6.(10-12) Battle On

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10. Battle On

4 June 1942, Thursday 2:46 AM on Akagi: Awake to blare of National Anthem. With Genda and aircrews below-deck for rice, soybean soup, chestnuts and saké.In high spirits and fighter pilots betting how many Yankee planes each will down.

4 AM, flight deck in pre-dawn: I can see Akagi’s sister carrier Kaga on right. No clouds. Flight crews roll out Zero fighter planes and Mitsubishi torpedo planes and prepare them for takeoff as fresh warm sea breeze ruffles command-deck flag with its sun ball at center and red rays on white. I stand beside Genda who directs operations. We shall be in radio contact with the lieutenant who leads first wave. Before they go up, the pilots listen to Genda's exhorting them to give all for the Emperor. Then, standing stiffly, they are reviewed by Genda with aide, pausing briefly for each to sip ceremonial sake wine

4:30 AM: Air officer standing forward waves green lantern and first plane lifts off flight deck to cheers. I glance at Genda his face impassive and, except for morning greeting, silent. Air is filled with roar of whirring propellers as plane after plane rises into sky while in the distance I see aircraft rising from Kaga.

5 AM: Swarms of aircraft aloft heading for Midway; fighters and dive bombers. Now that the battle is on, regular radio messages from the lieutenant leading the sortie keep us on top of the action.

6 AM: “Dive bombers smashing Midway airfield.  6:30: “American resistance unexpectedly heavy.”

7 AM, from lead fighter pilot: “Running low on gas; must return to carrier for refueling.” Genda is grim. The original plan calls for Midway airfield to be put out of commission by first strike. Refueling and rearming for second strike makes us target for air attack. But where is the American fleet?

7:10 AM: “Enemy planes!” blares loudspeaker. Swinging binoculars in direction of morning sun, I spot my first American planes, four long-nose P-42 single-engine torpedo bombers coming in over the water. I watch in fascination as their torpedoes drop, slapping into the sea like flat skimming stones several hundred meters away. Time stands still as four white wakes trace lines directly at us. Do not know whether to pray or leap into sea. Suddenly am thrown forward as ship’s engines are stopped and reversed and deck lurches leftward. Getting up, I watch breathless as the torpedoes pass just in front of ship’s bow.

  Genda and I joyously embrace. “Thank Sun Goddess that Kusaka is in command!” Genda shouts. “He is the only man who could execute that maneuver”.

7:30 AM, radio message from reconnaissance: “Ten ships, enemy, 380 kilometers north.” Genda is excited. The Americans are closer than we realized. Another dilemma! The first strike planes will return to the carriers in minutes. Genda, after speaking on deck-telephone with Kusaka, tells me the admiral wants to send up a new attack force to go after the American ships but it means delaying the landing of our returning first strike planes and the wait will cause some to run out of fuel and crash into sea. I listen as Genda pleads to allow the planes to land. It is granted.

7:47 AM, First-strike planes are landing: Suddenly out of the west, three aircraft come heading straight for Hiryu to our left. “Precision bombers!” shouts Genda. As he radios their position to our airborne fighters, we watch the Americans – B25's we now see – drop bombs that are near misses producing towering waterspouts around our sister carrier. Then the planes roar away to west.

8:10 AM: Reconnaissance spots 5 enemy cruisers. “But where are the carriers?” Genda wonders out loud. “They must be near and must know our position. Otherwise how explain the American air attack.”  He telephones Kusaka that the ships are decoys to lure our planes away from the carriers.

   Genda's request to delay air strikes on the U.S. ships now seems justified. Meanwhile the last of the first-strike planes have landed and are being refueled and rearmed for second strike. What next?

11. Tora! Tora! Tora!

I follow Genda as he rushes onto flight deck to greet returning pilots, clapping backs, lighting cigarettes, and giving words of encouragement. His optimism is catching: even I am caught up. The Americans had their chance and muffed it. We were sitting ducks yet suffered no damage. Somewhere deep inside, the irrational in me hopes for a victory.

   Genda, standing on my left points directly up: Flying Fortresses, eight. Our ship lurches to right and I fall to deck. Huge spouts of water billow up in front and along sides. I brace for direct hit. After a minute Genda helps me up and we clap each other on back. The Americans miss again! Looking toward Hiryu and Kaga to left and right I see they are undamaged. Atheist that I am, I cannot help thinking the Sun Goddess protects us. Our pilots climb back into their planes. I follow Genda up ladder to the admiral’s command cabin on bridge. Entering we are embraced by a jovial Kusaka eyes glistening.

   “The Yankees have thrown everything at us: torpedo planes, dive bombers, Flying Fortresses; and no hit. They are ineffectual babies before our batleships.”

    A bottle of saké is broken out. We all toast to victory.

   Radio suddenly sputters to life, voice of reconnaissance: “Main enemy force with carriers one hundred kilometers northwest of Akagi.”

   I look at watch: 8:30 AM. Kusaka turns to Genda. “Now, my tactician our chance has come. What is your play?”

   Genda is silent. Then, smashing right fist into palm he says “Tora! Tora! Tora!” Navy parlance for “Attack like tigers!”

12. “… They First Make Mad”

Kusaka orders second strike. On flight deck the refueled planes are rolled into position for takeoff as the Akagi turns to the wind. The moment of victory seems at hand. Radio crackles to life again. “Enemy dive bombers coming in on strike force!”
   Looking southwest I spot the aircraft. One detaches from group and dives. We look up helplessly as it plunges on us. It peels out of the dive and from it a bomb tumbles down. I watch paralyzed as the bomb drops almost directly on us. Instinctively I drop to deck covering head with hands. An eerie whistle; then a shattering explosion. Dense white smoke billows in: our cabin door has been blown away. Through the gap I see fire shooting from the ship midsection, men running wildly on a deck littered with smashed aircraft, gas tanks exploding in flaming streamers and heat setting off fires and filling the air with random bullets.
   Genda shouts at Kusaka to order “Abandon ship”, but the usually energetic admiral sits looking dazedly at the flaming wreckage of his once glorious carrier. 
   So Genda assumes command and dispatches an aide to spread the word. Taking the two stricken admirals in hand we go between twisted steel and hurry down an emergency stairway. The ship is listing heavily and men are jumping from its bow but Genda and I manage to lower a small launch. Minutes later we cast loose from the sinking carrier. The sea a flaming grave of ships and men is dotted with small boats and rubber rafts filled with crew. In the water, assorted debris is mixed with screaming sailors caught in the burning fuel oil from the ship’s ruptured tanks.
   Genda guides the launch expertly and we reach the destroyer Nagara. After helping the two dazed admirals aboard and sending a radio report to the command ship Yamato, Genda tells me he will take off in a catapult plane to personally report to Admiral Yamamoto, and there is room for me. Soon we are up and away.

   Shortly we encounter an incredible sight: the Hiryu, the sole strike force carrier still afloat, taking in water rapidly and listing heavily to its left side. On its flight deck the crew stands in military formation facing the direction of the Emperor's palace. Even from the airplane I can hear the strains of the National Anthem, Kimigayo, then the ship's bow elevates sharply and the vessel plunges rearward disappearing beneath the waves leaving not one crew member behind in the water,

  Whom the Gods would destroy they first make mad. We are a mad race and I realize now how useless my reportage is. Those who read it will become even more determined to fight this useless, hopeless, mad war. Like the crew of Hiryu our people seem doomed to bitter-end bowing in the direction of the Palace. The irony is that the Emperor will probably survive this generation of dunces.
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