Only one question now remained-what to do about Spruance?
While there was a strong consensus that he should be unleashed on the trapped Japanese, a vocal minority led by Vice Admiral Robert Ghormley felt there should be more assurances that the channel was actually blocked.
“It’s too big a risk,” Ghormley said. “It may look blocked, but we won’t know until the Japs try to get out. Give it a day, maybe two, and let’s verify it.”
The vice admiral’s voice carried weight. He had been responsible for planning the operation and knew more about its details than anyone else. However, Ghormley had a reputation for caution. Hardly a sin, Nimitz thought, but was it time to be reckless or time to go for the jugular?
Nimitz decided. “Send Spruance. The longer we wait and it is blocked, the more time the Japs’ll have to solve their problem.”
Jamie Priest was the runner who relayed the information to the radio center. Moments later, he was back in Nimitz’s conference room, exhilarated and fascinated by what was happening.
“Spruance acknowledged?” Nimitz asked.
“Yes, sir. No doubt about it.”
Nimitz nodded, then looked at Jamie with a curious smile. “Tell me, did the radio people note anything unusual with the transmission of his confirmation?”
Jamie was puzzled. “Sir?”
“Commander, did the signal come from where it was expected, or elsewhere?”
It was impossible to tell distance, but a good operator could get a feel for the direction of a signal. “Admiral, the operator said it came from a good deal farther north than he expected it to.”
Nimitz shook his head, then he grinned. “I’ll be damned. Ray Spruance left early,” he said, thinking of his admonition to Spruance to be careful. Then he laughed. “He’ll be there before the Japs can do a thing.” And, Nimitz thought, here’s to everyone who thought Spruance was too scholarly and indecisive for the command thrust upon him because of Halsey’s illness.
More than a dozen officers crowded into the office that overlooked Pearl Harbor. Admiral Yamamoto was the only one seated, while the others clustered around him. He saw no point in returning to the flagship Yamato. Neither it nor the remainder of the Japanese fleet was going anywhere for a while.
Yamamoto’s mouth was a grim slash, and he looked ashen. What had been an aggravating pinprick operation by the Americans had become a disaster. No matter how he tried to rationalize what had happened, he could not escape the fact that Japan had suffered its first significant naval loss in almost a century. The question of who had won or lost the battle in the Coral Sea had just become moot. Japan had definitely lost the second battle of Pearl Harbor with the sinking of the Akagi.
How the Americans had come up with such a resourceful and daring plan was almost irrelevant. Japan had lost a battle and, even more humiliating, had done so in front of many thousands of civilians. It would be Yamamoto’s responsibility to apologize to the emperor for his failure. He would do it and offer to retire.
But first he had to get his fleet out of its unwelcome anchorage. He noticed Commander Fuchida easing his way into the room. Fuchida was on crutches and had released himself from the hospital. He had broken his leg leaping from the burning Akagi and was lucky to be alive. He’d been pulled out of the oil-covered and flaming water only seconds before he would have been burned alive. Yamamoto ordered a second chair brought in, and Fuchida accepted it gratefully.
Admiral Nagumo would not be there. He had been on the bridge of the Akagi and was presumed incinerated. So too were the majority of the carrier’s pilots and crew. Fuchida had been lucky. Only a couple of hundred had survived the catastrophe, and many of those were severely burned. Maybe Nagumo had been lucky too, Yamamoto thought. He would not have to confront the results of the defeat.
“Is there good news?” the admiral asked.
“Only a little,” Commander Watanabe responded. “With the exception of the Akagi and some slight bomb damage to the Ryujo, we are in good shape. Our floatplanes and seaplanes continue their patrolling, and there is no sign of any American ships or planes-”
“However,” Yamamoto interrupted, “we have only a few of those virtually unarmed planes, and most of them have very limited range.”
“True,” Watanabe said.
“Then it is imperative that we get out of this harbor. What is the situation with the Akagi?”
Watanabe grimaced, and there was a distinct shuffling in the room. The Akagi lay on its side in the channel. A sizable portion of it remained above the water, and that part still burned fiercely. Oil and gasoline continued to spill out and burn on the water.
“The engineers say it will be sometime tomorrow before the fires are out. After that, the hulk must cool down sufficiently for the damage to be assessed. It is now confirmed that the Akagi was torpedoed as well as bombed. Several survivors, including Commander Fuchida,” he said and gestured to the commander, “have reported seeing torpedo tracks and explosions against her port hull.”
“And where is the sub?” Yamamoto asked.
“Gone. She escaped when our picket destroyers all went after the wreckage of the American flying boat that landed near the coast.”
Fools, Yamamoto thought, but the damage had been done. “What about other subs? Where there was one, there might be many.”
“The destroyers are back on station, Admiral. Their captains are properly chastened and are vigilant. No other submarines have been sighted.”
“Very well. Back to the Akagi. Can any ships leave, and when can she be moved?”
“With her still burning, it’s hard to tell. There may be room for destroyers to squeeze by, but not anything larger. As to moving her, the engineers are not optimistic. Traditionally, the holes in her hull would be plugged and then she would be righted as the water was pumped out. But this is a process that could take months under normal conditions for a ship her size.”
“No!” Yamamoto said harshly. “If we are here for more than a few days, the Americans will gather like wolves and savage us. If they figure out that we cannot move or launch planes, even their ships in the Atlantic will be steaming here. Tow her out.”
Watanabe was confused. “Sir, we don’t have any tugs strong enough to do that. The Akagi is not just aground. Her hull is full of water, and towing her in that condition will require a massive effort.”
Yamamoto glared at him and then at the others. “But we do have some of the most powerful warships in the world. Use the battleships as tugs. Attach lines to the Akagi and haul her off. Use every ship in the fleet if you have to. If the fires are out tomorrow, I want the lines attached as soon as possible. We must get our carriers out of here!”
Yamamoto took a deep breath and calmed himself. Then he turned to Fuchida. “I must presume that the effort will take time. While that is being done, I want planes to be taken off at least one of our carriers and be able to use the field on Ford Island. Can it be done?”
Fuchida thought quickly. The field on Ford was in bad shape, but that would be relatively easy to fix with plows and shovels. The planes were a different matter. They could not be flown off a carrier. They would have to be unloaded by crane and would quite likely have to have their wings removed. He thought there were cranes available on the shore, but he wasn’t certain. But, even if there were, had they been damaged in the earlier fighting?
Regardless, once the planes were on the ground, the wings would be reattached and the planes could either taxi or be pulled by truck to the field, from where they could begin to patrol and fight. But not until then. What an incredible mess.