Days of Infamy (42 page)

Attrition of the last two days had cut some squadrons down to just five or six planes, and he had broadcast in the clear for all dive bombers to form into a single group on the lead
Akagi
pilot and the same for the torpedo bombers. It was taking time, precious time, as they slowly climbed for altitude.

He then radioed back to
Akagi
to expect an attack to hit within fifteen minutes at most—then led his group on.

THE CIC WAS
a room of barely contained chaos, every radio operator at work, jotting down messages, shouting for assistants to pass them up, orders being given back.

Newton and Sherman stood in front of the Plexiglas plot board, watching as two seamen on the other side traced in information, symbols, tracking lines.

Radar and radio reports both confirmed an inbound wave of
Japanese planes now eighty miles out: a report of a sighting of a Japanese cruiser to the southwest, thirty miles out, closing in their direction, and a report relayed in from Honolulu stating it had monitored Japanese radio signals confirming a strike launch ordered from what was believed to be the
Akagi
, most likely their flagship.

“Radio the boys, that’s their primary target,” Sherman announced. “They should know what the hell they look like. I want the
Akagi.”

“Kaga
looks almost identical,” Newton said softly.

“Then tell them to sink the first bastard and then the other,” Sherman replied coldly, and Newton smiled.

“ENEMY PLANES SIGHTED!”

Helmets were being passed around, and Admiral Yamamoto and Genda, by his side, took theirs and put them on. Binoculars raised, they could see the incoming wave, ten miles out, already with smoking trails as the defending fighters swarmed in on them.

He tried to count their numbers. Several score at least, coordinated this time, in tight formations.

In line of battle
Kaga
and
Akagi
were in the center. Three miles to the north were
Zuikaku
and
Shokaku.
Three miles farther to the south were
Hiryu, Soryu
, and
Kirishima
, their ring of eleven destroyers broken into three groups, five to the central group, three each to the other two.

Antiaircraft guns from the northernmost group began to open up, dark splotches staining the morning sky. The enemy planes pressed on, their torpedo bombers beginning to drop altitude, all aimed straight at
Akagi.

“They’re coming for us,” Genda announced, “ignoring
Zuikaku
and
Shokaku.”

“It’s what I would have ordered them to do,” Yamamoto replied.

Another two minutes. The heavy guns on both
Kaga
and
Akagi
opened up, though
Akagi’s
rate of fire was vastly slower due to damage below and the ditching of ammunition overboard while fighting the fires.

The attack was coming on fast. A dozen or more planes were tumbling from the sky, trailing smoke, a few parachutes blossoming. Several Zeroes focused in on the torpedo planes, slashing into them, while high overhead the dive bombers continued on, now well past
Zuikaku
and her sister ship.

Akagi
started to heel over to port, the helmsman, as ordered, going into evasive maneuvers. A destroyer nearby nearly rammed into her bow, just barely avoiding collision as it turned aside.

“There are more of them than last time,” Genda announced heatedly. “A lot more. This might be two carriers hitting us at once.”

He focused on the lead dive bomber. Different design, looked almost like one of their Devastators.

“That’s a Vindicator,” Genda announced, as if reading Yamamoto’s mind. “They’re usually land based.”

As the first two dive bombers began their wing over, they exploded, one after the other, a Zero diving past them. Two more began their dives. One of the Zeroes cartwheeled, wing sheared off.

Akagi
was heeling hard over in a violent full turn to port.

He saw the Dauntlesses moving into position up high, puffs of smoke from antiaircraft shells, a mad confusion of aircraft.

Three of the Vindicators were shrieking down, their aim good. The three released fairly low before pulling out. One had its wing shearing off, either from a direct hit or overstress. But the bombs winged in, the first bursting a hundred yards off the bow, the second fifty yards from the port-side bow, but the third clipped the front of the landing deck, punched through into the depths of the ship, and blew.

We might survive this, we might survive this, Yamamoto silently chanted. This bomb burst did not feel that bad, some splintering of the deck forward. Fortunately the hangar deck was empty of planes.

But now the Dauntlesses were coming in, and he sensed this would be the moment.

There were at least fifteen of them, six winging over, the others appearing to hold back. It must be a good commander up there, ready to divert the others if the first wave hits us hard.

They were still turning hard to port, the bombers winging down, guiding straight in. Two more were hit, the bomb of one exploding right underneath the plane, taking out the plane behind it. But still they pressed in, two more bombs visible through the smoke.

There was no need to be told to duck. He crouched down low and felt the two sharp impacts, the explosions erupting somewhere down deep within.

“More!”

He gazed up. The rest of the attack group was coming in and he knew that his beloved comrade, the first fleet carrier of His Majesty’s Navy, was now in mortal peril.

The Americans came on relentlessly, more bombs dropping. Another impact, and this one astern, close enough that he felt the heat of the blast washing over the bridge. A loud screaming: a Dauntless, out of control, tumbled, barely cleared the bridge, and then disappeared astern, crashing in their wake.

He stood up. Fires were burning the length of the deck, soaring up out of impact points, and he could feel their speed slacking off.

“American torpedo planes!”

Genda pointed to port but the smoke was so thick he could not see them.

Heavy gunfire. An American plane appeared through the smoke, skimming the deck forward of the bridge, a Zero on its tail tearing into it, an American Wildcat behind the Zero, both Devastator and Zero bursting into flames, the Wildcat breaking away but it too now going down as antiaircraft fire tore off the aft fuselage of the plane.

The intense bravery of all three pilots struck him, held his awed attention. A second torpedo plane came out of the smoke, crossed over the deck, and dropped back down as it cleared and skimmed off over the ocean. Hardly a gunner on the starboard side fired at it, their concentration still focused aloft.

He caught a glimpse of four more bombers, dropping down, heading toward
Kaga
, then they were lost in the smoke.

And then the double impact as two torpedoes struck nearly side by side astern, the force of the explosion throwing him back down, helmet cutting open his brow as he fell to the deck.

Genda was by his side, helping to pull him back up, shouting for a corpsman. He waved him off.

“I’m fine. My ship. Find out about our ship!”

Akagi
was still turning to port, but already slowing even more. From the starboard side exhaust stack a deafening burst of steam exploded out, indicating boilers were being flooded. A moment later he could sense the list beginning.

And then there was a momentary silence, except for the hungry crackle of the fires sweeping the deck, an alarm sounding somewhere, men shouting—but the thunder of the guns, the shrieking roar of the planes was gone.

They circled through one hundred eighty degrees, turning,
helmsman shouting that the engine room was not answering. As they turned across the wind, he caught a momentary glimpse to the northeast. The surviving American planes were forming up in the distance, streaking away, bursts of antiaircraft fire from the escorting destroyers following them, a few Zeroes still in pursuit.

But the damage had been done. He could feel the list increasing, speed dropping away.

His damage control officer, cradling what looked like a compound fracture to his arm, bone sticking out just above the elbow, stood before him, pale faced.

“Sir, nothing is answering below. I have verbal reports of the hangar deck swept by fire, port-side engine rooms flooding, uncontrollable flooding below. The forward hit ruptured plates on the bow, and water is flooding in there as well. I’ve ordered counterflooding, sir, but …”

He lowered his head, barely suppressing a sob.

“Go on.”

“Sir, I think you should transfer your flag.”

A huge explosion erupted forward, fireball white hot. Obviously
an aviation gas tank exploding, the explosion consuming fire crews that had been trying to train fire hoses into the hole punched by the bomb. That hole was now buckling back the entire forward deck of the ship.

The list was continuing to increase; it was past ten degrees.

He could see
Kaga
now. She had not been hit and was still steaming at full speed, coming around to run alongside her sister ship.

He swept the bridge with his gaze. Another explosion, this one astern: vents of steam pluming up, an indication of boilers flooding or major steam lines letting go.

Electrical lighting on the bridge flickered down, winked off. Emergency battery-powered lamps turned on their faint beams, piercing the gloom of smoke.

Akagi
was dying.

“Order the crew to abandon ship,” he said quietly. “Signal destroyers to stand by to pick up survivors.”

Genda, openly crying, saluted and started to turn away.

“Sir, your flag. You are transferring, of course.”

He forced a smile.

“I’m not some suicidal fool, my friend. Of course I am transferring, but first let us get our valiant men up from below. Only then will I leave.”

He paused.

“And, Genda, make sure you retrieve the Z flag. Admiral Togo’s spirit would never forgive us for leaving it behind.”

TEARS OF RAGE
clouded Fuchida’s eyes. The battle report from
Akagi
was evident as he tuned in to one of the American frequencies, the pilots exulting. “Scratch a Jap flattop!” one of them shouting. “It’s
Akagi
, I tell you. Look at that son of a bitch burn. Good work, Mc-Mullen! Danny, you put it right down the bastard’s throat!”

The enemy target was visible ahead. Definitely one
Saratoga-
class carrier. But only one? Surely both had to be here, for the battles of yesterday indicated they had engaged only
Yorktown-class
carriers.

Regardless, the target was his, and this time he would make sure it was taken.

“All planes!” he announced, switching on his mike. “Attack the carrier and the carrier only! Attack!”

He wanted to add, avenge the
Akagi
, but did not want that thought to cloud any of the pilots from his ship, nor reveal more if the enemy was listening.

The torpedo planes were already down low, dropping in fast. The bulk of the American fighters and his own escorting Zeroes were already entangled with them.

The twenty-seven Vals of the strike force, though broken up into four attack groups from the various carriers, began to wing over, one after the other. How he wished he could go in with them, but his admiral had given him clear orders and he felt compelled to obey.

“FOR THAT WHICH
we are about to receive…” Sherman whispered, watching as the long, apparently endless stream of dive bombers began their runs.

Within only a few minutes, five bombs had smashed into the deck of the old Lady Lex. Three minutes later three torpedoes were into her port side, all of them near the bow, one of the explosions bursting a main aviation gas tank. Several thousand gallons spilled out before it suddenly flashed and exploded in a huge secondary that lifted off the first forty feet of decking, and blew out more of the bow below the waterline.