Midway: Hiryu Prepares
By David H. Lippman
March 2013

Just after 3 p.m., Admiral Raymond Spruance aboard USS Enterprise gets Lt. Sam Adams’ message: Hiryu and several ships are heading north. 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.

USS Enterprise.

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.

	An A6M2 launches from Akagi.

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. Fifty-six 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.

Akagi's flight deck, April 1942.

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.

To be continued.

Get in on the action! Click here to order Midway: Turning Point in the Pacific TODAY!