May 7th, 1942... Continued
These decisions do not impede the American attack. Cdr. William B. Ault leads in the Lexington group past Tagula Island, biggest of the Louisiades, at 11 a.m. Minutes later, Lt. Cdr. W.L. Hamilton, flying a scout plane in the attack group at 15,000 feet, spots the carrier Shoho and her escorts 25 to 30 miles on his starboard side. The Japanese spot Hamilton, too, and start taking evasive action. Ault and his two wing planes race in to attack as two Zeros struggle to intercept. The American bombers swoop down eagerly, and while their bombs miss the little carrier, the near-miss blasts hurl five planes off the Shoho’s flight deck and into the Pacific. Hamilton’s SBDs hurl themselves at Shoho (her name meaning “Auspicious Phoenix”) at 11:10 a.m., followed by Lexington’s torpedo bombers at 11:18, and Yorktown’s air group at 11:25. Some 93 aircraft are piling in on a single aircraft carrier, an example of overkill that will be eliminated later in the war when such strikes will have a tactical air commander on the scene to coordinate the assault and divert some of the aircraft to attack other ships present.
Shoho cannot last long under a 93-plane bombardment, and she does not. Two 1,000-lb. bombs detonate on the carrier, and she bursts into flames and coasts to a halt, making her easy meat for 13 more bombs and seven torpedoes. Among the American attackers who presses home a hit is Lt. John J. “Jo-Jo” Powers, a Bronx native and Gunnery Officer of VB-5, a strong advocate of low release points in dive-bombing.
Ironically, the easy victory proves a problem for the US Navy – the weaknesses of their air-launched Mark 13 torpedoes are not seen. Nobody notices that the fish doesn’t run straight, runs slowly, and doesn’t always explode. Against the crippled Shoho, the Mark 13 is a killer. Against more able ships for the rest of 1942, it is a failure.
“By 1130 the entire vessel was damaged by bombs, torpedoes, and self-exploded enemy planes,” records Shoho’s war diary. A minute later, Shoho skipper Capt. Ishinosuke Izawa orders his men to abandon ship, and he and 201 other Shoho Sailors survive to be picked up by the destroyer Sazanami. Also going to the bottom at Latitude 10º29’S, Longitude 152º55’ E are 18 of the carrier’s 21 planes and 631 members of Shoho’s crew. American losses are the pilot and radioman-gunner of an SBD dive-bomber. However, the two have merely run out of gas, and ditch near Port Moresby, where they row ashore in their life raft, and are taken in by friendly natives.
The very first attack by American planes on an enemy aircraft carrier has been a smashing success, but in the flag bridges and Combat Information Centers of Lexington and Yorktown 160 miles southeastward none of the staff officers and plotters can make sense of the aviators’ radio transmissions, until Lt. Cdr. Robert E. Dixon, Lexington’s second SBD leader, whoops clearly and loudly: “Scratch one flattop! Dixon to Carrier, scratch one flattop!” Jubilation sets in on the American carrier fleet, the American aircraft form back up into formation to head home, and Goto, now lacking air cover and having ships full of wounded survivors, withdraws to Deboyne Island, where the Support Group’s seaplane carrier Kamikawa Maru is anchored.
By 1:38 p.m., the Americans have recovered their strike, with only three aircraft lost. Twenty minutes later, 11 single-engined land-based planes attack Crace’s cruisers, but are driven off by his AA guns. Moments later, Crace’s radar picks up what turns out to be 12 Type-96 Sally bombers, land-based naval twin-engine torpedo-bombers, 75 miles away. Crace orders evasive maneuvers and the Australian-American force opens fire as the planes slam in on the deck to deliver their fish. The Japanese fire eight torpedoes at Crace’s force, three at Australia, one at Hobart, and four at Chicago, their observers doing a good job with their ship identification cards. All torpedoes miss. The Allied gunners do better, splashing five Japanese bombers. Crace reports with classic Anglo-Australian understatement that the Japanese attack was “most determined but fortunately badly delivered.”
After the surviving Japanese bombers streak away, they are replaced by 19 more Sally bombers, these delivering bombs from 15,000 feet. Crace’s skippers display more energetic shiphandling, and while most bombs miss, Australia is straddled, and nicked by fragments. Two men are fatally wounded on Chicago, BKR3 Robert E. Reily and SM1C Anthony B. Shirley, Jr., and five others slightly injured. The Japanese fly away unharmed.
But before Crace can secure his men from Action Stations (on the Australian ships) and GQ (on the American vessels), three more bombers swoop in on the destroyer Perkins and treat her to a dose of bombs. The ship crews can identify these attacking birds easily – they’re US Army Air Force B-17s, based in Townsville, Australia. The American bombers miss their targets, take pictures of them, realize they are bombing friendly forces, and fly off. But Crace is furious, complaining by radio to Australia and the American naval command in New Caledonia. He later writes of the American attack, “Fortunately, their bombing, in comparison with that of the Japanese formation a few moments earlier, was disgraceful!”
The Japanese, however, also commit their own disgrace in reporting the encounter, modestly claiming to have sunk an Augusta-class cruiser (Chicago), a California-class battleship (Australia), and a third battleship of Britain’s Queen Elizabeth class. While these mis-identifications on both sides seem appalling, Morison points out, “Let those who have tried (ship recognition) from 10,000 feet, without previous training, cast the first stone!”
Meanwhile, the American carriers prepare themselves to attack the Shoho group (now sans the Shoho) again, and are ready by 2:50 p.m., but Fletcher decides against it – a gaggle of heavy cruisers and destroyers are not worth such another attack when the two fleet carriers, Shokaku and Zuikaku, are still out there. Also, the weather is deteriorating rapidly, and conditions are no longer optimal for carrier-based attacks or search planes. He heads west to close with the Port Moresby Invasion Group, and land-based Catalina PBY seaplanes and other shore-based aircraft will hunt for the Japanese carriers.
Unknown to Fletcher, Inouye has recalled the invasion force. More importantly, the Japanese carriers have launched 12 bombers and 15 torpedo planes manned by crews trained in night-flying, to find, fix, and strike Fletcher at sundown if they locate him. In the increasingly squally weather, the Japanese only find intercepting American fighters on combat air patrol, and the stubby Grumman F4F Wildcats charge into the Japanese force.
The Wildcat, making one of its first appearances in American hands in the war, proves rugged and sturdy, with its 1,200-horsepower Pratt and Whitney engine. However, its speed, climbing strength, range, and firepower are unequal to that of the Mitsubishi Zero. It has other interesting habits: its starter is a gunpowder-packed cartridge about the size of a shotgun shell that is placed in a cylinder behind the engine. The pilot fires the shell with a switch in the cockpit, and the force of the exploding gases is transmitted to the engine. Another feature is a small crank mounted inside of the cockpit of the F4F, beside the pilot’s right knee. The crank controls the landing gear, and when the F4F takes off, the pilot must crank up the wheels with his right, doing 27 turns with his left hand. If a friction brake on the shaft of the crank comes loose and the pilot’s right hand slips, the weight of the wheels can send the handle whirling forward at a high rate of speed. The pilot’s only means to stop the whirling is to jam his knee into the crank, sometimes chipping a bone.
With ample determination and professionalism, the Americans splash nine Japanese planes, losing two Wildcats, among them one flown by Lt. Paul G. Baker, one of the best and most beloved aviators in the Navy. Baker, a native of Plainfield, New Jersey, strays too far from Yorktown, is lost to their radar screen, and cannot be given directions to return. Baker pleads over the radio for directions, and is told he can’t be found by Yorktown’s radar. Lt. Cdr. Oscar Pederson, the carrier’s air group commander, in tears, orders Baker to fly to the nearest land, Tagula Island. Baker is never heard from again.
The other Yorktown aviator who is lost is Lt. Leslie Lockhart Bruce Knox, who married his sweetheart, Louise Frances Kennedy, in Our Lady of Victory Chapel at Norfolk on Saturday, December 6, 1941. He has spent four months on Yorktown telling his buddies how much he misses Louise. He and Louise enjoyed 10 days of married life in Norfolk’s Glencove Apartments.
As the American fighters return to fuel, Lexington fighter leader Lt. Cdr. Paul H. Ramsey realizes that he has to keep a promise: when he shoots down his first Japanese plane, he must shave off his huge moustache. Ramsey has earned his first kill. Now he must shave. Before landing, he flies slowly round Lexington, cockpit open, stroking his moustache to let everyone know it will be coming off right after he lands.
Spanked, and facing sunset, the Japanese head home and soon arrive over a pair of aircraft carriers steaming along. Lacking radar and homing devices, the Japanese figure they must be home. At 7 p.m., 45 minutes after sunset, lookouts on Yorktown spot three of those planes, and the Japanese, thinking they’re home, start blinking in Morse code on Aldis lamps. Yorktown blinkers back. The planes swoop in to land, and both sides realize that a trio of Japanese planes are about to land on the flight deck of an American carrier. The Americans make the realization from studying the planes’ port running lights – they’re red, when American lights are blue. The Americans open fire and the Japanese gun their engines and successfully flee, turning off their running lights. A few minutes later, three more Japanese planes try to join Yorktown’s landing circle. This time the Americans waste no energy with signal lamps and shoot the intruders down.
The remaining Japanese form up and try to use their radio to locate their carriers, but American radio is jamming the frequency. On his flagship, the carrier Shokaku, Adm. Hara orders his ships to turn on their searchlights so that his lost aviators can straggle home. In the night recovery (difficult in peacetime), 11 planes splash and the remaining don’t flop down on their flight decks until 9 p.m.
At 7:30 p.m. Lexington’s radar reports enemy planes orbiting a landing circle only 30 miles east. Rear Adm. Aubrey Fitch on Lexington passes this news on to Fletcher in Yorktown, but a foul-up in communications keeps this message from reaching Fletcher until 10 p.m. Fletcher figures Hara’s carriers will be far gone by midnight. Actually, they’re only 95 miles east of the American carriers. Fletcher considers detaching some cruisers and destroyers to attack Hara by night, but decides against it. For one thing, he’s already detached two heavy cruisers and a light cruiser with Crace on that pursuit, and in the last-quarter moon doesn’t provide enough light through the thick clouds to illuminate an attack, and Fletcher needs every escort he has to guard against submarines by night and air attack at dawn. “All things considered, the best plan seemed to be to keep our force concentrated and prepare for a battle with enemy carriers next morning.”
These decisions have little immediate impact on exhausted crewmen on both sides. Most man their stations, try to sleep, or take a breather. On the Yorktown’s flight deck, Aviation Ordnanceman Judson Brodie, who will make the Navy a career and retire as a lieutenant commander, sits talking with Cleveland native Paul Meyers, about their futures. On the short term, battle is coming in a few hours, they agree. Over the long haul, Meyers says he intends to leave the Navy when his enlistment is up and become a civilian again. In the wardroom of VB-5, Lt. John J. Powers lectures his squadron on point-of-aim and diving technique, stressing low pull-out. The risks of planes being damaged by bomb fragments in such attacks are considerable, but accuracy is gained.
Back at Rabaul, Inouye is pondering the same thing, and he orders Goto’s cruisers and destroyers to leave the transports, rendezvous east of Rossel Island, and make a night attack on whatever American forces are at hand. But before midnight, Inouye changes his mind, and cancels both this attack and the Port Moresby landings, deferring the latter for two days. Goto’s cruisers will hook up with Hara’s carriers and the other ships will return to Rabaul.
Takagi has the same idea of a night attack, since his force has performed pretty badly so far. On his flagship, the cruiser Myoko, he talks about sending his two heavy cruisers, Myoko and Haguro, and his six destroyers against the Americans. Unfortunately, that’s his entire escort, and he doesn’t have anything else to protect his carriers. And his aviators are exhausted from all those long search missions. Before Takagi can make up his mind, Rear Adm. Koso Abe, commanding the retreating Port Moresby transports, asks Hara to close up and provide air cover, lest transports full of the Emperor’s assault troops get sunk, along with the troops. Hara heads north at 10 p.m., and by midnight, he’s at Latitude 12º40’S, Longitude 156º45’E, opening the range on Fletcher. So much for a desperate night surface action. But the Battle of the Coral Sea is far from over and further from decision.
The battle is being closely watched in the flag bridge of the battleship Yamato in Hashirajima harbor in Japan, by Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, commander of the Combined Fleet, and his staff, including Adm. Matome Ugaki, who are busy planning the Midway operation. Ugaki records the sinking of Shoho, noting that the ship had been only recently converted from being a submarine depot ship into her new duties as a carrier. “I am sorry for her short life…a dream of great success has been shattered. There is an opponent in a war, so one cannot progress just as one wishes. When we expect enemy raids, can’t we employ the forces in a little more unified way? After all, not a little should be attributed to the inefficiency of air reconnaissance. We should keep this in mind.”
Dawn breaks on the island of Corregidor with the roar of gunfire being replaced by total silence. Japanese troops storm ashore on Forts Hughes, Drum, and Frank to find white flags waving. Japanese troops take over Malinta Tunnel and take propaganda films of US forces surrendering and Japanese soldiers lowering Old Glory. The Japanese hoist a banner in Manila that can be seen by Bataan PoWs in Bilibid Prison. It reads, "War is over -- Corregidor falls."
Gen. Jonathan Wainwright broadcasts on Manila radio to Gen. William Sharp in Mindanao, ordering him to surrender. Sharp refuses, and goes on fighting.
Corregidor's losses are about 350, Japanese thrice that. The Japanese have also lost 500 men to malaria. The Japanese 4th Division is out of the war. The Philippine defense has tied up Japanese troops and shipping, slowing down their advance in New Guinea and the Solomons.
At dawn, the British 29th Brigade moves into Antsirane, and hooks up with the Royal Marines. Diego Suarez harbor is in British hands, and the British can now move south to capture the rest of the island. British casualties are 109 dead and 284 wounded, French losses 200 dead and 500 wounded. Having taken light casualties from battle, the British now take heavy casualties from malaria.
The Swedish liner Drottingholm sails from Jersey City, New Jersey, loaded with 948 Axis diplomats from Germany, Italy, Bulgaria, Rumania, and Hungary, bound for Lisbon, to be exchanged for US officials, newspapermen, and other civilians in the same countries.
Lt. John “Buck” Bulkeley, the PT boat skipper who saved Gen. Douglas MacArthur, arrives in San Francisco to commence a war bond tour. The same day, the War Department appoints Alvin York, the World War I hero, a major in the Tennessee National Guard.
In Burma, Stilwell's troops move out in their retreat to Indian. “Out at 6:30. A mess. Start ordered for 5:00. Easy pace down river. Til 11. Holcombe out. Merrill out. Heat exhaustion. Lee out. Sliney popped. Christ but we are a poor lot. Hard going in the river all the way. Cooler. All packs reduced to 10 pounds.”
