Battle of Coral Sea, Part 2
By David H. Lippman
May 2010

Continued from Part 1

At 6:25 a.m. on May 8, 1942, the U.S. fleet moves to battle with a large, well-coordinated Japanese strike force in the Coral Sea.

Eighteen Lexington SBDs lumber into a clear sky, with second SBD leader Lt. Cdr. Robert Dixon himself taking what he believes is the most likely sector to find the Japanese carriers. The Americans are at latitude 14º24’S, longitude 154º32’E, on course 125º at 8 a.m. Fletcher has only five heavy cruisers and seven destroyers to protect his carriers, which represent 50 percent of America’s carrier force in the Pacific.

Dixon is right: At 8:15 a.m., one of Dixon’s pilots, Lt. (jg) J.G. Smith, spots Shokaku and Zuikaku and Dixon himself swoops in to shadow them At 8:38, Smith dutifully and precisely reports their position, course, and speed, which is latitude 12ºS,156º12’E, 175 miles northeast of Fletcher. At the same time, Lexington intercepts a radio message from a Japanese pilot, giving Task Force 17’s location. Both admirals know where their enemy lies.

Yorktown and Neosho, seen from an American bomber.

Dixon, a former Navy test pilot at Anacostia, stays on the Japanese fleet, reporting their movements steadily. He knows how to get the most out of his engine and its fuel, and he shadows the Japanese longer than anyone expects he can. Long after everyone thinks Dixon is out of fuel and gone, he returns home to Lexington.

Fletcher decides to hammer the Japanese carriers with a coordinated attack from his carriers, sending his TBD Devastator torpedo-bombers at their maximum range. The Americans are in areas of 30-mile visibility, but the Japanese have some cloud cover.

The Japanese have 121 aircraft to pit against the Americans, while the Americans have almost the exact same numbers, 122. The American advantage comes in their radar and homing devices. The Japanese have better planes and their carriers have operated as a division for more than six months, winning victories at Pearl Harbor and in the Indian Ocean. The American ships have only recently joined together and have had little experience in tactical maneuvering. While the Americans have more AA guns, most of them are the increasingly unsatisfactory 1.1-inch guns.

However, the abilities of the airmen and sailors on both sides are about equal. Lexington and Yorktown are manned by a good mix of long-service seamen and aviators and younger sailors recruited in the 1940 and 1941 mobilization efforts. There are sailors on Lexington who have been with her since her commissioning in 1927. The Japanese ships are fairly new — Pearl Harbor was the shakedown cruise for Shokaku and Zuikaku — and the airmen are regarded as the Combined Fleet’s second string. Nevertheless, they have fought together for months in heavy combat, and many of the aviators are China veterans. In addition, the Fifth Carrier Division, being the newest such force in the Combined Fleet, also has the newest aircraft, and therefore, has the least maintenance headaches. All in all, the Japanese are sending a team of second-stringers against the American first team, but the American first team is not playing at its full potential yet.

Nevertheless, at 8:38 a.m., Fletcher orders his carriers to launch their strikes. Yorktown will send in 24 dive-bombers, nine torpedo-bombers, and eight fighters for cover, while Lexington launches 22 dive-bombers, 12 torpedo-bombers, and nine fighters, a total strike package of 84 aircraft. VB-5 Gunnery Officer Lt. John J. Powers tells his fellow aviators, as they leave their ready room, “Remember the folks back home are counting on us. I am going to get a hit if I have to lay it on their flight deck.” He leads a section of dive-bombers to the target.

By 9:15 a.m., Yorktown’s aircraft are airborne and en route to the target. Lexington’s planes are launched by 9:25. In the urgency to deliver the punch, Lexington’s planes fly off 12 percent short of their capacity fuel load of 250 gallons of gas.

Moments after the Americans finish launching their planes, they shoot off SBD dive-bombers for combat air and anti-submarine patrol, awaiting the Japanese attack. Fletcher puts his top aviator, Rear Adm. Aubrey Fitch, in tactical command, and he changes course to 28 degrees to cut distance off for his returning aviators, while the carriers and escorts “button up” to await the Japanese attack. Based on Japanese carrier radio activity, Lexington skipper Capt. “Ted” Sherman figures the Japanese will hit him at about 11 a.m. The carriers’ airmen go to Flight Quarters to launch and retrieve fighters, while everyone else goes to GQ (Action Stations in British parlance), dogging hatches, closing watertight doors, and manning sound-powered phones, damage control stations, and AA guns.

On Yorktown, Sid Flum, a member of Repair Party No. 5, does his preparation in typical way: He seeks out the chaplain, Lt. Cdr. Frank Hamilton. The spiritual consolation Flum receives from the Protestant chaplain is unique, however: Hamilton provides Flum with a Jewish prayer shawl and yarmulke and leaves the room. Flum, a Bronx native, says ancient Jewish prayers in the chaplain’s office in memory of his late father.

From there, Flum goes to Compartment C-301-L, near a mess deck on the third deck below the hangar deck, to join the 60 other members of Repair Party No. 5, which include Staten Islander Charlie Steinger, Yonkers native Paddy Raciopi, and Bob Hunt, from Olean, New York, all his friends. In command of Repair Party No. 5 is Lt. Milton Ernest Ricketts, a Baltimore native and member of the Annapolis Class of 1935. Ricketts notices that he has two brothers in his Repair Party, Bill and Victor Kowalczewski of Milwaukee. Ricketts bluntly orders Bill to a passage just aft of the compartment and tells him to wait there.

Other sailors have little to do. Bill Surgi of New Orleans, Stan Catha of Glenmora, Louisiana, Paul Meyers, and John “Chicken” Underwood of Chattanooga, aged 15, are crewmen in Yorktown’s Fighter Squadron 42, and have no battle station. They find a steel net hanging beneath a forward area of the flight deck and climb into it, suspended above the sea and tucked against the side of Yorktown. Chief Petty Officer Wayne Souter tells Underwood, “Chicken, you get the hell out of there. I want you to take cover up here,” indicating a small storage area under the flight deck. Underwood wants to stay where he is, so Souter treats Underwood to the authority and language that only a Navy chief (or an Army or Marine top sergeant) can provide, and Underwood goes to the storage bin Souter has in mind.

The American strike arrives over the Japanese carriers an hour and three-quarters later. The Dauntless dive-bombers climb to 17,000 feet and orbit under cloud cover to await the slower Devastator torpedo-bombers. Down below, the carrier Shokaku turns into the wind to launch her combat air patrol, while her sister Zuikaku and her escorts hide in a nearby rain squall.

A Japanese dive-bomber struck in the Battle of the Coral Sea.

While the American planes maneuver, so do the American carriers. At 9:30, Yorktown changes course to 125 (east of southeast). At 9:48, her radar picks up a Japanese plane shadowing them 25 miles to the north. At 10:04, Yorktown is doing 15 knots. At 10:07, she changes course . . . 10:15, a Yorktown fighter splashes the shadower . . . 10:30, another course change . . . 10:40, Buckmaster maneuvers Yorktown so that his ship’s guns won’t have to fire toward Lexington when engaging enemy planes.

On the American carriers, Sherman’s theory proves right when Lexington’s radar reports “bogies” heading in 70 miles northeastward. Even so, Lexington’s fighter direction officer isn’t ready — one patrol has just been recovered, and only eight F4F Wildcats are over the carriers, all so low on fuel that they cannot intercept the attackers. This failure is a cause for disaster on the carriers this day, and a source of irritation for the Naval War College’s later analysis of the battle.

At 10:57, with the Yorktown planes in position, Torpedo Five’s Lt. Cdr. Joe Taylor leads the Devastator torpedo-bombers into attack on Shokaku, F4F Wildcat fighters weaving in and out to protect the slow, ungainly torpedo-bombers. Lt. Cdr. Joe Taylor, commanding Yorktown’s torpedo-bombers, radios Lt. Cdr. Bill Burch, Jr., the bombing squadron boss: “Okay, Bill, I’m starting in.” At that precise moment, Yorktown radar picks up one of two Japanese air groups heading at them, the dive-bombers, 68 miles away, in attack range in 20 minutes. Buckmaster opens Yorktown’s ventilation blowers to air the ship for three minutes, as “the air below was becoming very foul. Men were standing by any openings.” At 10:58, American radar picks up Japanese planes 40 miles away, the low-flying torpedo planes, closer than the dive-bombers.

The first American attack of the war on a Japanese fleet carrier does not meet with War College or schoolboy expectations. The Yorktown’s planes launch their torpedoes from too great a distance, and most miss. Those that do hit the Shokaku fail to explode, a problem that continues to bedevil the American torpedo men for all of 1942.

The dive-bombers are next. Dropping a bomb on a carrier is a new process, and the Americans are learning it for the very first time. If a pilot waits too long, he may be unable to pull out of his dive or fly into the blast of his own bomb. If he drops his bomb too soon, he may miss. Pilot and radioman are dependent. The radioman gives the pilot the “stand-by” signal when the SBD is approaching the 2,500-foot drop point, and “mark” when they reach that point. The pilot must then hit the release button and pull the plane out of the power dive, or the SBD will slam into the target. Another problem for the SBD in the Coral Sea: The humid, moist air fogs the bombsight near the bottom of the dive, making aiming difficult. A solution is to dive with the canopy open, which is neither comfortable at 250 mph nor safe amid Japanese flak and tracers.

Radioman-bombardier Lynn Forshee, an Iowa native and former Civilian Conservation Corps worker, is in an SBD flown by Lt. (jg) W.F. Christie. Forshee’s best friend, radio Johnny Kasselman, is in an SBD on Christie’s wing, flown by Ensign D.E. Chaffee. The two radiomen wear their dashing white silk scarves and check their master oscillator and power amplifiers as they prepare to dive on Shokaku. Forshee has to worry about attacking Zeros and still make sure he gives Christie the “stand-by” and “mark” for the pull-out. Tracers and Zeroes zoom all around him as Forshee spins in his seat between his altimeter and his machine-gun trigger. Their plane swoops down and drops its bomb. Forshee reports a hit on the flight deck.

Ensign John “Yogi” Jorgenson “turns over” next, doing 250 miles an hour, his radioman-gunner Anthony Brunetti, of Hartford, behind him. Both feel the plane shudder violently. Brunetti looks for Zeroes and instead sees a large hole in his plane’s right wing, the result of AA fire. Jorgenson struggles to right the plane and asks for help with the controls. Brunetti doesn’t have his control stick in place (so he can swivel his seat), and has to fend off two attacking Zeroes. But Brunetti can’t fire, because he will hit his own horizontal stabilizers. After what must be the longest minute of his life, Brunetti finally opens up up and his stream of bullets tears apart the Zero’s canopy, killing the pilot and sending it spiraling into the drink.

But a second Zero drops below the SBD’s tail and fires on Brunetti and Jorgenson from 100 yards back. Brunetti yells for Jorgenson to climb and give him a shot. Jorgenson firewalls his throttle. Brunetti gets the Zero in his sights, opens fire — and his .30-caliber machine-gun jams after only a few rounds. The Zero opens up with more powerful 20mm cannon. Brunetti struggles to remove the jam, but his white scarf streams out of his flight jacket, getting in the way. An irritated Brunetti hurls it out of the plane. As the scarf flies into the slipstream, the Japanese pilot breaks off and disappears.

Brunetti and Jorgenson pull out and hook up with two other Yorktown SBDs heading home. One pilot radios Brunetti, telling them that Jorgenson’s plane has had his landing gear shot away and will have to ditch. Jorgenson tells Brunetti that he’s been shot through the leg and is losing strength. Brunetti puts in his stick and tries to help Jorgenson fly the plane. They reach Yorktown. “Yogi made a beautiful approach, touching down between two swells, and the airplane nosed down, starting to sink. I just barely got the rubber life raft out of its compartment when we had to get clear as the airplane disappeared. With all those holes in it the plane didn’t stay afloat long.” Brunetti pushes the weak Jorgenson over the side and into the raft. Brunetti is too exhausted to get into the raft, and he clings to it, watching for sharks and waiting for rescue.

Back at the Shokaku, Lt. John J. “Jo-Jo” Powers makes his attack, with Aviation Radioman 2nd Everett Clyde Hill of Oakland in the back seat behind him. Powers swoops down through flak, and “completely disregarding the safety altitude and without fear or concern for his safety, Lt. Powers courageously pressed home his attack, almost to the very deck of an enemy carrier and did not release his bomb until he was sure of a direct hit. He was last seen attempting recovery from his dive at the extremely low attitude of 200 feet and amid a terrific barrage of shell and bomb fragments, smoke, flame and debris from a stricken vessel,” reads Powers’ posthumous Medal of Honor citation.

Yorktown under attack in the Coral Sea.

A memorial marker to Powers stands in Woodlawn Cemetery in his native Bronx. Hill is not mentioned in the Medal citation, but his parents, Mr. and Mrs. James T. Hill, receive the $10,000 G.I. life insurance.

The American dive-bombers score two hits, one forward on Shokaku’s starboard bow, setting off gasoline and damaging the flight deck. The big carrier is unable to launch her aircraft. The second hits well aft, smashes through the flight deck, and wrecks the repair center for airplane motors. The carrier burns furiously.

The Lexington group is less successful. Three of the Wildcat fighters escorting the SBD squadron get lost in the clouds and have to return to base. The Devastator torpedo-bombers reach the wrong position predicted from the 8:15 a.m. contact and find empty sea, to their sharp annoyance. They fly a box search to locate the enemy, and do so. But most of the dive-bombers fly into a thick overcast, can’t find anybody, and head home, short of fuel.

The Lexington’s attack group, reduced to 11 torpedo-bombers, four dive-bombers, and six fighters, spots the enemy at 11:40 a.m., eight minutes into the first leg of their box. The Japanese spot their attackers, too, and three Zero fighters on combat air patrol tear into the Americans. The F4F fighters keep the Zeros away from the bombers at a cost of three Wildcat fighters, and the TBD Devastator torpedo-bombers rumble in to attack on Shokaku. They do so at long range, and the Japanese are able to outrun the slow-moving torpedoes. Lexington’s dive-bombers attack next and add a hit to Shokaku’s already blazing deck, and report one carrier “settling fast.”

Actually, Shokaku isn’t. She’s lost 108 men killed and 49 wounded, but she has not been holed below the waterline. Despite Japanese damage-control deficiencies in training and equipment, the ship’s crew gets the fires under control, and her air control team orders the carrier’s planes to head for the undamaged Zuikaku.

Meanwhile, Christie and Forshee are also heading home. Forshee sees strange circles on his dungarees and realizes that sunlight is going through bullet holes in the fuselage and creating bright spots on his trousers.

Continued in part 3.

David H. Lippman, an award-winning journalist and graduate of the New School for Social Research, has written many magazine articles about World War II. He maintains the World War II + 55 website and currently works as a public information officer for the city of Newark, N.J.

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