Cruiser (55 page)

With her upper decks a shambles of wreckage, corpses and the wounded, her captain, Commander Cecil May, gave the order to abandon ship.
Electra
had fought in the Norwegian fjords; she had rescued the three sole survivors from HMS
Hood
and more from
Repulse
and
Prince of Wales
. Now it was her turn to go. She slid below the surface at 6 pm, White Ensign still flying. From the water, against a rising moon, her survivors could see the tall figure of May waving to them from his shattered bridge as he went down with her. They gave him a rousing British cheer. Some of them were rescued the next day by an American submarine.

With dusk deepening, Doorman now apparently attempted to disengage from the enemy, with a flurry of confusing orders to the American destroyers. Commander Henry Eccles, Captain of the four-piper
John D. Edwards
, seethed at the Admiral's indecision, releasing his frustration in his report after the battle:

They hit nothing. It had been a defiant gesture but that was all. With their torpedoes gone, the destroyers were now effectively useless, but they steamed on with the cruiser force
into the lowering night. At this time,
De Ruyter
,
Houston
and
Java
had sustained some minor damage from enemy hits and near misses.
Perth
, still blessed with Hec's Luck, was unscathed, although her guns were hot and scorched and, with brass shell casings littering the decks around her turrets, her ammunition was running low. On the plus side, Waller and Hancox believed they had scored hits on a Japanese cruiser, possibly
Haguro
. Below decks was a junkyard of broken furniture, glass and crockery and anything else that had come loose. The ship's company, red-eyed with fatigue, wringing wet with stale sweat, hoped the gathering night would bring them some relief.

For a brief period, it did. For all their successes, the Japanese were growing nervous. Admiral Takagi feared he was being lured towards minefields on the Java coast, and at around 6.30 pm he retired north to more closely protect the troop convoy. Doorman groped about in the dark, first to the north-east, then the north-west, at one point sending off a plaintive signal to Helfrich: ‘Enemy retreating to the west. Contact broken. Where is the convoy?' Helfrich had no answer. Nor did the fortunes of war, for, unknown to Doorman, he had actually come within 35 kilometres of the troop transports – the goal he had been seeking all day and now into a wanly moonlit night.

The Japanese, though, knew exactly where he was. Takagi's aircraft had been shadowing the Striking Force with almost contemptuous ease. Just before 7.30 pm, Waller sighted four ships emerging from the dark on his port beam – apparently cruisers and destroyers:

At around this time, the four American destroyers turned it in. There was no point in going on. With no torpedoes left, running low on fuel and – more startling still – with no further orders from the Admiral, the old four-pipers had no more part to play in the battle. They, too, withdrew to Surabaya.

Now it was Doorman's turn to fear a trap. He decided to turn south once more, back towards the Java coast, hoping to encounter the invasion transports as they landed. It was not an illogical decision but again it had lethal consequences. He led the Striking Force into shallow water and a newly laid minefield. The shallow water was his mistake, for this was his coast and he, or
De Ruyter
's Captain or Navigator, should have known it. But the minefield was not his fault. In the ABDA three-ring circus ashore, where nobody ever seemed to talk to anybody else, he had not been told it was there. Waller in
Perth
and Captain Albert Rooks on the bridge of
Houston
were alarmed to notice muddy brown water brewing up in a stern wave beneath them – a sure sign they might run aground at any minute.
Houston
actually began to vibrate and lose speed as the bottom shoaled. Both captains immediately turned seawards, anxiously seeking more depth beneath their keels.

The destroyer HMS
Jupiter
, slightly inshore from the cruisers, was not so lucky. She hit a mine. It was 9.25 pm. Her starboard side was blown in, the sea rushed through the yawning wound and flooded her engine room, and she was soon on fire and listing heavily. The Striking Force steamed on; like the others before her,
Jupiter
was left on her own. Her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Norman Thew, battled to keep her afloat for four hours – a remarkable piece of seamanship by night that bought time to get 78 of her survivors into boats and away to the Java shore.

Again, the cruisers fell into line,
De Ruyter
leading to the north once more on shifting courses as Doorman, like a blind man, fumbled for the transports. The enemy added insult to injury. In a scene that must have been almost surreal, an aircraft flare burst above the Striking Force and six flaming
white lights drifted down to float gently on the water. Some people suspected a new and infernal form of aerial mine, but Hec Waller correctly deduced that Japanese floatplanes were dropping calcium flares, beacons to reveal their every move:

The minutes, then the quarter-hours, ticked by in a pregnant silence broken only by the occasional helm order until, like the final act of a Shakespearean tragedy, a new twist of the plot inserted itself. Bridge lookouts in
Perth
and
Houston
heard voices calling from nearby and whistles blowing. Peering into the night, they saw small figures bobbing in the water and life rafts crowded with men waving and shouting. Dutch survivors from the
Kortenaer
were still afloat, five hours after they had been torpedoed. This time, they were rescued, although whether Doorman relented at last and ordered their recovery is not clear. At considerable risk to his ship, Lieutenant-Commander Eric St John Morgan, Captain of
Encounter
, the last of the British destroyers, stopped to lower boats and took 113 Dutchmen on board. Then he, too, returned to Surabaya.

Layer by layer, the Combined Striking Force had been stripped to a forlorn core. Of the 14 Allied cruisers and destroyers that had begun that day, there were but four of the cruisers left:
De Ruyter
,
Perth
,
Houston
and
Java
. They steamed on in that order, their path lit every so often by another eruption of the ghastly calcium flares before each Japanese aircraft returned to its mother ship.
Perth
and
Houston
were by now running critically low on ammunition, so much so in the American cruiser that her crew had to manhandle shells from the inoperable after turret along the upper deck to the for'ard guns – a back-breaking task even in harbour. By night, at sea, under fire, it was heroic.

In yet another of ABDA's tragic ironies, unknown to the men at sea, they had a friend above in the moonlight. A Catalina PBY reconnaissance aircraft of the US Navy's Patrol Wing 10, flown by Ensign Duncan ‘Duke' Campbell, had headed north from Surabaya at sunset. Campbell located the Striking Force at 8 pm and, an hour and a half later, flew over the invasion convoy itself, counting an endless armada arrayed below him. But he had no way of contacting Doorman to inform him, so he radioed his report back to Surabaya. His message was lost in the bottomless incompetence of the command ashore, and it did not reach Doorman for another 90 minutes. By then, it was too late. Far too late.

At 10.30 pm, each side sighted the other again. They were on nearly parallel but opposing courses, the Striking Force heading slightly north-east, Admiral Takagi and his heavy cruisers
Nachi
and
Haguro
running in the opposite direction some 15,000 metres to port, or to the west, of the Allied cruisers. They opened fire simultaneously but more slowly now, the crews on either side close to exhaustion. Takagi then turned to head north again, closing the range to keep touch with Doorman on his starboard side. Fred Skeels, on the 4-inch gun deck, had a grandstand view:

This time, the Long Lance torpedoes did their work. It was the fifth Japanese torpedo attack of the battle.
Nachi
launched eight of them and
Haguro
four. First,
Java
was struck, then
De Ruyter
.
Java
's entire after part exploded in a monstrous ball of fire; her back broke and her bow reared into the air. Fred Skeels could see ‘men jumping for their lives into the inky unknown', but the agony was brief, for the elderly Dutch cruiser went down within minutes.

De Ruyter
struggled on a little longer but then she too blew up, an eruption that set fire to her pyrotechnics locker. Flares and rockets shot into the sky in a macabre fireworks display before a sheet of flame swept her from stem to stern.
Perth
, next in line, swerved on full helm with one engine stopped to miss her – Hard Over Hec was at it again – and
Houston
had to do the same, lunging sharply to starboard to avoid
Perth
. It was a near-run thing.
Perth
shaved so closely by
De Ruyter
's flaming hulk that Tag Wallace could hear the agonised screams of trapped men and, he thought, ‘smell the unmistakable odour of burning flesh'.
¹⁷

Karel Doorman went down with his flagship. He had survived the torpedo hit and the fire and could have left with his men, but he chose not to do so. A 1995 Dutch documentary film of the battle,
De Slag in de Javazee
,
¹⁸
interviewed a
De Ruyter
survivor who believed he was the last to see the Admiral alive. He recalled Doorman and the ship's Captain, Eugène Lacomblé, making their way along a passageway filled with flame and smoke. The two went into Lacomblé's cabin, he said, and there they shot themselves.

Perhaps it is best for Doorman's reputation that he did not survive. His bravery was magnificent but his inexperience in command at sea – and the incompetence of the ABDA organisation – brought him and the Combined Striking Force
to a tragic end. The Battle of the Java Sea was an Allied catastrophe. And, once again, air superiority had played a crucial role. No bombers or fighters had been involved, but the floatplanes from the Japanese cruisers had given Admiral Takagi a cutting advantage. For all the sound and fury, the Japanese did not lose a single ship, warship or transport, and their invasion of Java was delayed by just 24 hours. To this day, Doorman is a naval hero in the Netherlands, with three ships of the Royal Netherlands Navy bearing his name in post-war decades, but the verdict of history might be left to one who was there, Commander Eccles of the American destroyer
Edwards
: