Islands of Destiny: The Solomons Campaign and the Eclipse of the Rising Sun (26 page)

The warnings were of Lieutenant Commander Seki Mamoru’s group of nineteen Val dive-bombers from the
Shokaku.
Seki immediately saw the
Hornet
, but the
Kido Butai
had already broadcast notices of two American carriers, so he lingered, to be rewarded at 10:00 a.m. with sight of the
Enterprise.
Commander Seki ordered his attack eight minutes later. Of the twenty-one Wildcats then on patrol, only eight were at medium altitude; the others circled low, probably to catch torpedo bombers. While Seki had no aircraft of that sort, there
was
a torpedo incident—a fish broke free of an Avenger forced to ditch, and the torpedo went active, circled, and hit the destroyer
Porter
, which had stopped to rescue the aircrew. Just two fighters managed to engage the Vals before they attacked, and only one Japanese was lost before diving. Wildcats desperately stuck to some of the bombers as they dropped, and got more of them, but could not disrupt the attack.

Enterprise
had her own ring of protective warships. They included the fast battleship
South Dakota
, the new AA cruiser
San Juan
, heavy cruiser
Portland
, and seven destroyers in addition to the
Porter.
Seki positioned his aircraft to attack from up-sun and led the charge. His plane, smashed to pieces by intense flak, crashed into the water, Seki’s bomb a near miss. Under the lash of the dive-bombers, Captain Hardison maneuvered expertly, and the next
half dozen all missed. Then came a glancing hit, a 250-pound bomb that punched through the “Big
E
’s” flight deck forward and exploded in front of the bow. A second bomb impacted less than a dozen feet behind the number one elevator, triggering an explosion and fires on the hangar deck and exploding on the second deck, where it wiped out a damage control party and started a blaze in the elevator shaft. Finally, a near miss shook the
Enterprise
and opened some of her plates, leaking seawater into the ship. Lieutenant Arima Keiichi, a flight leader in Seki’s squadron, led his planes into the dive, releasing bombs a minute after pushing over, at about 550 feet. Arima was not certain the carrier they attacked was the
Enterprise
, but he could see her wake churning.
Hornet
, dead in the water, could not have been Arima’s target. With Seki, Arima had been in the strike that damaged the
Enterprise
at Eastern Solomons. This time too, at great cost, that goal was achieved. Commander Seki and nine crews were lost, but by 10:20 a.m., “Big
E
” was afire, with an elevator damaged.

Only fifteen minutes later,
Enterprise
radar detected another enemy wave, sixteen
Zuikaku
Kates under Lieutenant Imajuku. They approached a weakened combat air patrol, some of which was nearly out of ammunition. Controllers divined that Imajuku’s were torpedo planes and positioned the interceptors accordingly. Captain Hardison’s adroit ship handling prevented the attacks, fiercely driven home, from connecting. Two Japanese planes went for battleship
South Dakota
without success, and Seaman Kiyomi Takei crash-dived the destroyer
Smith
, wrecking her bow and igniting a fearsome blaze. Eight Kates including Imajuku’s were torched without touching the carrier, although toward the end of her violent maneuvers the
Enterprise
’s radar antenna seized up. The only real damage was to destroyer
Smith
, and that would have an importance we will return to later. It was 10:52 a.m.

Despite defensive success, the “Big
E
” had been damaged. The status of the number one elevator was uncertain and the air gang dared not use it. The number two elevator jammed in the down position for some moments, sending shivers through the crew. The
Enterprise
resumed limited flight operations at 11:35. By that time the combat air patrol was virtually nil and the radar only just coming back online. When it did, the scope registered a blip just twenty miles away. It was Lieutenant Shingo’s seventeen-plane strike from the
Junyo.
More wild gyrations, intense flak, more desperate fighter engagements. Six dive-bombers dropped on the
Enterprise
,
scoring one very near miss (ten feet from her side) that sprang new leaks. Listening to the radio feed on the
Junyo
, an officer shouted with joy. Admiral Kakuta turned to staff officer Okumiya and smiled. “Our men have become quite proficient,” Kakuta enthused. “The ship functions as a team. Perhaps we shall compensate for Midway.”

Several
Junyo
bombers dived on Captain Thomas L. Gatch’s battleship
South Dakota.
Though she was struck with only 250-pound bombs, a direct hit on her number one turret shook its roller-bearing track, wounded Gatch, and momentarily disrupted steering, sending the warship careening through the flotilla. While this hit is recorded as having caused little damage, in actuality it put three sixteen-inch guns out of action. A month later, at a crucial naval battle, the
South Dakota
could not use this turret. The
San Juan
, also bombed, leaked from near misses and briefly lost steering control.

The after-action reports of
Enterprise
and
Hornet
attest to the incredible bravery and skill of sailors on both ships. Crews fought potentially fatal fires and made imaginative repairs. The
Enterprise
managed to resume air activity—crucial, since no fewer than seventy-two airplanes were orbiting her, hoping to land. She recovered planes until the entire flight deck filled up, then cleared them before resuming. At 12:25 handlers started pumping gas again; at 12:51 they sent off fresh patrol fighters. But refugee aircraft were waiting to land as late as 12:40, and some had to ditch. Later the “Big
E
” sent thirteen SBDs to Espíritu Santo just to get them off the ship. By the end
Enterprise
had aboard some forty-one F-4Fs, thirty-three SBDs, and ten TBFs, a number unflyable. Loss of the elevator inevitably slowed down flight operations.

Despite some success, Admiral Kinkaid could not escape the realization that the
Enterprise
had become the only American aircraft carrier in the Pacific. She could no longer be risked. At 11:35 Kinkaid ordered a southwest course toward safety. An hour later Task Force 61 shifted course and increased to twenty-seven knots. The “Big
E
” secured from general quarters at 5:37 p.m. Damage was more serious than thought. Two near misses had sprung rivets or deflected plates—in places as much as two and a half feet inward—opening fuel tanks to the sea over almost a hundred feet of hull. In one area all the frames, floors, and bulkheads had buckled. Leaks threatened to become serious. Her stem was laced with fragment holes, a few up
to a foot wide, and she was taking water, down four feet by the bow. On the hangar deck the floor of a fifty-foot section near the number one elevator was heavily damaged and the decks below blown out. Two bomb hoists were questionable. The bridge gyroscope had failed. Several radios and a direction-finding loop were out. Some of these repairs could be done only in port. Although she was launching and recovering aircraft, the carrier was not battleworthy. In a renewed engagement
Enterprise
would have been gravely disadvantaged. Even high waves might threaten her seaworthiness. Kinkaid’s message offering a fuller description of the damage went out almost simultaneously with SOPAC orders where Halsey instructed him to retire.

The Bull sent another dispatch, “MOST SECRET,” to Admiral Chester Nimitz. Kinkaid’s task force had yet to reach Nouméa. In his message Halsey asked for help—one or more
British
aircraft carriers to be sent to the South Pacific. At Pearl Harbor, Nimitz agreed. The CINCPAC forwarded Halsey’s appeal to COMINCH, to Ernie King, on an urgent basis. The United States should beg Great Britain for the loan of Royal Navy aircraft carriers. A second Nimitz dispatch went to Bull Halsey: SOPAC should prepare a coordinated defense plan for its rear bases. At Pearl Harbor they appreciated the severity of the South Pacific situation.

Bull Halsey might send messages, but so too could Yamamoto Isoroku. The portents were good at Truk, where the weather was fair and Combined Fleet staff woke up to initial reports of the Americans spotted. Admiral Ugaki considered that most factors favored his side and expected a daylong battle. With confusing search reports plus the
Hornet
’s success at putting out her fires, staff soon thought the Americans had three carriers, but then believed two disabled, leaving just one, against two Japanese. Later, staff settled on the illusion that there were four U.S. carriers and would eventually report that number as sunk. That fantasy would not be dispelled until battle commanders returned and their accounts were compared. But the notional third American carrier unduly influenced Japanese decisions.

Meanwhile, on its northerly heading the
Kido Butai
would soon be more than 300 miles from the Americans. A staffer’s comment that this distance should favor Japanese aircraft, which had longer ranges, provoked Ugaki,
who wanted to shout at him, “Damn fool!” Instead the chief of staff demanded a strictly worded attack order. At 1:00 p.m. Combined Fleet cabled, no doubt on the basis of radio fixes, that the enemy was retiring southwest, seriously damaged. Yamamoto ordered Kondo to take the Abe force too and pursue the enemy.

Kondo’s Advance Force was already headed in that direction, having shifted to east of south, then to the southeast. At that point Kondo was about 260 miles from Kinkaid’s noontime position. Admiral Abe’s Vanguard Force was closer. Abe put up a pair of floatplanes to report on the Americans at 1:18 p.m. Twelve minutes later Kondo instructed Abe to shift east-southeast and advance, using his planes to discover and track the Americans. The Imperial Navy’s gunnery ships were hard on Kinkaid’s trail.

The Japanese flattops were also on the move. Captain Nomoto Tameteru led the rump of
Kido Butai
around to the southeast at 1:30. Nomoto had his
Zuikaku
, the heavy cruiser
Kumano
, and four destroyers. He was running on sheer adrenaline, having been continuously on the bridge of his carrier for more than two days. At 1:11
Zuikaku
put another strike into the air with seven Kates, two Vals, and five Zeroes. Like the “Big
E
,”
Zuikaku
had to land aircraft from all the departed flattops. Once the planes landed it became a question of which were still usable. Many returning aircraft were badly shot up. Lieutenant Arima, for example, landed aboard with his
Shokaku-
based dive-bomber. It was damaged, but Arima felt he could have flown again if necessary. Pressures mounted on Captain Nomoto, a twenty-six-year Navy veteran, and his air officer, Commander Matsumoto Makoto.
Zuikaku
was the only operational carrier left from Nagumo’s original force. In the end Nomoto’s midafternoon strike would be
Zuikaku
’s last. Admiral Nagumo had been unable to transfer off the
Shokaku
due to the need to get that wounded ship out of the danger zone as quickly as possible. She could not stop to put off Nagumo until at least out of Cactus air range.

Similar scenes took place on carrier
Junyo.
Shortly after 1:00 p.m., Rear Admiral Kakuta reported launching a strike wave of seven torpedo planes and eight fighters. Soon afterward the survivors of her own first strike began returning, lurching above the waves, so low
Junyo
’s radar never detected them. Only the Zeroes flew formation. Just a half dozen dive-bombers appeared. Other planes, again like the Americans, had to ditch. Japanese
destroyers did a brisk business in rescues. The
Akigumo
stopped to take on board a man who waved very energetically. He turned out to be an Etajima classmate of her chief engineer, Lieutenant Yamamoto Masahide.

As on Nomoto’s flattop, the planes were shot up, but Admiral Kakuta wanted another attack. He sent Commander Okumiya to the flight deck to see which could fly. Okumiya found six Vals and nine Zeroes in reasonable shape, whereupon Captain Okada,
Junyo
’s skipper, ordered them armed. Beyond the question of aircraft came the matter of pilots. In the
Junyo
’s ready room a scene occurred that must have figured in the dreams of many World War II pilots. Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Kato Shunko, a big, jovial fellow who was among the best-liked men in the air group, wanted no more part of the hellish American defenses. Kato jumped from his seat, exclaiming, “Again? Am I to fly
again
today?” Commander Okumiya felt embarrassed. As senior staff officer he would stay behind, safe. Group leader Shiga Yoshio intervened. “This is war! There can be no rest in our fight against the enemy.” Lieutenant Shiga added, “We cannot afford to give them a chance when their ships are crippled. Otherwise we will face the same ships again. We have no choice.” Kato relented. Both pilots would return safely, and Kato’s bomber flight scored another hit on the
Hornet.

Meanwhile the
Hornet
restored some power, hoping to get under way—crucial, since an attempt to tow her failed. Her bucket brigades had prevented the fires from getting out of control, and chemical foam began to contain them. Destroyers
Morris
and
Russell
hove alongside and strung fire hoses, and then
Hornet
sailors really quelled the blazes. Commander Edward P. Crehan, chief engineer, decided several boilers could be relit and, by rerouting steam, might work the turbine of at least one shaft. Cruiser
Northampton
got a towline across and began to pull. The line parted but the
Hornet
moved, at least for a time. Combined with the disappearance of fires, this confused the next shift of Japanese scouts, who began reporting a
third
U.S. carrier. However, there could be no doubt the flattop had been stricken. Rear Admiral George D. Murray, the force commander, shifted his flag to heavy cruiser
Pensacola
at noon. A couple of hours later Captain Mason reluctantly decided
Hornet
was endangered, ordering all but essential sailors off the ship. Almost 900 seamen decamped to destroyers. Gradual flooding continued, and
Hornet
began to list. Mason warned his remaining men to prepare to leave.