Great Pacific War: A History of the American-Japanese Campaign of 1931-33 (31 page)

Even as the sound of this heavy cannonade far astern warned Admiral Templeton that something was amiss, his air scouts notified him of a new development. Having disposed of the Fourth Cruiser Division, Admiral Wada held on his northerly course for another five minutes and then swung sharp to the westward, his five battle-cruisers, thanks to their much greater speed, now drawing parallel with the rear of the American line, consisting of the Fourth Battleship Division. Originally the
Florida
and
Wyoming
, as the two weakest ships, were ahead of the three more powerful units of their Division, but as the action progressed and the line was advancing at full speed to fall upon the Japanese centre, the
Florida
and
Wyoming
had dropped behind and were now several cable-lengths astern of the rest. Upon these two ships fell the concentrated salvos of Admiral Wada’s battle-cruisers. In the few minutes that elapsed ere the rest of the Division —
Pennsylvania
,
Arizona
, and
Texas
— realised the position and came to the aid of their hard-pressed comrades, the Japanese guns had taken a heavy toll. Hit a dozen times by 16-inch and 14-inch shell, the
Wyoming
was leaking badly and had lost way. Her foremast and both funnels were gone, the stern group of turrets was disabled, and water was entering the starboard engine-room through a hit below the water-line. Still worse was the plight of the
Florida
. One of the first shells from the
Akagi
had struck the conning-tower, killing Admiral Hubbard and most of his staff. The ship was thus temporarily out of control, and before she could be steadied on her course she was hit by three full salvos.

Then an amazing thing happened. One, or perhaps two, of her after magazines must have exploded, for the whole stern section of the ship blew up, and those who were watching expected every instant to see her go to the bottom. But although practically one-third of her hull had been blown away, the battleship still kept afloat, and afloat she remained when the enemy passed on to seek other prey. Not until half an hour later did the
Florida
take her final plunge. The delay enabled all her surviving officers and men to be saved, but 350 had perished.

Having delivered this brilliant stroke and inflicted such heavy loss on the American rear, Admiral Wada would have done well to retrace his course and join the main fleet, since by now he had drawn upon himself the attention of all the American battleships. Moreover, he had saved the situation, his surprise attack having relieved the strain on the Japanese centre; for the American Commander-in-Chief, on finding part of his line between two fires, had hauled off to the north-east and was now coming down to deal with this daring antagonist. But whether Admiral Wada stretched his orders or became momentarily seized with the lust of battle is a question upon which even the Japanese historians are at variance. It is certain, however, that he held straight on to the west and fought a running action with more than half the American battle fleet before finally turning away to rejoin Admiral Hiraga. But by then it was too late.

Before the
Florida
and
Wyoming
were battered into silence their guns had done good work, inflicting heavy punishment upon the
Akagi
and the
Haruna
. The former’s thick armour saved her from serious injury, but the
Haruna
had a big hole just forward of the bow turret, and steaming as she was at twenty-nine knots a great deal of water from the bow wave poured through this rent. Very soon she was perceptibly down by the head and it became necessary to slacken speed. In the meantime the
Akagi
,
Hiyei
, and
Kongo
had all suffered in exchanging salvos with the other American battleships, the
Hiyei
having a turret blown up.

It was at this juncture that Admiral Wada, belatedly thinking of discretion, tried to disengage his squadron, relying on his great speed to do this without difficulty. But the
Haruna
had now dropped to twenty-two knots, nor could she maintain this pace for long without putting a perilous strain on her bulkheads. As more water entered her bows she slowed to eighteen knots and then to sixteen, at which moment the other battle-cruisers were racing past her on their way to rejoin the fleet. The Americans, observing the
Haruna’s
crippled condition, were plying her with shell, and so intense was the fire focussed upon her that she was frequently obscured by a forest of great waterspouts.

Admiral Wada may well have hesitated as to his course of action. To stand by his stricken consort meant the destruction of his whole squadron, yet to leave her to her fate was an act which, however necessary, must have been repugnant both to him and his gallant comrades. His next movements were marked by an indecision which was not, perhaps, unnatural in the circumstances. For a few minutes he circled round the
Haruna
, drawing upon his other ships part of the fire which had scourged her; but this manoeuvre did not suffice to avert disaster. Riddled with shell, waterlogged, and unmanageable, the
Haruna
was clearly doomed, and now American airplanes were winging down to finish her off. Seeing that no more could be done, Admiral Wada steamed away at his best speed, leaving the great ship in her death-throes. She did not sink until 6.40 p.m., her exceptionally well subdivided hull having withstood five torpedoes from the airplanes before its buoyancy was finally destroyed. Out of her complement of 1,200, over 300 officers and men were picked up.

This, however, was not the only loss that Admiral Wada had to lament. During his headlong flight his ships were hit frequently by shell, and the
Kongo
, with her steering-gear damaged, sheered out of line just as the squadron was leaving the zone of fire. A minute later she was attacked by six American airplanes, which charged home regardless of a heavy fire and planted two torpedoes in her side. Though still afloat, she could now barely move, and as other planes were swooping down to lance her vitals anew, Admiral Wada saw the futility of lingering on the scene. With his squadron reduced to three units, all of which bore the scars of battle, he held on his course, tormented by the persistent airplanes which followed in the hope of claiming yet another victim, but eventually winning through to the battle fleet without further loss.

Incidentally, the torpedo-plane had once more demonstrated its complete superiority over the bombing machine as an instrument of naval combat. The heaviest bombs carried by planes which it was possible to operate from the carrier ships were 600-pounders, and in no case did these prove effective against capital ships, though several smaller vessels were destroyed by them. Nothing less than a 1,000-pounder bomb appeared to be capable of inflicting vital injury on a capital ship, and missiles of this calibre could not be transported by ship planes, though well within the capacity of machines flying from a shore base.

While the action so far had surpassed in fury every other sea fight of modern times, the issue still hung in the balance. During the heaviest phase of the cannonade against the Japanese centre, the
Hiuga
had been hit repeatedly, and but for Admiral Wada’s timely intervention both this ship and the
Ise
would probably have been destroyed. As it was, the
Hiuga
had half her guns out of action and three thousand tons of water in her hull. The
Ise
could still use most of her armament, but was terribly battered, and with her rudders disabled was compelled to manoeuvre by means of her screws. But even in these critical moments the Japanese gunners had fired with cool precision, and their handiwork was painfully apparent in the American line.

The
New
Mexico
presented a most extraordinary spectacle. While turning suddenly to avoid her next ahead (the
Mississippi
), whose steering-gear had been damaged, she was raked by successive salvos which swept her deck like a giants broom. Her funnel, both cage masts, and most of the superstructure were wrecked. The mainmast in its collapse fell diagonally athwart the two after turrets, effectually masking their fire for the rest of the day.
[10]
In the unarmoured 5-inch battery a heavy shell burst among the crews who were standing by to repel destroyer attack, and caused dreadful carnage. The salvos which wrought such havoc in the
New
Mexico
were believed to come from the
Nagato
, whose firing was observed to be particularly accurate all through the battle. The
Mississippi
was also handled very roughly by this ship and the
Mutsu
, and only kept her station in the line with difficulty.

It was now 7 p.m. Taking advantage of the diversion created by his battle-cruisers, Admiral Hiraga steamed at his utmost speed towards the north-west, his rear ships being now some 30,000 yards ahead of the American van. But for the loss in speed suffered by certain of his vessels, he could easily have shaken off pursuit; but he was forced to suit his pace to that of the crippled
Hiuga
, whose speed was reduced to seventeen knots. Still, night was coming on, and if the enemy could be kept at bay for another hour or two, the fleet would be safe, for the Americans were unlikely to press the chase so far as to the westward, if only because their fuel would be running low. Moreover, they had several damaged ships to embarrass their movements. The Second Division, which had suffered most, was now the Japanese van, while the First Division, comprising the three most powerful ships —
Kaga
,
Nagato
, and
Mutsu
— followed in its wake. Further astern the destroyer flotillas kept a smoke-screen permanently in the air, and planes from the carriers fought gallantly to keep the American aviators from coming within sight of the fleet. These precautions notwithstanding, two or three American machines were able to report its movements, and Admiral Templeton, realising that the last chance of getting in a decisive blow was slipping away, resolved to strike while yet there was time. Leaving the more badly injured ships in charge of cruisers and destroyers, he pressed forward with twelve battleships at a speed of twenty knots, and at 7.20 p.m. had the satisfaction of finding the quarry again within reach of his guns. In view of the failing light and the Japanese smoke-clouds, long-range practice controlled by aircraft would have been ineffective, so Admiral Templeton did not begin firing until the range was down to 16,000 yards. Then his First and Second Divisions opened with all guns, to be reinforced soon afterwards by such ships of the Third and Fourth Divisions as had been able to maintain the pursuit. The principal target was the
Kaga
, but other ships were directed to concentrate on the
Mutsu
, and, as the range still further decreased, the
Nagato
also.

Most American versions of this phase of the action lay stress upon the grim grandeur of the scene. In the gathering dusk every flash of gun or exploding shell was intensely brilliant, and the tall columns of water thrown up by falling shot stood out against the gloom like giant wraiths emerging from some spirit world of the undersea. Though the distance was short for the big guns that were in action, visibility was so poor that hits were infrequent, and at 7.30 p.m. Admiral Templeton ordered salvo firing to cease while the line forged steadily onward, from time to time checking the range-takers’ figures by a sighting shot. At 7.45, after “browning” with salvos of shrapnel and high-explosive the Japanese destroyers which had been putting up the smokescreen, he sent two of his own destroyer squadrons to drive them off. This was accomplished, though not without serious loss to the American boats. At 8 p.m., the range then being down to 13,000 yards, and visibility, thanks to the partial dispersion of the smoke-screen, somewhat improved, the Admiral reopened with all guns on the Japanese battleships, which immediately replied. At this comparatively short range hitting began almost at once, and there were moments when the
Kaga
seemed to be spouting flame at every seam, so continuous were the shell-bursts on her sides and decks. Nor did the ships ahead of her escape their due meed of punishment. Every man in the American fleet, knowing this to be the final chance of settling accounts with the enemy, did his utmost to ensure a crushing victory. But although engaged in so unequal a combat, the Japanese fought with iron determination. At 8.05 the
Colorado
had her forward turret wrecked, and almost simultaneously received two hits which drove in her armour and started a dangerous leak. With her guns still roaring, she dropped out of the line, but not before she was able to claim a share in disabling the
Kaga
, which was now heavily on fire and losing way.

In truth, the great Japanese battleship had taken her death-blow. The merciful darkness hid her gaping wounds, but flames were leaping from rents in her hull and only one turret remained in action. As she came abreast of the American line, practically every ship turned its guns on her. Under this torrent of levin-bolts she seemed to crumple up. Louder than the din of gunfire and bursting shell were the explosions that now racked her as the fire reached the forward magazines. The end came in one mighty volcanic eruption that shook the heavens, lighting up the whole sea with the glare of noonday. Then all was darkness again, and though American destroyers dashed to the spot on an errand of mercy, they found no trace of ship or crew. A vessel of 40,000 tons, manned by 1,500 souls, had been utterly blotted out.