As the Kates line up to attack, the eight F4Fs on Yorktown’s deck take off. They splash three Zeroes immediately. Last aviator off Yorktown is Ensign Milton Tootle IV, son of a St. Joseph, Missouri, bank president. Moments after clearing the flight deck, he hangs on a Kate’s tail and shoots it down. Seconds later, American flak brings Tootle down. He bails out into the drink, and is picked up by destroyer Anderson. He has the rest of the day to think about his 15 minutes of battle.

With the Kates roaring in on the deck, TF 17’s cruisers fire their 8-inch guns into the sea ahead of the Japanese, setting up reverse waterfalls. All but five Kates are kept away from Yorktown. At 2:32, Tomonaga yells into his radio, “Entire force attack!”

At that same time, Lt. Sam Adams, leading a two-plane SBD section of Scouting 5, is heading back from a long, frustrating, three-hour mission to search for Hiryu. At 2:30, he peers down and sees white wakes. He swoops in to look, and spots four destroyers, three cruisers, two battleships, and Hiryu at the center, heading north at 20 knots. He works out the position, and tells his radioman, Karrol to send it by Morse as well. Karrol responds, “Just a minute, Mr. Adams. I have a Zero to take care of.”

Adams is so absorbed in his task, he is unaware of Hiryu’s combat air patrol. At 2:37 Adams pulls away, and at 2:45, Karrol bats out, “1 CV, 2 BB, 3 CA, 4 DD, 31°15’N, 179° 05’W, course 000, speed 15.” Hiryu is heading straight for the American fleet.

Hashimoto punches his release button abeam of Yorktown, 800 yards (500 meters) from the carrier, then races overhead to escape. “Head for the bow,” he yells at pilot Petty Officer Takahashi, and the Kate streaks off. “Did we get a hit?” Takahashi asks. Hashimoto looks back, to see a geyser of water shoot up from Yorktown. Hashimoto howls with joy.

Jimmy Thach sees a Japanese torpedo plane swinging in on Yorktown. “I made a good side approach on him and got him on fire,” Thach recalls later. “The whole left wing was burning, and that devil stayed in the air until he got close enough and dropped his torpedo and that one hit the Yorktown. Even though he was shot down, he went ahead and dropped his torpedo. He fell in the water very close to the ship…” Thach’s memory of the battle and the testimony of a Japanese survivor indicate that Thach’s victim in this encounter is none other than the strike leader, the doomed Lt. Joichi Tomonaga.

Hashimoto sees Tomonaga’s last fight as well. Hashimoto reports later: “His plane, with its distinguishing yellow tail, was clearly discernible as he broke through the heaviest antiaircraft fire I have ever witnessed. He launched his torpedo, and then, in the next instant, his plane disintegrated. His assault on the carrier, in the face of that devastating gunfire, was tantamount to a suicide crash.”

Down below on Yorktown, Seaman Jerry Lemberger is setting switches to control the five-inch guns, when he hears the 1MC broadcast, “Torpedo attack. Port quarter. We’re going to be hit.” He and his fellow electricians exchange glances. Up above, BM2 Joseph Lewis hits the deck, falling on his stomach with arms outstretched.

The first two torpedoes miss Yorktown, but the third hits portside amidships at 2:43, the fourth just ahead of the third. The jolt rips paint flakes off the deck, pops holes in fuel lines and shakes Yorktown mightily. Explosions cook off the port fuel tanks. Water floods three firerooms and the forward generator room, shutting off electricity and killing every man there. Yorktown’s rudder jams at port 15, and she stops in her tracks and starts listing to port.

The second torpedo hurls a geyser of water into the air that rips a catwalk from its weldings and slams it against the hull, trapping crewman David Pattison against the hull in a mass of twisted metal, a scrap of angle iron slammed into his right thigh. Sailors standing on the port side who did not lie down suffer broken ankles, and others are killed when the concussion smacks them into the carrier’s steel hull.

The blast has more force than all the bombs that have hit the carrier. It knocks Lewis to his feet and explodes several compartments away from Lemberger. He and his pals hear and feel the shocks. Then the lights go out. Someone whips out a flashlight and the beam hits the water surface in a drinking jar – it’s tilting. The carrier’s list finally stabilizes at 26 degrees.

Among those killed by the torpedo is Water Tender 1st Charles Kleinsmith. He is posthumously promoted chief, and is awarded the Navy Cross.

Up above, the gunners maintain fire. One Kate flies along Yorktown’s port side, and the plane’s radioman-gunner, Giichi Hamada, shakes his fist in defiance at the Americans. Everyone targets that particular Kate, but it gets away. 50 years later, Hamada says that he waved his fist in relief that his damaged plane was not going to crash into Yorktown’s side. On the way home, Hamada takes a bullet in the leg, and says, “I keenly realized what war was.”

All the other ships in TF 17 are blazing away, too. On Russell, a 20mm crew keeps firing even though another ship has fouled the range. The skipper, Roy Hartwig, throws his helmet at the gunners to make his over-enthusiastic men cease fire. Signalman Houle on Hughes opens up with a Thompson .45 submachine gun from his ship’s bridge.

All this gunfire has its effect – one shot from Pensacola blasts a torpedo out of the water, and flak from Vincennes sends a Kate hurtling into the sea.

On the ships, many men can only stand and wait – doing jobs below decks. Pensacola’s Repair II team, clutching axes and hammers, waits for orders in a darkened messdeck. They listen to the boom of 5-inchers and the clatter of machine guns, and wonder what’s going on, wishing they could do something.

Jimmy Thach also has to find somewhere to land, and he does so on Enterprise. Spruance wants to see him on the flag bridge. “Well, how do you think we’re doing?” the admiral asks the aviator.

“Admiral, we’re winning this battle,” Thach says in his Arkansas drawl. “We’ve already won it, because I saw with my own eyes three big carriers burning so furiously they’ll never launch another airplane.

“Of course, that fourth one…an unfound carrier is a dangerous thing. We certainly ought to be able to get him. I think we ought to chase them, because we’ve got the advantage now.”

Spruance smiles at Thach. “Well, you know we don’t have any battleships. All we have is cruisers, and if we start chasing them, it’s going to get dark pretty soon. If we suddenly catch up with them, they may be able to chew us up before we get within gun range at night, and we don’t have much of a night attack capability.”

“I think they’re on the run, and I think we ought to chase them,” Thach says. Spruance sends his eager and aggressive fighter leader to take over Hornet’s fighter group, which is humorously known as VF 3-42-8, to reflect its mixed origins.

As the Japanese pull out, Adams’ message arrives on Yorktown. The radiomen try to send it by TBS to Astoria, but that’s broken, too. They blinker it to Fletcher, who passes it on to Spruance on Enterprise.

At 2:52, after 12 minutes of battle, Portland becomes the last American ship to cease fire. The Americans are certain they have splashed every attacker. They’re wrong. Hashimoto’s plane is clawing for altitude. He meets up with CPO Nakane’s Kate, an Akagi orphan that still has its torpedo. “You fool,” Hashimoto says to himself, “what did you come here for anyhow?” He pulls back his canopy and yells at Nakane’s rear-seater, pointing at the torpedo. The rear-seat man waves and pulls the lever to jettison the fish into the sea. Hashimoto is angrier than ever.

The two planes streak to the rendezvous point to await the rest. Five of Hashimoto’s planes and three Zeroes show up, but Tomonaga’s entire section is gone. And three of Hashimoto’s planes will be write-offs when they reach Hiryu. Even so, Hashimoto is sure that he attacked a different carrier from the previous strike. He radios Hiryu, “Two certain torpedo hits on an Enterprise-class carrier. Not the same one as reported bombed.”

On Hiryu, the message is greeted with jubilation. Two American carriers punched out means it’s one against one – a fair fight.

Yorktown slows to a halt. On a nearby cruiser, New York Times reporter Foster Hailey, working on a story Navy censors will hold up for three months, sees “where the torpedoes had hit, girders could be seen, twisted and broken like match sticks. Debris littered her deck. Slowly she began to turn on her side.” An officer next to Hailey says, “My God, she’s going to capsize.”

On Yorktown’s bridge, Buckmaster orders his AA gunners to reload their weapons and prepare for another attack. He calls Cdr. Clarence Aldrich, the damage control officer and Lt. Cdr. John F. Delaney, the engineering officer on the sound-powered phones. Neither have good news. Delaney reports that seawater has flooded the engine room and put out all boiler fires. All power is lost. The electrical switchboards have also been destroyed, which knocks out the pumps. With many hatches and bulkheads not properly repaired in the Pearl Harbor rush job, Aldrich doesn’t know the ship’s condition. It could turn turtle.

Having heard these two reports, Buckmaster paces up and down on his bridge for several minutes. He says that he hates to give the order to abandon ship. But he does order all personnel to “lay up on deck and put on life preservers.”

Seconds later, the ship lunges to port. The list stabilizes at 26 degrees, but Buckmaster has seen enough. “I didn’t see any sense in drowning 2,000 men just to stick with the ship,” he says later. His after-action report is less emotional: “In order to save as many of the ship’s company as possible, the commanding officer ordered the ship abandoned. The ship was in total darkness below decks, and it was very difficult to move around because of the heavy list.” At 2:55 p.m., Buckmaster gives the order to abandon Yorktown.

With no power, the word is passed by sound-powered phones and mouth. Training and drill kick in. Sailors drop ropes over the high side, away from the direction the carrier threatens to capsize. Thousands of kapok life jackets are stored in large canvas bags overhead on the hangar deck. Crewmen pull ropes attached to the bags and life jackets rumble down on the deck.

Down in sick bay, doctors and corpsmen haul stretchers loaded with 50 to 60 seriously wounded patients up ladders and across oil-streaked decks. Senior medical officer Capt. W.E. Davis and chief surgeon Lt. Cdr. French don’t get the word at all – they’re to busy treating a wounded Sailor.

Another sailor unaware of abandonment is Chief Water Tender George Vavreck, of Portsmouth, Virginia. Down in the engine room, he and his team don’t realize the situation until they hear men scrambling up ladders. Someone opens a hatch and yells out, “What’s everybody doing?”

A sailor yells back, “Hell, we’re abandoning ship!” Vavreck and his colleagues head for the exits.

In the darkness and mayhem, sailors forget some portions of the drill. Yorktown’s rough log is left on the bridge. The Radiomen leave safes open, and code books and secret messages lying around. In squadron ready rooms, aviators leave 70 sets of air contact codes all over the place.

But in a few minutes, hundreds of crewmen are milling around the slanting flight deck. Some sailors wait by their abandon-ship stations for power launches to be lowered, even though there is no power. Others toss life rafts overboard. And some try to cope with the concept of leaving their beloved home with jokes. Cook Thomas L.J. Saxon stuffs his pet white rabbit in a gas mask bag and saves both himself and the bunny. Chicken Underwood saves his poker winnings from his locker. Ens. John Lorenz refuses to leave until he saves the photograph of Delight McHale - the woman he wants to marry - from his cabin, slipping it in his cap. Aviation Ordnanceman Bill Surgi sees damaged F4F No. 23, his plane, on the flight deck, and suggests he and Aviation Machinist’s Mate Joe Fazio take out the plane’s clock as a souvenir. Surgi later says that Fazio answered, “Oh no, I could never do that,” while Fazio remembers saying, “To hell with the clock.”

Soon the sailors start climbing down the ropes to the waiting destroyers. Cdr. Ralph Arnold has gone over this procedure with Lexington survivors. He carries a knife, gloves, and keeps his shoes on. Machinist’s Mate George Bateman arranges a neat pile on the deck of shoes, shirt, gloves, and flashlight. Many sailors line up their shoes meticulously on the deck before going overboard, expecting to return. Buckmaster tells his men to hurry. “You know, I can’t leave until you leave,” he says.

With dozens of knotted ropes hanging down, hundreds of Sailors climb down. Lt. William Crenshaw remembers his Annapolis training and inches down hand-over-hand. It doesn’t work – the Yorktown rope is covered with oil. He plummets into the sea. Others have trouble, too. Worth Hare burns his hands. A man above Seaman Melvin Frantz falls onto Frantz’s shoulders, and both fall into the sea. Boatswain’s Mate C.E. Briggs falls into the sea. While pushing to the surface, he remembers that he has given away his life jacket, and has on his shoes, sweater, pistol, and two ammunition clips. He still pops to the surface.

Wounded gunner Pete Montalvo reaches the flight deck, his left shoulder and arm all bandaged. Once there, he realizes he can’t climb down a rope, but his boot camp pal, Seaman 1st John Pallay, of Linden, N.J., is there. He takes Montalvo on his shoulders into the water.

Other seamen look for buddies. James “Chuck” Liner hunts for his pal, Curtis Owens, whose Gun Mount Four has suffered every man killed or wounded. He learns that Owens is in sickbay. Liner finds Owens, head covered in bandages. Liner identifies his pal by his enormous nose “When I saw his big old long nose, I knew it was him…He was shot all to pieces. They’d knocked him out with morphine.” Not knowing if his friend is alive or dead, Liner carries him over his shoulder like a sack of corn and up to the flight deck… and back down to the hangar deck…and onto a stretcher…and down to a life raft. Then Liner joins Owens in the raft.

The torpedo hits split open fuel tanks and Yorktown is now surrounded by a giant oil slick. Sailors are forced to swim through it, and become sick from the fumes or choke on it.

Seaman 1st Louis Rulli, of Astoria in New York, climbs down a fire hose. He drops off of it 15 feet above the water, swallows a mouthful of oil when he hits, and starts choking. He struggles to get the oil out of his mouth, and is seen by Liner. Liner grabs Rulli’s life jacket and pulls him onto the raft. Rulli holds on and cleans out his mouth.

Other sailors find humor in the situation, waving hitchhike thumbs at debris and yelling, “Taxi!” Survivors on one raft kill time by singing the “Beer Barrel Polka.” Cdr. “Jug” Ray goes down with his brier pipe in his teeth. A young fireman asks permission to dive from the flight deck – something he had always wanted to do. Permission granted.

Lorenz goes to the dressing room to make sure everyone has left. He finds Seaman 2nd Bill Sullivan, of Grand Rapids, Michigan, alive among a pile of dead bodies. With another officer, he wraps Sullivan in a blanket, and drags him across the flight deck. However, the list puts the deck 60 feet above the ocean. The two officers tie their jackets to Sullivan. Then they lower him down on a line. When Lorenz hits the water, his cap slides off, along with the photo he sought to retrieve. Lorenz and Sullivan hang on to a passing piece of timber – left over from flight deck repairs earlier that morning – and Lorenz keeps Sullivan’s spirits alive by talking about the girl he intends to marry. “If you survive,” Lorenz says, “I’ll name my son after you when I have one.”

Sullivan survives. So does Lorenz. When he gets home to Portland, Oregon, he talks Delight McHale into marrying him, and they name their second son William Sullivan.

Just after 3 p.m., Spruance gets Adams’ message. He summons Capt. Miles Browning and his staff to put together a strike with whatever he has. There isn’t much. No torpedo planes, and no fighters. Bombing and Scouting 6 have 11 planes combined. But Enterprise has 14 planes from Bombing 3, under its XO, Lt. Dewitt Shumway. With McClusky wounded, Lt. Earl Gallaher of Scouting 6 will lead the strike.

Hornet’s squadrons are all missing. But at 3 p.m., 11 of her lost SBDs from Bombing 8 turn up, and start landing at 3:27.

At 3:15, the talkers brief the aviators in their ready rooms on the new mission, and 15 minutes later, Enterprise turns into the wind for attack. One plane has engine trouble, but 24 fly on into the afternoon sun, heading for Hiryu. No fighters join the strike: they’re all needed for combat air patrol.

On Hiryu, Yamaguchi is pleased with the situation. Despite losing half of Tomonaga’s group, he believes he has punched out not one but two enemy aircraft carriers, making the fight even. After all, his first wave has reported a carrier afire, and his second wave attacked one that was reported as undamaged. Hiryu XO Cdr. Takashi Kanoe – whose good pre-war friend is Cdr. Edwin Layton, now Nimitz’s intelligence officer – thinks, “It’s still possible to win this battle. It’s an even game at worst.”

At 3:31, he signals Nagumo, “After definitely establishing contact with our type 13 Experimental ship-based bomber, we plan to direct our entire remaining power (5 bombers, 5 torpedo planes, and 10 fighters) to attack and destroy the remaining enemy forces in a dusk engagement.” On the decks of Nagara, crewmen and refugees cheer on the last carrier, shouting, “Hiryu, pay off the score!”

Optimism is less apparent on Kaga, where Cdr. Amagai’s bucket brigade continues to fight a losing battle against massive fires. The blaze is attacking inflammable paint and ammunition magazines, setting off explosions that hurl men and ship’s plates about like matchsticks.

At almost the same time, an explosion in Akagi’s hangar blasts open the forward hangar bulkheads, and causes more fires. That’s enough for Aoki. He orders his airmen evacuated, leaving the crew to fight the fire.

At 4 p.m., Yamaguchi signals Nagumo: “Results obtained by second attack wave: Two certain torpedo hits on an Enterprise class carrier. Not the same one as reported bombed.” He will launch the third strike – a coordinated one, at last – at 4:30. Lt. Toshio Hashimoto will lead the attack, his third mission of the day. He and Lt. Shigematsu are the only officer pilots left.

Nagumo’s answer is unrecorded. His team is in bad shape on Nagara. Kusaka’s sprained ankles leave him in agony. He hobbles to a cabin astern, where the ship’s dentist tries to help. “But you are a dentist,” Kusaka gasps. “I know,” the dentist answers cheerily, “But a dentist is really a doctor.” After some treatment, Kusaka returns to the bridge in embarrassing fashion – carried piggyback by a sailor. There, Nagumo is returning to his old days as a destroyer leader – planning the Japanese Navy’s specialty, a night torpedo attack against the American fleet.

While Gallaher’s strike roars on, Hornet refuels her lost birds. At 4:03, Lt. Edgar Stebbins leads the first of 16 SBDs into a follow-up wave.

While the attack groups roar off, Spruance signals Fletcher: “TF 16 air groups are now attacking the carrier, which your search plane reported. Have you any instructions for me?”

Fletcher’s answer is a model of courtesy and grace, recognizing the fact that he cannot command a carrier force by remote control. “None. Will conform to your movements.” With Yorktown a wreck, Fletcher is out of the battle. It’s now Spruance’s to fight.

At 4:15, Yamaguchi fills Yamamoto in on the latest developments. “From our returning pilots’ reports, the enemy force is apparently composed of three carriers, five large cruisers, and 15 destroyers. Our attacks succeeded in damaging two carriers.”

In the water by Yorktown, as Radioman Patterson pushes away from the ship, a sailor grabs his shoulder, saying he can’t swim. Patterson shows him how to dog-paddle in 30 seconds, and off they go.

Aviation Ordnanceman Bill Surgi, despite a broken elbow, gets off the ship, wearing his metal battle helmet, contrary to orders. 56 years later, Surgi wears the helmet when he joins undersea explorer Robert Ballard on the expedition that locates Yorktown’s sunken hull, and points out his old battle station.

David Pattison is still trapped by skewered metal, conscious but unable to move. Warrant Officer Chester Briggs Jr. of Minneapolis, battles his own shrapnel wounds to lead several men out onto the catwalk to free Pattison. A veteran sailor and flight deck plane director, Briggs is determined to free Pattison. The solution to Pattison’s imprisonment is Marine Cpl. Peter Kikos, who uses an airplane jack to pull away the metal. Kikos is also from Minneapolis. Neither Sailor is aware of the fact.

While Kikos works, Pattison is conscious and jokes with Briggs. Finally, Kikos frees Pattison, and a passing aviator gives Pattison his white silk scarf to use as a tourniquet. They tie a rope around Pattison and drag him 88 feet up the incline to the starboard side, and then to a destroyer. Both Kikos and Briggs are recommended for medals for their cool heroism and hard work.

Mess Attendant Thomas E. Allen, a black man from Richmond, Virginia, has to climb up from the ammunition lockers when Abandon Ship is ordered. His battle duties are to load 5-inch shells and their powder casings on a conveyer belt, but his main purpose is to keep track of Officers’ Mess supplies and clean their quarters. However, he and his team find that the hatch for their drilled evacuation route has been welded shut in the rush repair job.

Terrified, Allen remembers his grandmother’s advice: when too excited to talk, he should take a deep breath and turn around three times. He takes the breath and turns mentally.. Then he finds another route, and leads his men to safety.

Jerry Lemberger is also in darkness, shouting “Hello” into a sound-powered phone. Finally, someone in the forward gun director topside says, “Jerry, we’re abandoning ship. You guys are supposed to be dead, because that’s where the torpedoes hit.” Lemberger is astounded. He breaks out a lantern and peers through a porthole to make sure the next compartment, “Central Station,” is not flooded. It’s safe.

Lemberger and his pals go through and start working their way up to the mess deck, just above where the torpedo hit. It is “peeled open like you would open a can.” They keep on going up to the hangar deck and find a group of senior officers, Buckmaster among them. He tells them to get off the ship. There are no life jackets. “Get off anyway,” an officer says. “It’s going to capsize.”

Another pair of Sailors still onboard is Dr. Davis and Dr. French, still operating. They finally finish, and call for a corpsman to move the patient. Nobody shows up. Davis asks a sailor with a walkie-talkie where the corpsmen are.

“Oh,” he says, “They passed the word some time ago for all hands to abandon ship. I’m about to go.” Davis and French carry their patient to the flight deck. Davis goes back and makes one more check of sick bay. Nobody left. He goes back up the flight deck and finds it empty.

The water is now full of boats, rafts, and swimmers. Davis places his shoes at the edge of the deck, climbs down a rope ladder, and is sure he’s the last man off.

Actually, he’s wrong. XO Dixie Kiefer and Buckmaster, still on the bridge’s starboard wing, watch Davis climb down. Kiefer is next. He swings over the side and down a line. But his hands are burned, so he loses his grip, and bounces off the carrier’s armor belt, breaking his ankle. He pulls himself up to the surface and swims to the rescue ships.

Now Buckmaster is all alone on his dying command. He makes a final tour, along the starboard catwalk, then back to the flight deck…down to Dressing Station No. 1… forward through Flag Country and his own cabin…across to the port side…and down to the hangar deck. It is a lonely tour, without even the company of a flashlight – they’re all gone. Just a few emergency lamps.

Buckmaster struggles across oil-slicked and slanted decks, over dead bodies, slashing his leg on steel, calling out to his shipmates. The only answer is the gurgle of rushing water and clanking hatches and gratings. Nobody left. Buckmaster climbs topside and walks aft to the stern. He glances back one last time at Yorktown, then catches a line, and drops into the sea.

He doesn’t have far to go. He finds a raft full of wounded, and hangs on to the ratlines, rather than dislodge the wounded. When a mess attendant loses his grip and goes under, Buckmaster swims over to save him.

Davis is swimming, too, trying to evade what looks like the snout of a large fish following him. He reaches out to grab it – and the nose turns out to be his own wallet.

On the tincans Balch and Russell, crewmen are hauling in Yorktown survivors by the score. Lt. Cdr. G. Roy Hartwig is stunned to see his launches packed to thrice capacity, towing a packed life raft, which is in turn dragging a long manila line, to which scores of men are clinging. The very last man on the line is Yorktown supply officer Cdr. Ralph Arnold, holding up his hat. Arnold’s hat is brand-new, like his rank, and he doesn’t want it ruined. Hartwig yells down, “No Yorktown sailor has to tip his hat to get aboard the Russell.”

On another carrier, Kaga, Cdr. Amagai is facing two grim decisions: one professional, the other personal. As Kaga’s ranking officer, he has to decide whether or not to abandon the burning carrier. As a naval officer and samurai warrior, he has to decide whether or not to go down with the ship. The first is relatively easy. Kaga is finished. He orders “Abandon ship” at 4:40 p.m. The second is a departure from Japan’s naval tradition. After passing the word, he jumps into the water.

“Though we had been taught that Japanese seamen should never leave their ship even under the worst circumstances, I made such a decision believing that the skilled fliers, who could not be replaced, should be saved so that they could have another chance of fighting,” he says later. “I also believed that such would best serve the Emperor. At the same time, I thought that the fate of the ship would better be left to her skipper or the second command officer in case he was killed.”

Hagikaze sends over a cutter to take some men off, but the party there just asks for a hand pump. The cutter returns with a written order to abandon Kaga. The firefighters obey, an old warrant officer streaming tears down his moustache.

On the destroyer Balch, Lt. Cdr. Harold Tiemroth’s crew puts into practice the drills they have been doing to rescue Yorktown swimmers. His crew tosses over prepared cargo nets, and scores of oil-slicked men crawl up. Two hand-picked rescue swimmers, Seaman Lewis and Fireman Prideaux, go in to help those exhausted aboard.

The seven destroyers on scene have a busy two hours, hauling in 2,270 men – 721 alone to Benham. At 4:46, Balch finishes the job with a last swing around the scene.

On the rescue ships, everyone is impressed by the courage of the survivors. A Yorktown cook who has swum 1,000 yards to Benham asks, “Where’s the galley? The cooks are going to need all the help they can get tonight.” Cdr. Laing climbs up to the deck of Morris, slaps on his Royal Navy cap, salutes the colors, and says, “God bless the King; God bless the U.S. Navy.” Another injured seaman on Morris climbs up without help, saying, “Help some of those other poor guys that really hurt.” The sailor in question has lost his own leg at the knee.

Kaku lines his pilots beneath the Hiryu’s bridge for a pep talk at 4:30. He walks down the line, telling them he trusts them completely, and pats them on the shoulder. He also sees how exhausted they are, and sends a mechanic to sick bay for the Japanese equivalent of No-Doz. The mechanic returns minutes later with a bottle of “Aviation Tablet A.”

Lt. Cdr. Susumu Kawaguchi, the air officer, suggests they might be sleeping pills. Kaku explodes, yelling at the mechanic, threatening immediate punishment. Then someone calls the sick bay, and the doctor straightens things out – yes, “Aviation Tablet A” is a stimulant, not a sleeping pill. Good thing – the aviators are ready to pass out.

Yamaguchi, observing the tension and fatigue in his men, decides to postpone the strike until 6 p.m. He’ll lose 90 minutes, but at least his men can get something to eat – their first meal since breakfast. More importantly, a dusk attack will give the Japanese a better chance against the American defenses. Hiryu’s crew is exhausted. Since dawn, the carrier has faced 79 attacking enemy planes, 26 torpedoes, and 70 bombs – suffering no hits.

Hiryu’s engine room is ordered to send two men up to bring back battle meals. Ensign Hiso Mandai, a future admiral of the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force, looks forward to rice balls. Hashimoto is too tired to eat. He flops down on a brown leather sofa for a nap. On the flight deck, mechanics work on the Type 13 “Jill” scout plane – a Soryu orphan, it will go ahead of the attack to pinpoint the Americans. One important item needs repair – the plane’s radio.

At 4:45 p.m., Gallaher sights Nagumo’s force and its white tracks 30 miles to the northwest. His force turns and picks up the Hiryu minutes later. He maneuvers his group to attack the Japanese out of the sun, from 19,000 feet. At 4:58, the SBDs are stacked down by divisions and sections, and Gallaher radios his squadrons: Enterprise will attack Hiryu, Yorktown the nearby battleship, and watch out for Zeros, ahead and above.

The incoming strike has little impact on the carriers already blasted. Destroyers Isokaze and Hamakaze are ordered to screen the Soryu at 4:55 p.m. Five minutes later, Cdr. Shunuchi Toshima of Isokaze radios his bosses, “Soryu has become inoperational. What should I do?”

Meanwhile, the rest of Yamamoto’s scattered fleet races towards Nagumo. Rear Adm. Takeo Kurita’s tough Cruiser Division 7, with the heavy cruisers Kumano, Suzuya, Mikuma, and Mogami, sprint toward Midway, with orders to bombard the island. Yamamoto himself, peering out of his bridge windows eastward through his binoculars and the fog, fires off another request to Nagumo at 4:55, to find out how the Midway strike fared. He gets no answer. Nagumo’s ships are too busy fending off the latest American attack to prepare an after-action report.

At 5:01, Chikuma spots the incoming strike, and calls in the Zeros. Between six and 12 charge in, shooting down Ensign F.T. Weber of Bombing 6. Gallaher’s decision is proving unwise, as he has put half of his force on a secondary target. His planes swoop in on Hiryu just as Kawaguchi is popping up a rice ball into his mouth, at 5:03. Lookouts shout, “Enemy dive-bombers directly overhead!”

Down in Hiryu’s engine room, Mandai hears a bugle sound anti-aircraft alert over the 1MC.

Gallaher nearly collides with a Zero as he starts his dive, heading straight for the red ball on Hiryu’s pale yellow deck. Then he and his squadron mates roar down on the lone carrier, twisting through the water to port to evade the bombs. Gallaher can’t correct his dive, so he pulls up just before release, hoping to lob his bomb at the Hiryu. He fails, as do several other Scouting 6 pilots. Gallaher succeeds only in wrenching his back.

Seeing this failure, Dave Shumway makes a fast and smart decision – he pulls his squadron off of the battleship and dives with Bombing 6 down on Hiryu. Zeros race after them, shooting down Lt. Wiseman and Ens. Johnny Butler.

On Nagara, newsreel man Makajima closes his eyes. He can’t bear to look.

The two squadrons both claim the first of four hits on Hiryu’s bow, giving their aviators something interesting to argue about for the next 60 years. However, Ens. Richard Jaccard of VS-6, Shumway, and Best are all certain to have scored hits. The first bomb lands on the forward elevator platform, flipping it back against the carrier’s portside island, braking every window on the bridge, blocking Kaku’s view. The blast also hurls Kawaguchi from the air command post onto the flight deck. Amazingly unhurt, he picks himself just as three more bombs go off near the bridge.

On Nagara, Makajima opens his eyes and sees Hiryu ablaze, but still “running at high speed like a mad bull.”

The bugle is still blaring over the 1MC when the bombs hit. Mandai feels the jolts down in the engine room, coming from straight above. In the ready room, “terrible sounds of explosions” wake Hashimoto from his nap. Smoke covers him and the lights go out. He runs to a bright spot, which is a hole made by the explosion. Everything outside the opening is on fire, but Hashimoto is wearing his gloves. He crawls out on all fours. Bits of flame set fire to his hair. Someone offers Hashimoto a mask, which is half-burned and full of dust. He puts it on gratefully. Then he runs out onto the flight deck to see the elevator platform leaning against the front of the bridge and the forward flight deck aflame.

In the engine room, the lights go out. Electricians flip switches, and the emergency power comes on. Smoke pours down air ducts. The two men sent for food come running back through an open hatch. Flames and smoke race after them.

At 5:15, Kaga’s escort, Hagikaze, radios Capt. Kosaku Ariga, commanding Destroyer Division 4, “The Emperor’s portrait has been safely brought aboard. Since all hands were ordered to abandon ship, we have taken all personnel aboard.” However, 800 men are dead or trapped below burning decks on Kaga.

At 5:30, Ariga finally answers Isokaze’s 5 p.m. message. “Stand by in the vicinity of Soryu until otherwise ordered. Would she be operational if her fires were brought under control?” Toshima’s ship is packed with 600 survivors, and is so heavy he has to order them not to move about, so that Isokaze does not capsize. He’s too busy to respond to Ariga’s request.

At the same time, Nagumo finally radios Yamamoto: “Hiryu burning as a result of bomb hits.” Yamamoto sinks down on a chair in the center of Yamato’s battle command post (their flag plot) and sits motionless for several minutes.

Another admiral is making a tough decision across the ocean. Rear Adm. Fletcher, having ceded battle control to Spruance, now orders his Task Force 17 ships to join Enterprise. With all of Yorktown’s survivors aboard, Fletcher doesn’t want his ships standing by a derelict carrier, perfect targets for Japanese ships, submarines, and planes. The decision is tough for all to take. Yorktown’s fires are contained, her list no greater, and Portland ready to give her a tow. But orders are orders. At 5:38, Task force 17 pulls out. Russell’s CO, Cdr. Hartwig, stares gloomily at the abandoned, listing carrier, unable to stand the sight. Russell has been Yorktown’s guard ship for two years. Hartwig keeps thinking a paraphrased line from Hamlet: “Alas, poor Yorick, I knew her well.”

Task Force 16, however, is in better shape, recovering the second strike. There is much less tension, with only three planes lost. Lt. Shumway brings his battered SBD home, but the plane is a write-off. Earl Gallaher is also in pain – his dive casued an old back injury to flare up. He can’t reach down to drop his tailhook. He orders his wing man to take over and has everyone else land while he struggles with the lever.

On Hiryu’s bridge, Kaku can’t see a thing. The forward elevator, leaning against the bridge island, is blocking every window and porthole. His ship races along at 30 knots to avoid further bombs, but the wind being whipped up is sending flames over the whole carrier. Exec Kanoe orders the magazines flooded. There’s only one working fire main. Then he orders Hashimoto, “Assistant Air Officer, command the men around here and throw those hammock mantelets overboard before they catch fire.”

Hashimoto does so, and continues to lead firefighting parties until he is wounded in the left thigh and evacuated.

The last planes to attack are from Bombing 6. They claim a hit. But nobody is sure. On the flight deck, Kawaguchi has a mouse’s-eye view of an enormous fire. However, Shumway’s planes take a swipe at Haruna, and miss her. Sunk many times by American propaganda – most notably by Colin Kelly – she once again survives unhurt.

In great pain from his back, Gallaher heads home, having lost two SBDs from Yorktown and one from Enterprise. While the Japanese regroup, Hornet’s bombers arrive. They find Hiryu ablaze, so they attack Tone and Chikuma, to little effect, but suffer no casualties.

The aerial avalanche is not over yet. Last up is a group of six B-17s that has flown in all the way from Hawaii. Just as they are about to land on Eastern Island, Midway orders them to head 170 miles to the northwest and attack Nagumo’s fleet. Maj. George Blakey, leading the group, believes he can do it if they maintain an altitude of 3,600 feet.

Midway launches its own surviving B-17s, with Col. Sweeney leading again. The two groups advance separately.

At 5:50, Maikaze radios Nagumo, “Kaga is inoperational. All survivors taken aboard.” 10 minutes later, Nautilus pops up its periscope for another look. Brockman sees Kaga covered with a cloud of black smoke that billows up to 1,000 feet high. An American officer compares it to Arizona’s cloud of smoke six months ago. Up above, Kaga survivors watch the fire and smoke, in tears. Despite a funnel arrangement that sent smoke into crew berthing compartments, Kaga has been a “happy” ship, beloved by her crew.

At 6 p.m., having heard nothing, Ariga radios Isokaze and her sister Maikaze, escorting Kaga, “Advise whether there is any danger of the Kaga and Soryu sinking.” This time, Toshima has an answer: There is no hope of (Soryu) navigating under her own power. All survivors have been taken aboard ship." Indeed, Soryu survivors are dying on Isokaze of their wounds and burns – the Japanese lack sulfa drugs and antibiotics, and are far behind the British and Americans in the field of skin grafts.

At the same time, Capt. Narce Whitaker, leading his three-plane group of B-17s, spots smoke ahead. He sees a burning carrier, surrounded by fussing ships. Whitaker orders his three planes to attack. Even now communications are a mess – one officer in a B-17, Lt. Charles Crowell, thinks his plane is lost, and they’re just lightening the load by dropping bombs.

Crowell gains a glimpse of reality when Zeros, now bereft of a deck to land on, attack the Flying Fortresses. Bullets whiz through the wing of one plane and the nose of another, wounding the bombardier. Nonetheless, the B-17s bore in, drop their bombs, and make it out. Blakey looks down, fascinated by the splashes of shells and smoke of gunfire. He sees some larger splashes, and says, “My Lord, those are some really big shells.”

They’re actually the bombs from the Midway-based planes. Since they’ve all seen the lone carrier burning, they pick on battleships and destroyers. There is a great deal of smoke and explosions, but once again, the B-17s fail to score a hit. However, the Japanese are out of fighters, and all B-17s head back to Midway, relatively unharmed.

The attack has an impact on Ariga, too. He warns the destroyers escorting the blasted carriers, packed with survivors, to be ready for battle. “Should the enemy task force approach, engage him in hit-and-run tactics and destroy him.” No reaction from the destroyers on this masterpiece, which is long on samurai tradition and short on logic.

Chief Petty Officer Abe, a Navy wrestling champion, is sent to Soryu to rescue the enormously popular Capt. Ryusaku Yanagimoto, who has lashed himself to the bridge. Yanagimoto is so well-loved by his crew that when he speaks to the men, they gather an hour or more in advance to find good spots at the front.

Now Yanagimoto won’t move. “Captain, I have come on behalf of all your men to take you to safety,” Abe says. “They are waiting for you. Please come with me to the destroyer, sir.”

Yanagimoto ignores Abe. The chief can’t touch his skipper. In tears, Abe turns away, and hears Yanagimoto singing the Japanese National Anthem, “Kimigayo.” It’s one of the world’s shortest: only four lines.

At 6:13, Fletcher changes his mind about Yorktown, and orders the destroyer Hughes to guard her. It occurs to the admiral that the Japanese could board the abandoned carrier and possibly bring it home, which would cause a great deal of embarrassment. From Hawaii, Nimitz orders USS Vireo, a few hundred miles away at French Frigate Shoals, to take Yorktown into tow. Vireo is a converted minesweeper that serves as a harbor tugboat. Her skipper is Lt. James C. Legg, a 52-year-old “mustang,” whose commission is just one month old, after years of service as an enlisted man.

More bad news lands on the Japanese at 6:30 p.m., when Chikuma blinkers Nagumo, “The No. 2 plane of this ship sighted four enemy carriers, six cruisers, and 15 destroyers in position 30 miles east of the burning and listing enemy carrier at 5:13. This enemy force was westward bound.” Actually, Chikuma has got its facts all wrong. Their radio room has combined two separate sightings of TF 16, the second one being an amplification of the original report, but Nagumo and his weary staff are in no mood to argue. Nagumo scraps his plans for a night surface engagement.

The attack ends at 6:32 p.m., and damage to the Japanese is a near-miss on Haruna that bends stern plates and jams a rangefinder. One B-17 strafes the battered Hiryu, knocking out an AA battery and killing its gunners. It is the last combat action of this very long day.

However, Hiryu’s condition is already grave. Kaku has to sail his ship out of the battle area. Chief Engineer Cdr. Kunize Aimune reports his master control room is in good shape, and the flash fire in Engine Room No. 4 is out. The hatches to the other three engine rooms are blocked, but the crews report everything’s running – the only problem is increasing fumes and smoke.

But in Engine Room No. 4, Ensign Mandai notices things are hotter than usual. In fact, white paint on the steel overhead is melting and dripping down on the engineers, causing little fires in the machinery. The paint disappears, and the overhead starts to glow bright red. The crew in Engine Room No. 4 is trapped by fire.

On Midway, the defenders are awaiting a second attack. Capt. Simard disperses his PBYs and sends his nonessential staff back to Hawaii by seaplane. Col. Sweeney sends seven B-17s back to Hickam, too.

At 6:34, the exhausted Earl Gallaher, almost ready to pass out, flops his SBD down on the deck of Enterprise. He is the last man down.

At 6:45, two ditched survivors of Bombing 8, Ensign Thomas Wood and his gunner, finally reach Midway’s reef. Once over that, they’ll have a five-mile paddle through the atoll’s lagoon, before reaching safety. However, the easy place to cross the reef is guarded by a massive bull sea lion, who refuses to move. Finally Wood climbs over the reef and kicks the sea lion in the rear. The irritated sea lion swims off the reef. Wood and his gunner shove their raft across the coral and then take a rest. While they gasp for breath, the sea lion circles around the reef, barking at the two aviators. Finally, Wood and his gunner row ashore.

There they find Midway’s defenders struggling to repair damage to the base and aircraft, while awaiting any attack. On Sand Island, Ensign Leon Grabowsky cleans his M-1 and .45. On eastern Island, Lt. Jim Muri and his B-26 crew find all the weapons they can scavenge, then flop down to sleep in the sand near their plane. Anything might happen.

The feelings are the same on Hawaii and the American West Coast. Pearl Harbor has gone to battle stations, with yard workers manning rooftop AA guns. In California, Fourth Fighter Command orders all radio stations off the air. The Seattle waterfront is also closed. California Attorney General Earl Warren tells reporters that his state stands “in imminent danger” of attack. The reporters don’t disagree.

Near Hiryu, the battleship Kirishima stands ready to tow Hiryu if the carrier’s engines close down. But Hiryu is immobile, and her fires are blazing, making the carrier and her escorts highly visible targets. Kirishima Capt. Sanji Iwabuchi radios Nagumo, pointing out the danger to the battleship. At 6:37, Nagumo orders Kirishima to break off and rejoin the flag. The battleship sails northwest. Her XO, Capt. Honda, stares back at Hiryu, black against the evening sky, fires burning in every porthole. The pinpoints of flame, he says later, remind him of lanterns strung on holidays at home.

All four Japanese carriers are facing disaster now. At 7 p.m., the fires ripping up Soryu seem to be easing up. The carrier has an audience of two destroyers and an American PBY. With the fires dying, the ranking survivor rounds up a firefighting party, intending to reboard the carrier. Then a massive explosion from Soryu sends a spear of ruby flame into the evening sky. Everybody knows what this means. On Makigumo, someone starts singing “Kimigayo,” and Soryu starts to sink, at 30° 38’N, 179° 13’W. A Sailor yells, “Soryu Banzai!” The 18,000-ton aircraft carrier’s stern quietly dips below the water at 7:13 p.m. About 10 minutes later, an undersea explosion rumbles the waves around the destroyers. 718 men perish with Soryu.

At 7:05, Nagumo gives up the ghost. He orders what’s left of the Striking Force to flee northwest, an order without precedent in the history of the Imperial Japanese Navy. He is fleeing the scene of battle.

At 7 p.m., two massive explosions rip Kaga, and she leaps out of the sea. Then she plops back into the water, slowly sinking. At 7:25, still on an even keel, she goes to the bottom, at position 30° 20’N, 179° 17’W. 800 of her men go down with her. Her escorts race off with their wounded. Sixteen minutes later, Nautilus surfaces, batteries and crew exhausted from 42 depth charges, to find the water empty.

On the American ships, exhaustion has finally taken over. Yorktown still stands drifting and deserted, guarded by Hughes. If enemy ships turn up, Hughes is to sink Yorktown to prevent her capture. The abandoned carrier looks bizarre to Hughes’ bridge crew. They see what looks like lights flickering from the wreck, and think they can hear voices coming from the abandoned carrier. Hughes’ Cdr. Ramsey considers lowering a boat to find out, but thinks that would just create trouble. The mysterious noises give rise to later legends that the ghosts of Yorktown crewmen who never escaped haunt her successor’s engine room.

Task Force 16 is also enduring a sad and spectral evening. Aviators shuffle down to Hornet’s wardroom for dinner, and stare at 29 empty chairs belonging to Torpedo 8. On Enterprise, Ensign Charles Lane, a Yorktown orphan, is offered the cabin of a Torpedo 6 pilot who hasn’t come back. Lane walks in and immediately sees the aviator’s family pictures and a Bible lying on his desk. It’s almost too much to bear.

RM3 John W. Snowden, of Scouting 6, also scans the empty bunks in his berthing compartment, feeling overwhelmingly depressed, having lost so many good friends.

Up on the flag bridge, however, Spruance has no time to contemplate his losses. His staff – mostly Halsey’s – want him to sail west, and be in position to either deliver a night torpedo attack or a dawn dive-bomber attack, to polish off the remaining Japanese strength.

Spruance disagrees. He is extremely aware that his depleted task force is the only American combat strength standing between the Japanese and Hawaii. Despite Japan’s fearful losses, they still have a vast and powerful fleet, including seven battleships, led by Yamamoto himself. Spruance is certainly aware that his air strength has been badly depleted by the day’s action, with crushing losses to his torpedo squadrons.

Spruance is probably aware that his ships and men are technically and tactically inferior to the Japanese in a surface night engagement. His carriers are useless in a surface battle. While his cruisers have TBS radio and radar, Japanese binoculars and well-trained lookouts outrange American radar. Japanese cruisers pack the deadly Long Lance torpedo, the world’s finest, which outranges the often ineffective American Mark 14s. Japanese night-fighting tactics are well-developed and have been tested in battle. None of the American ships have fought a surface action yet.

To head west, Spruance believes, is folly. In his report to Nimitz, Spruance writes, “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 next morning. I wished to be in a position from which either to follow up retreating enemy forces, or to break up a landing attack on Midway.”

Most importantly for Spruance: his mission is not to pursue the Japanese fleet, but to protect the island. He fears that if he continues his chase of wrecked carriers, the Japanese invasion fleet will simply sneak up and land on the battered island anyway. Spruance wants to be position to protect the island with his aircraft. Spruance is under orders to hold Midway, and not to jeopardize his fleet, particularly the irreplaceable aircraft carriers.

At 7:09 p.m., Spruance orders Task Force 16 east until midnight, keeping his distance from Yamamoto’s ships.

At 7:15 p.m., Cdr. K. Tampo, Akagi’s chief engineer, finishes a brave climb from the engine room through burning, smoking decks, to inform Aoki that there is no hope of operating the carrier under her own power. That’s it, then. Aoki orders Tampo’s engine crew topside, and sends a messenger. The messenger never returns. Neither does the black gang.

Next, Aoki asks Nagumo for permission to evacuate his ship. Nagumo does so at once. The crew starts evacuating at 8 p.m., finishing around 10 p.m. 500 evacuees are jammed onto Arashi and 200 on Nowake.

While all this is going on, Yamamoto fires off a morale-boosting message to his entire fleet at 7:15 p.m. It reads as follows:

The enemy fleet, which has practically been destroyed, is retiring to the east.

Combined Fleet units in the vicinity are preparing to pursue the remnants and at the same time, to occupy AF.

The Main Body is scheduled to reach 32° 08’ N, 175° 45’ E at 0300 on the 5th, Course 90°; speed 20.

The First Carrier Striking Force, Invasion Force (less Cruiser Division 7) and Submarine Force will immediately contact and destroy the enemy.

Nagumo starts digesting these words just as he receives the message that Soryu has gone down.

The ocean where four mighty Japanese aircraft carriers lie blazing is also full of swimmers. Most are orphaned combat air patrol pilots who have lost their ships: Raita Ogawa from Akagi treads water in his life jacket. Tatsuya Otawa from Soryu clutches a piece of timber. Takayoshi Morinaga of Kaga hangs on to a floating hammock. Some are hauled in by destroyers, but others are not, and can only watch as the destroyers give up their search and race off in the dark.

One other swimmer is trying to avoid being picked up – George Gay, trying to hide under his black cushion. With a burned leg and bleeding hand, he is in no shape for an extended stay in the water. At darkness, he finally inflates his yellow life raft, and struggles into it to rest, watching searchlights to the north, around the wrecked Hiryu.

Hiryu is struggling to survive. At 9 p.m., the destroyer Makigumo radios Nagumo, “Hiryu can attain 28 knots.” However, nobody on the bridge can see where the ship is going, because the forward elevator is lying against it. A burning hammock mantelet forces Kaku, Yamaguchi, and their staffs down to the flight deck, port side aft of the bridge. They can see the fires on the forward flight deck melting steel rivets like snow.

Around the same time, the destroyer Kazagumo moves alongside Hiryu, and the destroyer crews unload firefighting equipment and the first food the crew has seen since breakfast, hardtack and water. The destroyer Yugumo brings up fire hoses from Chikuma. Next, Makigumo arrives to take the wounded.

At 9:30, Nagumo radios Yamamoto with the report about the vast enemy force Chikuma has reported. “Total enemy strength is five carriers, six heavy cruisers, and 15 destroyers. We are steaming westward. We are retiring to the northwest escorting Hiryu. Speed 18 knots.” No answer.

Shortly after 10 p.m., Aoki radios Nagumo, asking permission to scuttle Akagi. Yamato picks up this message, and Yamamoto and Ugaki are reluctant to scuttle the great carrier, which is Yamamoto himself once commanded. Akagi is more than a name (“Red Castle” in Japanese). She is the embodiment of Japanese naval and air power, the flagship of the carrier fleet. Huge, unwieldy, and converted from a battlecruiser hull, Akagi’s funnel smoke constantly seeps into crew quarters. She is one of two carriers in the world with her bridge structure on the port side (Hiryu is the other). But she is a sentimental favorite in the Imperial Japanese Navy. .

Yamamoto orders Nagumo at 10:25 to hold off on scuttling Akagi. Aoki reacts by lashing himself to the anchor chain, so that he won’t float away when Akagi sinks.

At 10:50, Nagumo amplifies his message to Yamamoto. This time, Nagumo gets an answer in five minutes. He’s relieved of command. Kondo and his battleships will take over. Ugaki’s reaction is similar to those of Yamamoto’s staff: “The Nagumo Force has no stomach for a night engagement!”

Nagumo takes the message calmly. He probably has little emotional strength left. Nagumo’s staff, having had time to do little but brood over catastrophe, does react. Senior staff officer Captain Oishi goes to Kusaka, and says, “Sir, we staff officers have all decided to commit suicide to fulfill our own responsibility for what has happened. Would you please inform Admiral Nagumo?”

Kusaka is outraged. He hauls the whole staff into his tiny cabin on Nagara, and bellows at them, “How can you do such a thing? You go into raptures over any piece of good news; then say you’re going to commit suicide the first time anything goes wrong. It’s absurd!”

Then he takes a piggyback ride to Nagumo to report the incident. The boss is considering seppuku himself. Kusaka tries the same argument, in a more deferential tone. Nagumo listens, and broods. “What you say is certainly reasonable, but things are different when it’s a question of the chief.”

“Not at all,” Kusaka says. He repeats his point: it is nothing but weakness to commit hara-kiri right now.

“Very well,” Nagumo says. “I will not commit any rash act.”

While rescue efforts go on, Hiryu loses power. Most engine rooms are blazing. In Engine Room No. 4, Cdr. Aisume takes a phone call from the bridge (more likely damage control central, as the bridge has been abandoned). Can the engineers get out? Aisume looks up at the red-hot steel overhead and says no. After a long pause, the bridge asks if the men have any last messages. Aisume is infuriated. He tells the bridge not to give up. Doesn’t help. The phone goes dead.

In all likelihood, Aisume is talking to Cdr. Takeo Kyuma, the staff engineering officer, who actually wants to get his men out. He yells down through a voice tube, “Hold on, hold on!” Someone answers, “Nothing particular to be reported.” Then nothing more. Kyuma assumes everyone is dead. Actually, they’ve just moved to a compartment without a voice tube.

Gloomy, Kyuma stumps back to the flag staff and suggests to Senior Staff Officer Ito that they get Yamaguchi off to safety, by force if necessary.

“Even if we take him off the ship by force now, I am sure the strong-willed admiral would kill himself later, as he has so firmly made up his mind to remain with the ship,” replies Ito. “The thoughtful way would be to let him do as he wishes.” So all the staff officers volunteer to stay behind, and ask Ito to inform Yamaguchi of this collective decision.

Yamaguchi refuses. “I am very pleased and touched by your staff’s desire to remain with me,” he says, “But you young men must leave the ship. This is my order.”

At 11:58, something sets off a major explosion, which in turn flares up the fires. Hiryu cannot last much longer.

Meanwhile, Kondo and his battleships and cruisers charge northeast. At 11:40, Kondo radios that he expects to be in position at 3 a.m., and that his line of ships will sweep for the American fleet. Neither side knows it, but if Spruance had continued west, he would run straight into Kondo’s battleships and cruisers.

However, Yamamoto is concerned about the timing. If Kondo can’t attack until 3 a.m., then he’ll only have two hours until dawn. At that time, Kondo’s whole force will be open to American air attack and more slaughter. Kurita’s cruisers, set to bombard Midway, won’t be in position until nearly dawn.

There is no advice – or orders – from Tokyo. The Naval General Staff is listening to the battle on their radios, but Adm. Osami Nagano, the Chief of Staff, will not overrule Yamamoto. The battle is Yamamoto’s to fight, and Yamamoto’s alone.

Yamamoto orders Kuroshima and Watanabe to start drafting an order to recall the fleet, cancelling Operation AF. All forces will retreat to a point 350 miles northwest of Midway to rendezvous with Yamamoto, transfer casualties, and return to Japan.

The staff is stunned. Defeat is a catastrophe that has never befallen the Imperial Japanese Navy until this day. Watanabe suggests that the Main Body’s battleships sail up to Midway, bombard the island with their 15-inch and 18-inch guns, and pound it into submission. Kuroshima agrees, and the two put the scheme to Yamamoto and Ugaki.

Yamamoto absorbs the presentation, and says, “I am sure you have studied in the Naval Staff College that Navy history teaches us not to fight against land forces with naval vessels.”

“Yes, I know,” says an embarrassed Watanabe.

“Your proposal is against fundamental naval doctrine,” Yamamoto continues, “and it is too late now for such an operation. This battle is almost coming to an end. In shogi too much fighting causes all-out defeat. One can lose everything.”

Ugaki pipes up, “You ought to know very well the absurdity of attacking a fortress with the guns of a fleet. Even powerful battleships would be defeated by enemy air forces and submarines before they could make an effective bombardment in a situation such as exist where there are quite strong land-based air forces operating from an undamaged base, as well as a still powerful carrier air force. We had better wait for the Second Carrier Striking Force, if the Invasion Force can stay long enough."

“Furthermore, we can have hopes for subsequent operations, because we will have eight carriers, including those expected to be completed soon, though we have lost four carriers in this operation. It is the plan of a fool without a brain, to challenge a hopeless game of go again and again out of desperation."

Watanabe and Kuroshima are out of ideas. For a few minutes, all the staff officers argue possible hare-brained solutions. Yamamoto says nothing. Finally, someone asks, almost hysterically, “But how can we apologize to His Majesty for this defeat?”

Yamamoto speaks up, cold and firm. “Leave that to me. I am the only one who must apologize to His Majesty.”