Alarm Starboard!: A Remarkable True Story of the War at Sea

by Geoffrey Brooke

  It dipped its nose and came tearing down. The air was shuddering with gunfire and again I thought it could not get through.

  It was a large machine carrying either two bombs or two drop tanks and liable to make a big mess. I watched it long enough to see bits fly off its starboard wing and then retired to a prone position in the walk behind my guns, which being on the disengaged side could do nothing. At the after end of the walk was an eight-barrelled pom-pom whose size made a recess in the flight deck necessary. This gun could not bear either and the loading numbers were on their stomachs. Being plumb abreast the aiming point we could all expect ‘the full’. It was a long four or five seconds.

  Then a terrific detonation and a wall of flame curled down from the deck above and seemed to encircle the pom-pom mounting. I got up to run as it looked like coming my way, but a lot of smoke took its place. At the same time the sea, for perhaps hundreds of yards from the ship, was a mass of splashes, big and small, from descending objects.

  With the thought that the pom-pom’s crew must all be burnt I climbed on to the flight-deck to much the same sight as before. Several furiously burning piles of wreckage that had been aircraft, the island all black, smouldering debris everywhere and clouds of thick smoke welling upwards.

  The kamikaze seemed to have exploded close to the pom-pom mounting at the after end of the island because the area was in considerable disarray. The gun itself was surrounded by a protective steel wall about six feet high; I ran and looked over this at a sight that stamped itself on my inner eye from that moment. The blackened body of the Gunlayer, headless, sat rigid in his elevated seat, crouched forward in the aiming attitude with hands still grasping the ‘bicycle pedal’ control in front. There was an aeroplane wheel on the deck beside and the brave man must have continued to fire his gun until the very last moment. The rest of the crew, who had probably ducked down in time, seemed to be all right.

  Looking round I saw that, among several flaming aircraft, the immediate danger was a Corsair fitted with a drop tank in the middle of the flight deck just abaft the island, on fire and standing in a large pool of burning petrol. Nobody was doing anything about it and I noted to my fury the red skull caps of some of the fire party just showing above the flight deck each side as they awaited events with some prudence. The quickest thing to do was to shame them into action, so I ran for the mobile CO2 machine which was housed at the fore end of the island and trundled it up to the Corsair. The latter’s machine-gun bullets were cooking off with the heat, whether up the barrels or not I was unsure but took the seamanlike precaution of advancing in line with the engine. As expected the CO2 machine was no use—being designed for confined spaces—but it had the desired effect. One or two men appeared and then we were joined by the rest, all bringing equipment to bear, mostly the new knapsack foam throwers. The fire was intense and for some time we did not seem to be making any impression. Though mostly directed aft by the wind over the deck, the flames from the burning petrol rose up every so often to envelop the drop tank and it was evident that should the wind come from the side, or worse still astern, that would be it. The Captain was probably otherwise concerned so I sent a man up to ask him not to alter course if he could help it. Eventually, as the number of appliances increased we got the upper hand; even so, as the petrol pool was extinguished in one place it would flare up in another.

  My lungs filled with smoke and I had moved out of the way for air when there was a tap on my back and The Captain wants to see you, Sir’. The fire was now out, the petrol under a thick blanket of creamy foam, the firefighting had eventually gone rather well and I thought ‘What the hell does the old blighter want to criticise now?’ A senior air officer who had been watching circumspectly from the island doorway said something rather nice as I passed but I was quite unprepared when the Captain was congratulatory fit to take my breath away. I descended to the flight deck in a rosy haze—one is only human—but behind it was a cautionary voice saying that if I had not acted at once I would have been in line for a court-martial, or at any rate had to live with a personal stigma for the rest of my life.

  Meanwhile, and quite unknown to me, another kamikaze had dived on the ship but been shot down*. The rest of the flight deck was brought fairly quickly under control. Our recent experience had enabled me to improve parts of the fire-fighting organisation and at least no one sprayed water about. There were more fires because there were more aircraft to provide the fuel; the kamikaze had crashed through a deck-park of 11 Corsairs out of which we lost eight. As fires were extinguished unburnt aircraft were hauled clear. It did not help that the concussion had burst all their tyres; nor that the towing tractors had previously been destroyed, though two jeeps that must have been procured from the Fleet Train stood in quite well. Once, when busy in a corner with a hand-extinguisher, I looked up to find the whole flight deck deserted. The take-cover klaxon had gone again as another attack was expected and I had not heard it. Reaching the boat-deck down a vertical ladder in record time I knocked into Commander (Ops) who was running for a good cubby hole (presumably he had been caught like me) where I joined him. Nothing happened so we cautiously made our way up again.

  All fires were out about 20 minutes after the incident. The bomb had exploded ten yards further aft than the first, without penetration, except that a rivet had been blown out, allowing burning petrol to fall through the hole to the hangar below; a nasty fire had ensued resulting in damage by flame and water spray to four Avengers and eight Corsairs. On the flight-deck we lost one Avenger as well as the eight Corsairs, with one Corsair damaged. Apart from the loss of aircraft and doubling the shrapnel holes in the island, which now resembled a giant black pepper-pot, not much harm had been done. Casualties, thanks to the new warning system, were only one killed and eight wounded. (Evidence of our second Japanese casualty was one eye, picked up by a rating with a strange sense of humour; it was put in a match-box which he would suddenly push open in front of unsuspecting messmates.) We landed on a strike shortly afterwards—they had taken temporary refuge in Victorious—and continued much as if nothing had happened.

  Admiral Vian signalled ‘Well extinguished. Any foamite left?’ and it was gratifying to get from Uganda ‘Our sincerest admiration’. I hoped that Moose would have approved too.

  It was surprising to find that the crew of the pom-pom that had been engulfed in flames were quite all right; anti-flash gear was made of uncomfortably hot material but it was good to have such evidence of its efficiency. Not so reassuring was the plain fact that our pom-poms and Oerlikons simply did not have sufficient physical stopping power. Both our opponents were hard hit but came on, possibly aided by the freezing of control surfaces at high speed. The new Implacable had a quadruple Bofors guns of larger calibre and we hoped for something similar when next in Sydney.

  Ben Hedges said he thought that an American carrier would have been sunk by fire in either attack as the kamikazes would have gone straight through. One British view was that the naval constructor or whoever it was that insisted on armoured decks should be made an Admiral of the Fleet, a duke, a millionaire or anything else he preferred!* A personal comment on the action was that afterwards I realised I had kept up a steady flow, sotto voce, of foul language. Not normally given to this, I presume it was a curious way of letting off steam.

  An event that had gone quite unnoticed on the 9th was VE-Day, the end of the war in Europe; however we spliced the mainbrace on the 10th. At home there was naturally wild rejoicing. From my mother:

  Hart’s Gorse

  9/5/45

  VE-Day

  This is VE-Day at last! We have just been listening to the King broadcasting— and then Eisenhower—Tedder (bad)—Montgomery, etc … One can hardly believe it has at last really come … when we hear the Japs have thrown their hand in too, then we shall have a real V day! However, it is a wonderful thing that it’s over in Europe, and at the end that it went so quickly … Hitler disappeared—bumped off I expect. Goebbels poisoned,
Goering disappeared … no word of our having located that arch-swine Himmler. Lewes was festooned with flags—out of every window and across the streets and everyone wearing red, white and blue rosettes—and the girls with their hair tied up in red, white and blue ribbons! There is a procession and bonfire at Firle tonight.

  De Valera has finished himself and Ireland by sending condolences to the Germans on Hitler’s death.

  Thursday 11th

  Lewes went mad in the evening and had a torchlight procession and bonfire. Everyone got drunk and you could hear the noise from here at midnight!

  They have found Goering, decked out in gold lace and with many rings on his fingers, one a huge sapphire! The Pacific news say that our fleet is bombarding and bombing again—I wonder so much if you are among that lot?

  That lot’ learnt at dusk on the 10th that the fleet was ‘retiring to lick its wounds’ since Victorious could only operate a few aircraft at a time due to damage to her forward lift and we had only four Avengers and 11 Corsairs serviceable. So the next morning saw us back in the fuelling area for a repeat of the last occasion. One satisfactory difference was the smaller casualty list due to the Anti-Hawk scheme. Ursa came alongside for transferring this and that and Robin semaphored to me ‘Glad to see you all in one piece’ to which I replied ‘So am I’.

  HMS Formidable

  14/5/45

  We are having a fairly tough time, but it’s quite good fun in some ways. I saw Robin very close the other day. The weather is pleasant except when there are low clouds. I quite forgot! The wonderful news of the war in Europe being over! I’m afraid it doesn’t mean much out here, at least not so much as it might. It must be lovely to have no blackouts, etc, and of course the end of hostilities. I wish I was at home for a whoopee party with you both and the Cecils and the Kellys.

  I cause a good deal of amusement by varied apparel in action. Being the flight deck fire-fighting officer as well as other things I wear a red waistcoat. I came to the conclusion it didn’t go well with a blue overall and yellow skull-cap so changed to a red skull cap. I now wear a white overall, red waistcoat, and red and white tin hat; I also have a red and white megaphone so the effect is pretty startling. I was complimented by the Captain and the Commander the other day (more cannot be said) which was rather gratifying, especially as the Captain is not given to compliments.

  The sea is always flat calm and I haven’t, touch wood, ever felt sick in Formidable, which makes the world of difference. I think I’d rather have the Japs than seasickness.

  Iceberg 9 had taken up May 12 and 13, both without retaliation from the air. The enemy gunners remained unsubdued, however, and of course in ever better practice. An Avenger returned with only one wheel and due to our shaky barriers was directed on to Indom, where a comparatively safe landing was made. The other ships must have been surprised during the next replenishment period when an impromptu concert was held on our flight deck; it was to celebrate the first anniversary of the ship’s present commission. An Avenger ditched on take-off during Iceberg 10 and there was a barrier prang that was potentially horrific but ended in a touch of farce. A Corsair came in too high and too fast, missed all the wires, hit the wrecked barriers full tilt, was swung right round and to starboard and careered some way up the deck, which fortunately happened to be clear. His precursor was on the port side beyond the barriers, being directed by Harry. I heard that this pilot’s expression, when he saw another Corsair passing him, going backwards, was worth a month’s pay. The heavy barriers were still being raised by the turrets’ crews, strung out for’ard and, although treated as a bit of a lark, this was fairly hard going in the heat. Perhaps it was the sight of this bizarre amalgam of ancient and modern that prompted Admiral Rawlings to signal ‘The way in which you have been able to operate after making good your damage reflects the highest credit on all concerned’.

  Unfortunately, the same could not be said about a serious accident during the fuelling period that followed, though the outcome could have been far worse. An armourer inadvertently fired the guns of a Corsair in the hangar, the Avenger ahead of it exploded and a major petrol fire ensued. There were many bombs in the hangar at the time and the fire curtain (dividing it in half) still inoperative from kamikaze damage. All the hangar sprayers had to be switched on, which did not improve the electrics of the aircraft being maintained. After some anxious minutes the fire was brought under control by those in the hangar who, for a time, shut themselves in to prevent oxygen getting to the flames. I played hoses on the flight deck to cool it down but even so the water rose in steam and it was necessary to double mark time to prevent the crepe soles of my shoes from melting. It was hard lines on the Captain, after the ship’s excellent start, having to report that seven Avengers and 23 Corsairs were in various degrees unserviceable. The Admiral must have sent an understanding reply (I think Vian had more than a soft spot for Ruckers—they were of the same mould) because the Captain signalled ‘Your letter very much appreciated as we are feeling very low about the whole show’.

  There were exchanges in a lighter vein after Vian in Indomitable had signalled to Rawlings that, though Formidable only had 16 Corsairs and two or three Avengers, her continued presence would not only provide fighter effort and a spare deck but ‘it will be nice for the rest of us that there will be four targets instead of three’. Formidable made to Indomitable (personal for Captain Eccles)—‘I suspect your cheerful handiwork in the last para’, and then ‘I believe you have some photos of the attack of May 4 on us. If so would appreciate copies to show my grandchildren’, to which Captain Eccles replied ‘Copies will be sent but, unless you are now, I doubt if you ever will be a grandfather!’

  Two more operating days followed, in which Formidable provided target and fleet CAPs (bogeys were reported but there were no attacks) and then in the evening of the 21st was told to leave for Manus and Sydney to expediate repairs. We did not like vacating the field before the one more Iceberg scheduled, but could hardly pretend there were no compensations. As we parted company with two destroyers and the EPF dwindled astern, Victorious winked ‘Don’t bag all the decent Corsairs when you get to Sydney, play fair’, to which Ruckers replied for most of us ‘I suppose you mean girls, not Corsairs’.

  Arrival at Manus marked a month at sea. When they desisted four days after we left, the remainder of the EPF had done two months, divided by eight days at Leyte. This way of operating had not been experienced in the Royal Navy since Nelson’s blockade of Toulon and, all things considered, had been a success. 203 aircraft had been lost from all causes out of an original complement of 218. 93 per cent losses for 57 enemy aircraft destroyed was not a victory by that count but the object had been denial of the Sakishima airfields to the Japanese at a time when the conquest of Okinawa was proving most difficult. Eleven strike days had been completed (2,449 sorties) and all five carriers taking part had been hit by kamikazes at least once. CTF 57 (Admiral Spruance) sent Admiral Rawlings a most appreciative signal and reported to Nimitz that the EPF was experienced enough to operate closely in future operations with the American Fast Carrier Task Force.

  The girls were there all right when we arrived at Woolloomooloo but almost outnumbered by dockyard mateys who swarmed on board to tackle our various defects, including the welding of bigger and better plates over the hole. This became quite famous. HRH the Duke of Gloucester, Governor General of Australia, was our first visitor and Admiral Fraser the second. Aircrews were given 14 days’ leave and the rest of us four to six.

  HMS Formidable

  8/6/45

  … I had four days. I went by train to a place called Bungendore, about 200 miles away, arriving at lunchtime. It was a little village, right in the country, a nice smallish house very old for Australia, whitewashed and woodwork. My host and hostess were a young Mr and Mrs Forbes Gordon (all the stations around there were owned by people called Gordon or Osborne). He was ex-RAAF, very quiet and nice; she was charming and in the family way.

 
I rode a very good horse helping him round up sheep and got an afternoon’s quail shooting. We also had a large picnic lunch-cum-duck shoot with some Gordons next door, where T. was staying, and saw sheep being shorn. Lots of marvellous food, cream, etc, and plenty of sleep.

  Everyone said how well I looked on return, not that I think I looked particularly bad on going …

  These were a wonderful four days, all arranged by Nell Knox.

  The ship duly received some single Bofors guns instead of the Oerlikons and six Hellcats from Indomitable—four night fighters and two photographic—but these additions paled into insignificance alongside the big one. This was AC1—Admiral Vian—for we were to fly his flag during the next tour of operations. In practical terms the vacating of cabins and offices to make room for the staff was the biggest bore and this, of course, occurred, but I think we were all pleased to have Vian. It was an undoubted honour that he had chosen Formidable (Indom, just relieved by Implacable, had retired for a refit) and, though it would sometimes be uncomfortable to have big brother right on top of us, we felt equal to anything he might require (the first thing he required was a bathroom alongside his bridge, not easy to implement). Lastly, Vian’s mode of operation was stimulating, similar to the Captain’s, and no doubt we felt ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’. In the event there were no dramas that I remember and four weeks after arrival we were twisting out of Sydney harbour again, proudly sporting his flag.

  *Carrier Pilot, by Norman Hanson.

  *Her USN Liaison Officer commented: ‘When a kamikaze hits a US carrier it’s six months repair at Pearl; in a Limey carrier it’s a case of “Sweepers man your brooms!” ’