Red sun setting, p.14
Red Sun Setting, page 14
Ozawa had not been timid about launching his planes. He had merely been awaiting more contact reports. When no further updates reached him, he began launching the planes of his carrier division. At 0856 the first Zeke left the deck of the Taiho. The Shokaku and Zuikaku also began launching planes. This strike of the 601st Air Group, led by Lieutenant Commander Akira Tarui, was Ozawa’s big punch—twenty-seven Jills carrying torpedoes; fifty-three Judys, each with a 1,000-pound bomb; and forty-eight Zekes providing escort. Two more Jills were sent ahead as pathfinders. Finally, the Taiho launched a Judy equipped with packages of “Window” to be used to create confusion on the American radar screens.9
The strike Ozawa launched from his own group of carriers was larger than that Admiral Nagumo had sent against Midway. But the year was 1944, not 1942; the Japanese were the underdogs now. In addition, Ozawa made a serious error in not coordinating his attacks. Instead of one massive blow that might have had a chance of breaking through the defending fighters, the two groups were spaced out far enough in time for the Americans to attack each in overwhelming numbers. (Given Obayashi’s impetuosity, a coordinated attack may have been impossible, anyway.) The planes from Admiral Joshima’s carriers, which could have proved useful, were also held back for the time being. Perhaps Ozawa was reserving Joshima’s planes for cleanup work.
As the planes of the 653rd Air Group thundered east, the Hellcats of TF 58’s CAP were already busy. At 0927 three Essex planes were vectored to investigate one of the bogeys that were beginning to speckle the task force’s radars. This one turned out to be a returning Avenger with an inoperative IFF. Four minutes later an unfriendly contact was picked up by the Hornet some 40 miles to the north. A Bataan division sighted the bogey, a Zeke, shortly and dropped it in the water. Several other bogeys escaped the CAP a short time later.
It was 0930 when Admiral Mitscher finally received the 0115 PBM sighting. His comments upon receipt of the message are unrecorded, but they must have come right from the heart.
While the CAP was swatting down a few enemy planes, one snooper was flitting about its job unmolested. Plane No. 15, which had been launched from CarDiv 1 about 0530, was on the inbound leg of its search pattern when it ran across a group of American ships at 0945. The pilot immediately reported sighting three carriers and a number of other vessels at 12 22’N, 143 43’E. This report was called the “15 Ri” contact by the Japanese. Unfortunately, the pilot of this search plane forgot to correct for compass deviation, and the reported point was miles south of TF 58’s actual position.
Fifteen minutes later another searcher had better luck in plotting the position of TF 58 units when he observed several vessels, including carriers, at 15 33’N, 143 15’E. This position was about 50 miles north of the “7I” point and was designated the “3 Ri” contact. As these searchers sent back their reports and Ozawa readied more strikes, the first two waves of attackers swept in toward TF 58.10
At 0957 the Alabama picked up the planes of Obayashi’s 653rd Air Group at a distance of 140 miles. The Iowa, Cabot, and Enterprise quickly verified the contact. A few minutes later the task force flagship Lexington also had contact. The bogeys were bearing 260 degrees from the task force and were in two groups at 121 and 124 miles. Their altitude was estimated as 20,000 feet.
All ships not already at General Quarters quickly set the condition. Lookouts strained their eyes staring through binoculars, trying to pick out the speck of an enemy aircraft before it got too close. All 5-inch mounts that could rotated to face west. The 40-mm guns whined as their barrels weaved about in anticipation of the battle.
At 1005 Mitscher ordered the task groups, “Give your VF over Guam, ‘Hey Rube!’”11 Lieutenant Joe Eggert, TF 58’s fighter director, sent out the old circus cry for help and then settled down for a busy few hours. Eggert, along with the five task group fighter directors (TG 58.1—Lieutenant C. D. Ridgeway; TG 58.2—Lieutenant R. F. Myers; TG 58.3—Lieutenant J. H. Trousdale; TG 58.4—Lieutenant Commander F. L. Winston; TG 58.7—Lieutenant E. F. Kendall) had a big responsibility during the battle. It was their job to see that enough fighters were vectored to the right spot at the right time to handle each raid, while seeing that sufficient planes were held back for later attacks. While Eggert handled fighter direction for the entire task force, each task-group controller handled the planes of his group. Any fighter director could allot aircraft to the director on an individual ship or even shift planes between task groups. It was an enormously complicated job that was handled superbly by all concerned.
Movements of opposing forces 0000-1130, 19 June.
Movements of opposing forces 0900-2400, 19 June.
One area that could have caused problems during the day was communications. At this time TF 58 was in the process of changing over to newer radio equipment, and there were only two channels available that were common to all ships. Although these channels were badly overworked throughout the day, they held up, and the fighter directors were able to keep in touch with their planes.
Besides the excellent work of the fighter directors and the efficient use of radar, this day the Americans had an ace in the hole. Lieutenant (jg) Charles A. Sims, a Japanese language expert, was aboard the Lexington and was able to monitor the enemy fliers’ radio chatter, thereby learning their plans in advance.
Most of the carriers were not in an ideal position to receive an attack, for their decks had been spotted for a strike against the Japanese fleet. Decks had to be cleared for use by the fighters, so Mitscher launched all his dive bombers and torpedo planes to orbit to the east until the battle was over. Any planes on the hangar decks that could not be launched immediately were dearmed and defueled.
At 1010 TF 58 was ordered to prepare to launch all available fighters. Nine minutes later came the “execute.” Task Force 58 swung around to the east and into the wind. Mitscher ordered his ships to assume their air defense formation.12 By heading eastward TF 58 would be drawing away from Ozawa’s ships, but would be able to launch and land planes at will.
By now TF 58’s formation was slightly askew. Instead of the nicely aligned formation that had been planned, TG 58.1 was twelve to fifteen miles due east of TG 58.3, while TG 58.4 was bearing 340 degrees, TG 58.2 160 degrees and TG 58.7 260 degrees from TG 58.3. These groups were also about twelve to fifteen miles distant from the flag group.
The first fighters began leaping off the decks at 1023 as Eggert was already vectoring the CAP’s from the Princeton, Essex, Hornet, Cowpens, and Monterey. Not wanting to get caught with his Hellcats below the attackers, Eggert sent most of them clawing up to 24,000 feet, while keeping some down low in the direction of the attackers.
VF-I Hellcats on the Yorktown prepare to launch on 19 June 1944. The Hornet is in the background.
Within fifteen minutes, about 140 Hellcats had been launched, while 82 others already airborne streaked west. The launch was swift, but now the Americans were helped by the Japanese. When the enemy planes (now designated as Raid I) closed to 72 miles they began to orbit. Their lack of training had begun to tell, and it would eventually prove immensely costly to them. Instead of diving in and closing with the enemy—knowing their targets and tactics like veterans would—they were being told by their group commander just what they were supposed to do. This briefing took almost fifteen minutes and provided the Hellcats with the time to gain valuable altitude and distance toward the enemy. It also provided the task force with that extra time to launch the last of the fighters. As the last F6Fs took off, the planes that had been over Guam began returning for refueling and rearming. Lieutenant (jg) Sims had now found the attacker’s radio frequency and was relaying the gist of the Japanese leader’s briefing to Eggert.
Their briefing over, the enemy fliers broke out of their orbit to start their run-in toward their targets. They were met by a wall of Hellcats ranging from 17,000 to 24,000 feet. More fighters were waiting lower, ready to pounce on any enemy plane that might try to sneak through at low altitude.
Fifty-five miles from the task force, Commander Charles W. Brewer, skipper of the Essex’s Fighting 15, spotted the enemy. It was 1025. Brewer estimated the raid as twenty-four “Rats” (bombers), sixteen “Hawks” (fighters) and no “Fish” (torpedo planes). Brewer had missed some of the planes. Eight torpedo planes had been sent, along with sixteen fighters and forty-five fighter-bombers. The enemy planes were at 18,000 feet. Sixteen of the planes (identified as Judys; actually Zeke fighter-bombers) were bunched together. Two four-plane divisions of Zeke fighters were at the same altitude; one division on each flank. Bringing up the rear, between 1,000 and 2,000 feet higher, were sixteen more Zekes. These were in “no apparent pattern of sections or divisions.” Behind the onrushing enemy planes streamed thick contrails. (The atmospheric conditions causing the contrails would give the ships’ crews a view of the battle few had seen before.)13
Brewer’s planes were in a perfect position for a “bounce.” Brewer rolled over from 24,000 feet and led his four planes in for an overhead pass. Lieutenant (jg) J. R. Carr took his four fighters in from the other side and the enemy formation was thus bracketed. The eight Essex fighters slashed into the enemy and the formation disintegrated.
Brewer picked out the formation leader as his first target. When he closed to 800 feet he opened fire and the Zeke blew up. Passing through the debris of the plane, he pulled up shooting at another Zeke. Half a wing gone, the enemy plane plunged flaming into the sea. Brewer picked off another fighter with a no-deflection shot from about 400 feet and the plane spun into the water in flames. Clearing his tail, Brewer saw a fourth Zeke diving on him. Racking his big Hellcat around, Brewer was quickly embroiled in a hot fight with the Zeke.
Commander Brewer was able to get on the Zeke’s tail and began snapping short bursts at the violently maneuvering fighter. The Zeke pilot “half-rolled, then after staying on his back briefly pulled through sharply, followed by barrel rolls and wingovers.”14 The maneuvers did not save him. His plane caught fire and spiraled into the ocean. After this kill, Brewer found the raid had been broken up. He had had an excellent interception—four for four.
Brewer’s wingman, Ensign Richard E. Fowler, Jr., also had a good day. On the first pass Fowler sent a Zeke smoking into the water. Diving through to 6,000 feet, Fowler jumped a couple of circling Zekes but overshot and found them, plus one more, glued to his tail. Another Hellcat distracted the enemy, and Fowler pulled around after them. He tried a 60-degree deflection shot at one and was amazed to see the plane suddenly snap roll in the opposite direction. Then he noticed that ten feet of the Zeke’s wing was missing. The enemy pilot bailed out, but his parachute did not open.
Fowler turned toward another Zeke off his right side. When he opened fire the Zeke began to “skid violently from left to right, and then started to whip even more violently sideways.”15 The Zeke’s vertical stabilizer had been sawed off. Fowler kept pumping shells into the doomed plane until it burst into flames. He then joined two more Hellcats chasing a Zeke, but when the enemy plane reached a cloud the other pilots turned back. Fowler kept going and caught the Zeke on the other side of the cloud. Though firing at an extreme range of 1,500 feet and with only one gun working, he sent the fighter into the ocean. Fowler wound up this interception by damaging another Japanese plane with his one gun.
On the other side of the Japanese formation, Lieutenant (jg) Carr was doing quite well also. His first victim was a Zeke that blew up immediately. Carr pulled up in a wingover and found another fighter a “sitting duck.”16 His .50-caliber slugs torched the fighter and it spiraled in. Another Zeke then jumped him and he pushed his Hellcat over. The dive left both the enemy and his wingman behind, and Carr now climbed back into the battle alone. As he climbed he picked off another fighter-bomber with a short burst to the engine and wing root. The plane exploded. Carr’s fourth and fifth victories were a pair of fighter-bombers he picked out 2,000 feet above him and paralleling his course. He pulled up on the right-hand Zeke and set its port wing on fire. Something left this plane which may have been the pilot, but Carr was too busy skidding onto the tail of the other plane to take much notice. Carr set this plane afire just aft of the engine and it started down. He split-essed to catch it, but it blew up before he could fire again. As he pulled out, he saw the first Zeke splash. No more enemy planes were visible as he climbed back up, so he headed for the Essex. On the way he tried to count the oil slicks and splashes in the water but stopped after seventeen. This first onslaught by the Essex pilots had been devastating. Twenty enemy planes were claimed and the slaughter was only beginning.
Shortly after Commander Brewer led VF-15 into the Japanese planes, more Hellcats waded into the fight. From the Cowpens came eight Fighting 25 F6Fs; a number of fighters from the Hornet, Princeton, Cabot, and Monterey followed, plus a few eager beavers from other flattops. The Cabot and Monterey pilots piled into the battle with vigor and claimed twenty-six more Japanese planes between themselves. The VF-31 pilots were especially effective, with five of the “Flying Meataxers” cleaving fifteen planes from the enemy formations. Lieutenant J. S. Stewart splashed three Zekes, as did Lieutenants (jg) F. R. Hayde and A. R. Hawkins, but the top scorer for the squadron was Lieutenant (jg) J. L. Wirth, with four planes.
As the Monterey fliers closed the attackers, a number of aircraft could be seen falling in flames. The VF-28 pilots added to the number in the next few minutes. Lieutenant D. C. Clements hit one Zeke with a high-speed pass from astern and the plane went down burning. As Clements rolled out, he saw two Zekes at his nine o’clock position. He tried a 90-degree deflection shot at one but missed. The Zeke began a climbing slow roll. Clements followed him through, snapping short bursts throughout the roll. As the Zeke dished out, it burst into flames. Clements next took out after another fighter which led him through some violent maneuvers followed by a 7,000-foot dive. He had been getting hits in the cockpit and engine area, but the Zeke would not burn. Finally, he rolled over the Zeke and saw the pilot slumped over the stick. The plane then slammed into the water. Clements next met another Zeke in a head-on pass, but with only one gun working, could do little damage. Finding his adversary a little too tenacious, he called for help and his wingman blew the Zeke off his tail.
Fighting 28’s high scorer was Lieutenant O. C. Bailey with four fighters. Bailey got his first Zeke with a full deflection shot from astern, and the plane left a corkscrew trail of smoke as it spun into the water. While attacking another fighter, Bailey overshot his intended target, but the enemy pilot turned toward Bailey’s wingman, Ensign A. C. Persson, who got him with a 45-degree attack from the rear. Another Zeke was seen low to starboard and the two Americans dove to the attack. The Zeke pilot tried to outscissor him, but Bailey got on the fighter’s tail and flamed it. The pilot bailed out.
By now no more enemy planes were evident and Bailey and Persson turned back toward the task force. As they neared TG 58.7, they were fired on by “friendly” ships and Persson’s F6F was hit. His left wing was badly damaged and his radio knocked out. Bailey shepherded his wingman back to the Monterey where Persson made a no-flap landing. Though the landing was good, the plane had been so damaged by the antiaircraft fire that it was unceremoniously stripped of all usable items and shoved overboard.
After seeing Persson safely home, Bailey headed back to where the action was. Flying at 20,000 feet, he saw a pair of Zekes about 4,000 feet below him. He rolled over and came in from astern. Bailey began firing at 400 yards at the trailing Zeke and continued until about 250 yards away. At this point the fighter burst into flames, flopped over on its back and went straight in. Bailey recovered underneath the other Zeke, pulled up and raked the plane with a burst. The Zeke dived away but after a short chase, Bailey nailed his fourth plane.
Commander William A. Dean, of the Hornet’s VF-2, saw twenty to twenty-five parachutes and “several dye markers in the water” during the course of the battle. The eight Hornet pilots claimed twelve enemy aircraft. Lieutenant (jg) Daniel A. Carmichael, Jr. led the Fighting 2 pilots with two Jills and a Zeke. A significant observation was made by Lieutenant (jg) John T. Wolf during a pass on a Zeke. With only one gun working and low on ammunition, Wolf scared one of the enemy pilots into dropping his belly tank and “what appeared to be a bomb.” During his debriefing Wolf told his intelligence officer about the incident and the I.O., correctly assessing the report, underscored Wolfs remarks when passing the word along. For the next few hours the American fliers would be considering Zekes as possible threats to the ships, not just in fighter combat.17
The eight Cowpens pilots came into the attack at 20,000 feet and only about 20 miles from the task force. The Americans knocked down five Jills and four Zekes, but it cost them. Lieutenant (jg) Frederick R. Stieglitz was heard over the radio to say “scratch one fish” and was last seen in the air giving hand signals to indicate that he shot down two planes, but he never returned to the “Mighty Moo” to confirm his score. Ensign George A. Massenburg was plagued by a “rough” engine and was pursued for a time by a Zeke, but a fellow pilot chased the enemy plane away. However, Massenburg’s engine finally seized and he had to set down in the water. Though he was seen to get into his life raft, he was not recovered.
In spite of the vicious onslaughts by the defending fighters, about forty of the Japanese planes broke through. Their formation had been cut up, however, and the survivors pressed on in small gaggles. Once again they were met by Hellcats, and once again smoke trails smudged the sky. Six pilots of the San Jacinto’s VF-51 found ten of the enemy fighting it out with about thirty U.S. planes several miles west of the task force. They shouldered their way into the brawl and claimed six enemy aircraft.
