Inferno - Max Hastings [161]
At 2:30 p.m., a wave of Japanese torpedo bombers from the Hiryu closed on the Yorktown, which again flew off fighters. Ensign Milton Tootle had just cleared the deck of the carrier in his Wildcat when the attackers closed in. Tootle turned through the American antiaircraft barrage, shot down an enemy plane, then was himself downed by a Zero after a flight lasting barely sixty seconds; he was lucky enough to be rescued from the water. Several attackers were shot down, but four launched their torpedoes, two of which struck the carrier. The ocean flooded in, and the ship took on a heavy list. Just before 3:00 p.m., the captain ordered the Yorktown abandoned. The decision was possibly premature, and the ship might have been saved, but in 1942 less was known about damage control than the U.S. Navy had learned two years later. Destroyers rescued the entire crew, save those who had perished during the attacks.
At 3:30 p.m., at Fletcher’s behest Spruance launched another strike, by twenty-seven dive-bombers, including ten Yorktown planes which had landed on his flattops while their own ship was being attacked. Just before 5:00, these reached the Hiryu while its crew were eating riceballs in their mess decks. The ship had sixteen aircraft left, ten of them fighters, but only a reconnaissance plane was airborne, and the Japanese now lacked radar to warn of the Americans’ coming. Four bombs struck the carrier, starting huge fires. Little Adm. Tamon Yamaguchi, the senior officer aboard, mounted a biscuit box to deliver a farewell address to the crew. Then he and the captain disappeared to their cabins to commit ritual suicide, while the remaining seamen were taken off. The stricken ship was scuttled with torpedoes: four of the six carriers that had attacked Pearl Harbor were now at the bottom of the Pacific. On the American side, the Hornet’s ill-fortune persisted when a pilot, returning wounded, accidentally nudged his gun button as he bumped down heavily onto the flight deck. A burst of fire killed five men on the superstructure. The returning airmen were shocked by their losses, but in Jimmy Gray’s words, “We were too tired and too busy to do more than feel the pain of an aching heart.”
The American sacrifice had been heavy, but victory was the reward. Admiral Nagumo opted for withdrawal, only to have his order countermanded by Yamamoto, who demanded a night surface attack on the Americans. This was frustrated when Spruance turned away, recognising that his fleet had accomplished everything possible. The disengagement was finely judged: Yamamoto’s battleships, of which the Americans knew nothing, were closing fast from the north. Spruance had achieved an overwhelming balance of advantage. His foremost priority now was to maintain this, protecting his two surviving carriers. Yamamoto acknowledged failure, and ordered a Japanese retreat. Spruance again turned and followed, launching a further air strike which sank one heavy cruiser and crippled another. This was almost the end of the battle, save that on 7 June a Japanese submarine met the burnt-out Yorktown under tow, and dispatched her to the bottom. This blow was acceptable, however, set against the massive Japanese losses.
Both Nimitz and Spruance had displayed consummate judgement, contrasted with Yamamoto’s and Nagumo’s errors. The courage and skill of America’s dive-bomber pilots overbore every other disappointment and failure. The U.S. Navy had achieved a triumph. Nimitz, with characteristic graciousness, sent his car to bring Commander Rochefort to a celebration party at Pearl Harbor. Before his assembled staff, the commander-in-chief said: “This officer deserves a major share of the credit for the victory at Midway.” Luck, which favoured the Japanese in the