Pearl Harbour and Days of Infamy

by Newt Gingrich

  So far, they had fired off one hundred forty rounds of high explosive shells, nearly half of their entire allotment, the firing mission to leave sixty high explosive shells in reserve. Their full reserve of one hundred sixty-five armor-piercing rounds for any ship-to-ship action was, as yet, untouched

  He had ordered that each magazine hoist have armor-piercing shells ready to shift over immediately if any enemy ships did attempt to sortie, but so far, according to the spotters, it appeared as if the main channel was still blocked, and the two submarines that had supposedly gained position at the entryway into Pearl Harbor had not reported in

  The klaxon sounded again. Seconds later, each of his four turrets lit off in sequence with their massive loads, the ship actually heeling over, its thirty-six-thousand-ton bulk shoved nearly half a meter to port by the concussive blows

  The infirmary already was reporting nearly a score of injuries, including one man dead in number two turret. He had not stepped clear of the terrifying recoil of the gun breech, and the life was crushed out of him in but a fraction of a second. Though the crew was well drilled, this was their first taste of actual combat

  The lighter five- and six-inch guns continued to bark away, firing randomly into the general area of Pearl Harbor. Their random fire was intentional, designed to sow confusion and fear, shells striking without warning between the heavier impacts of the main batteries

  He looked up at the bulkhead chronometer. A little more than four hours to the beginning of nautical twilight; an hour and twenty minutes left to this mission

  Yamamoto might be cavalier about risking battleships, but then again he always was heretical in his views. Five miles off the enemy coast Nagita felt naked. The fires lighting the shore from Waikiki over to Pearl Harbor were a glowing beacon that could silhouette any ship even twenty miles out. He had always felt that the number of escorts assigned to the entire task force was far too small: only nine destroyers, two heavy cruisers and one light one, and now his commander had split the fleet, Yamamoto giving him but two destroyers and the cruiser Tone as protection against submarines or the prospect that the Americans might have been able to slip something out of the harbor, or for that matter bring something up from farther out to sea

  Regardless of what Yamamoto wanted, he’d stay on station here for only one more hour, then find reason to pull out and put a good hundred nautical miles between this prize of the Imperial Japanese fleet and any enemy shoreline

  They had reduced their rate of fire to a salvo every four minutes to conserve ammunition and also to give the guns time to cool. A sustained rate of fire much beyond that, justified in a battleship-to-battleship fight, but not here, would cause excessive wear on the precious gun barrels

  He could feel the rumble of the turrets slowly shifting as the ship made a steady ten knots, running due west. In seven more minutes they would come about and trace back, fire lifting to hit Hickam again, and then back over to Fort Shafter, which to everyone’s amazement was continuing to fire back defiantly, but with absolutely no result other than a single near miss on a destroyer more than half an hour ago

  “Enemy ships to port!”

  Startled, he turned away from gazing at the distant shore, cursing inwardly, night vision dulled by the glaring fires

  The warning had come via an observer aloft in the fire control tower, rung down and announced from the phone by a young ensign, obviously rattled by the news

  Nagita fixed him with a cool gaze

  “I want a bearing, and repeat the order calmly or you will be ordered off this bridge!”

  The ensign gulped, nodded, spoke into the phone, and then looked back up

  “Sir’ Enemy ships to port, bearing 170 degrees, range estimated nine thousand meters!”

  “Fire star shells from our secondary batteries to port!” Nagita announced fiercely, his attention now turned away from the bombardment. “Order all main batteries to shift to armor piercing!”

  Aboard the Ward 00:15 hrs local time

  Rear Admiral Draemel was silent out on the open bridge, night binoculars raised, trained straight ahead

  The silhouettes of the Jap battleships stood out clear against the blazing skyline of Oahu. Each bursting salvo on the all but defenseless base and city was a nightmare to watch

  How he had managed to slip out unnoticed was still a mystery to him. He had tried to sortie with every available ship that could turn screws, but after getting but three destroyers out to rendezvous with Minneapolis, his cruiser, Detroit, hung up on the wreckage in the main channel, blocking it off

  Ward had come in to pick him up. He was a bit surprised the young commander had risked this until he was piped aboard and recognized him as one of his cadets from the Academy, the young man grinning as he welcomed him. Together they had set off at flank speed to rendezvous with Minneapolis, which had remained twenty miles out to sea. He had planned to transfer his flag over to Minneapolis, but there was no time now. He’d use Ward for his flagship in this fight

  What an agonizing wait it had become once the Japanese bombardment started. Turn and go in for a straight-on encounter off of Diamond Head, or wait out here? The bastards were not just going to bombard the east coast, he reasoned, but then again, they just might. Several scenarios postulated an initial landing there to gain a land-based airfield so the carriers could offload and then put farther out to sea. The bombardment over there could be the opening move for an invasion

  No, to bombard Pearl at night would be too much of a temptation. Let them come in, let them sink their teeth into it, and maybe, just maybe, he could slip in and deliver his punch. Try to meet them head on, their guard will be up and they’ll start clobbering us at twenty thousand yards. Let them focus on the other target, though it would be devastating to sit back while they clobbered Pearl, and then slip in for the kill

  So for the last hour and a half that was exactly what he had been doing, slipping in at just under twelve knots, trying to keep the wakes of his ships down at slower speed. At high speed, the wake boiling up astern of a destroyer could easily be spotted by a scout plane. In tropical waters, it would actually glow from the phosphorescence of the plankton stirred up. What was equally nerve-racking was the moon, now high in the southern sky. How could they not have been seen by now? Spotters aloft on the battleships were most likely half blinded by the flash of the big guns, and naturally, nearly all attention was focused on their target

  But still, by God, they should have a scout plane out to sea, and at least one destroyer!

  The tension was overwhelming. He’d kill for a cigarette, but they were under strict light security

  He stood silent, listening to the litany of his spotters

  “Range, nine thousand two hundred yards, closing . . . range nine thousand yards, closing . . .”

  They were now within easy gunnery range, the popgun turrets forward, a single four-incher ever so slowly adjusting, lowering barrels an inch at a time

  “Range . . . eight thousand, eight hundred yards, closing . . .”

  He looked quickly to port and starboard. Damn if it was not like Nelson’s battle line closing in at Trafalgar, or a cavalry charge of old, the nine destroyers and destroyer escorts in line abreast, four hundred yards separating each vessel, while Minneapolis approached from two miles astern, ready to come about and open with all guns once they were spotted, staying farther back due to her higher silhouette. He felt a knot in his stomach looking at the moonlight glinting off the churning wake astern. He could actually see the outline of the heavy cruiser

  For God’s sake, can’t they see us?

  “We are well within torpedo range, sir.”

  It was the captain of the Ward, a damn good lad. It had taken guts doing what he did this morning, actually firing off the first shot of the war, nailing a Jap sub at the entry to the harbor a full hour before the bombs began to fall. Though he would not curse the name of a dead comrade, nevertheless, Kimmel should have been on that in minutes and had the
base on full alert, rather than still berthed and sleeping

  Not now, don’t think of it now

  “Wait,” was all he said. “I want it close, real close.”

  He raised his heavy Zeiss night binoculars, not government issued; he had paid for them himself, and at this moment they were worth every dime. He trained them straight ahead. The Jap battleship stood out clear against the flame-bright shoreline. It was hard yet to identify it precisely, but a young ensign, inside the glassed-off bridge, had the reference books out and was claiming it was either the Hiei or her sister ship Kirishima. Eight fourteen-inch guns, sixteen six-inch guns, eight five-inch guns, thirty-six thousand tons displacement--one ship that outweighed his entire attacking force. The secondary batteries on that one battleship were capable of matching every gun he had

  “Range eight thousand six hundred yards, closing . . .”

  Flashes of light winked from the battleship . . . from its port side

  He held his breath, waiting

  “Range eight thousand four hundred . . .”

  A burst of light high above, several hundred yards directly ahead, bright shimmering blue of a magnesium parachute flare. A dozen more bursting within a second, illuminating the sea with a harsh, lurid light

  “Flank speed!” Draemel roared. “Signal all ships. Flank speed and engage!”

  Within seconds he felt the surge hit. My God, he had not been on a destroyer in years. It took a stately battleship or heavy cruiser long minutes to build up momentum; this was like a race car. The stern actually sank down as the twin engines accelerated up, even on this old World War I veteran, the engineering officer below having waited for this instant, hands most likely clutched to the steam valves, ready to spin them full open

  He braced against the splinter shield

  To either flank he could see the other destroyers accelerating as well

  “Range, eight thousand two hundred and closing!” The voice of the young seaman calling out the chant had raised half an octave

  More flashes from the battleship. Seconds later the first shells arched overhead, kicking up geysers far astern

  “Forward battery fire at will, fire at will!” the Ward’s captain shouted, and a few seconds later the single forward turret opened fire and began pumping out a round every eight to ten seconds, the other destroyers firing as well, while two miles astern, Minneapolis began to turn to port, its forward turrets lighting off, sending eight-inch shells screaming overhead in reply. As her turret astern was exposed, three more shells were on their way

  Someone hit on the first salvo, a flash on the deck of the Jap battleship

  “That’s the stuff!” Draemel cried, slamming his clenched fist on the railing

  “Now charge, damn it, charge!”

  It was the most un-Navylike of orders but it fit the moment

  Hiei 01:27 hrs

  “All batteries engage to port. Signal engine room, full speed ahead, turn to heading . . .” he paused for a brief instant

  Damn Yamamoto. He had been warned of this. They were in the classic trap. On the lee of an enemy shore with no room to turn and evade, a clear target outlined by the fires ashore, and now an unknown number of enemy ships coming in on them from the open sea

  Turn in toward them?

  No . . . run straight ahead. All our guns can bear while only their forward guns can fire in reply

  “Flank speed, bearing 260 degrees!” he ordered

  The heavy fourteen-inch turrets ponderously shifted, swinging about fore and aft, shifting to port, barrels depressing as the range finders aloft called down to the fire control center with the range and bearing of the rapidly closing targets, ordering ammunition loads switched to armor piercing

  It took a very long two minutes, a very long two minutes, but at last number one turret fired back

  Ward 01:39 hrs

  The flash from the guns of their secondary batteries was blinding, burning out his night vision as he was focused on the ship

  “Range . . . seven thousand one hundred yards . . .”

  The geyser of water blew two hundred yards forward of the destroyer to his port side, the column of water soaring a hundred feet into the air, seconds later the charging destroyer, pitching and rocking, slashing through the wake of the blast and the cascades of sea water showering down

  More flares were erupting above them. Suddenly a blinding spotlight clicked on, and then another, from the Japanese cruiser to the west of the battleship, the spotlight sweeping back and forth

  The flashes from his own single four-incher were blinding as well, so that he let his binoculars drop

  Eight bursts of light, as brilliant as the sun, fired in sequences of two, each sequence spaced a couple of seconds after the next from the battleship straight ahead, joined a few seconds later by the second battleship, which had been running a mile astern of his target. Their heavy guns were opening up at last. My God, here it comes

  And it came, the fourteen-inch shells raining down, one striking directly between Ward and the destroyer to port, and then in a second his portside companion was gone, just simply gone, caught amidships, three quarters of a ton of armor-piercing slicing through the hull just above the water line

  The destroyer escort to his starboard side had taken a similar hit, but luck had held for her. The armor-piercing shells were designed for a plunging strike into an enemy cruiser or battleship, designed to slice through eight, ten inches of armor and then to keep on punching down before finally detonating. For the starboard-side destroyer escort, it had simply gone through the paper-thin superstructure of the bridge, killing four men, turning the ship’s captain into a pulplike spray, and then punched through the starboard side to strike the sea a quarter mile away before exploding

  But for the ship to port, the shell had angled into the engine room, hitting a steam turbine which was encased with high-grade steel, and blown, the explosion breaking the back of the ship, tearing off the entire aft end, the flash bursting into the aft magazine for the five-inchers, igniting half a dozen tons of powder

  Another shell burst in the ocean seventy-five yards off the port-side bow of Ward. Not a killing blow, though the overpressure underwater ruptured plates, and shrapnel eviscerated the crew of the forward antiaircraft gun, which had started to open up as well, silencing their brave but futile efforts

  “Range six thousand, five hundred yards!”

  He looked over at the captain of the Ward. The lad stood not saying a word. Draemel smiled inwardly. Best damn tradition of Annapolis on display here. His boys were doing OK, and he was proud of them--but how many of these kids would die in the next few minutes, how many were already dead? He had heard some unsettling rumors. Suppose after all this their torpedoes weren’t effective, suppose they just bounced off the armor siding of that thirty-six-thousand-ton monster straight ahead? If so, he hoped everyone on the damn ordnance board responsible fried in hell. He was pitting well over two thousand young men on this gamble. It had better be worth it

  He could not let his fears show now. There was only one order left to give, when to turn and launch torpedoes, and he prayed to God his nerve would hold long enough to do that--and that he lived long enough to do it right. He had seen the destruction in Pearl. It was payback time, and he wanted in on that first strike back

  There was a momentary eye contact between him and the young captain, illuminated by the flash of the Japanese guns. Both forced a smile, said nothing, but the look expressed a thousand words about fears, courage, the realization of what had to be done, and the realization of the price that job would require

  They were well within torpedo range now, almost suicidally close. But the farther out with his torpedoes, the slower the speed for the weapon once launched. At this range, to reach their target, speed would have to be set at under thirty knots. Hell, this old destroyer moved faster than that. He wanted them in damn close for a highspeed launch at maximum torpedo speed of forty-five knots. It was rumored the Japs
could fire theirs from ten thousand yards or more away, but no, he wanted to be right on top of the sons of bitches and spit in their eye before he’d cut loose, to make sure they put her on the bottom of the sea

  Hiei 01:34 hrs

  they were up to flank speed at last, running full out at over twenty-two knots, burning more fuel in a minute than they would cruising for a half hour at ten knots

  Another four miles and they would clear the west coast of the island and could turn northward and away

  Damn Yamamoto! He should have assigned all the destroyers with me, I’d have then had a protective screen to portside to intercept this unexpected attack, Nagita thought bitterly

  “Their range is four thousand meters!”

  They must have launched by now, he thought. It would be suicide to come any closer. Already two of the attacking ships were gone

  He spared a quick glance to the charts. They had five miles of sea room to starboard. Should he turn in but then have no maneuver room, or race straight on?

  He hesitated

  Ward 07.-36 hrs

  “Range four thousand, six hundred yards!”

  Another salvo, another destroyer hit, bow shearing off, the ship for a second looking as if it would actually dig in bow first and upend over

  “Sir?”

  It was the captain of the Ward, trying to sound calm, in spite of the hurricane of noise

  “One mile out,” Draemel shouted, voice nearly drowned out by the bark of the lone four-inch gun forward. “I want it so close we can’t miss! We’re almost under their big guns, they’re shooting flat trajectory, their heavy rounds passing over us now,” and even as he spoke the bridge was rattled by the howl of a fourteen-inch shell shrieking past them, so close the concussive blast of the passing bolt was actually felt. It was followed a few seconds later by a strike from a six-inch shell, hitting the smokestack astern, blowing it apart. He could hear screaming from down on the deck