But the crew of the Yamato would not be so fortunate. He had no illusions. It was extremely likely that the American planes and ships would find and attack the two battleships with overwhelming force. The gambler in him estimated the two battleships’ chances of survival as one in fifty.
Many of the Yamato’s crew would not look at him and those who did showed faces full of dismay, disappointment, shock, and anger. Japan had been defeated. How could that be? Yamamoto had no answer. All he knew was that the men of the Yamato would likely all die within the next few hours unless a miracle occurred, and he did not believe in miracles. He accepted their anger at him as his due. He had failed.
The floatplanes reported that the navy fighters and bombers had ceased their attacks on the two Japanese battleships. One, the Kongo, was reported to be down at the bow and barely making headway, while the other, the monster Yamato, still steamed slowly. The Kongo had been towing the Yamato, but they had separated.
American pilots confirmed that the Yamato was moving in a wide circle to starboard. Skillful ship handling had enabled the Yamato to lengthen the distance between herself and both the coast of California and the approaching American carrier. At the rate she was moving, however, it would take an eternity for her to make it to safety.
The United States Navy in the Pacific was again down to one aircraft carrier, the Essex, and she was just about out of ordnance. Her bombs had been used up and so too had her pilots. A couple of planes had crashed while trying to land on the Essex, which caused Admiral Spruance, now on the battleship Washington, to call a halt to the attacks. The Essex would be resupplied and her pilots rested before she resumed the fight.
Thus, the older battleships and Admiral Jesse Oldendorff entered the field of battle. The Colorado and Mississippi had been augmented by the Pennsylvania, a survivor of the attack on Pearl Harbor. The admiral now flew his flag on the Pennsylvania, which he considered appropriate when he thought of her history and her resurrection from Pearl Harbor. Admiral Nimitz’s foresight in moving his squadron from Puget Sound to join with the Pennsylvania at San Francisco caused Oldendorff to smile. He wanted nothing more than to strike back with his battleships before they were sent to a museum. The defeat of the Japanese squadron off Anchorage, while satisfying, had not been enough. He and the ships’ crews all wanted a shot at the enemy, battleship to battleship. It didn’t matter if the Kongo and Yamato were damaged; he wanted his ships’ guns in at the kill.
“Greene, how far can an eighteen-inch gun fire?”
Commander Mickey Greene rubbed his still-raw jaw. It was a hell of a question and nobody really knew the answer. Nobody had ever seen an eighteen-inch gun and had no idea of its range or velocity. A really good gun of that size had been considered an impossibility. Once again, the Japanese had been underestimated.
“I’ve got to guess at least twenty-five miles, sir, maybe closer to thirty.”
The admiral turned to the rest of his staff. “All of which means we’ll be within range of her guns before we can hit her. Assuming, of course, that the monster has any guns left that can fire after all the punishment she’s been taking.”
Greene swallowed. Of course the Yamato would have weapons left. No matter how many times the ship had been hit by bombs and torpedoes, she was still afloat and moving and had to be presumed dangerous.
Oldendorff gave the orders. “We will concentrate on finishing off the Kongo. The Mississippi and Colorado will go to port and we will go to starboard. She’ll be between us and we’ll bracket her quickly.”
It almost wasn’t necessary. The American ships opened fire on the badly damaged Kongo at just under twenty miles. Colored dye showed which splashes came from which ship and within only a few minutes, the battleships’ fourteen- and sixteen-inch shells began smashing what was left of the Kongo. Several explosions ripped through the Japanese battleship and she began to list to port. There was no return fire and no sign of lifeboats being lowered. Nor were any Japanese sailors jumping from the doomed vessel into the ocean. If there were any living souls on the Kongo, they had determined to go down with her.
Or maybe their officers wouldn’t let them run, Greene thought. The Japanese were all nuts, so their sailors would likely obey such an order and die at their stations. He saluted their bravery, but not their common sense. Why the hell would anybody want to die when they could live? At first he had wanted to die when he saw the mess the fires had made of his face, but that went away. Yeah, he would be scarred and they would remind him of his ordeal every day, but most of the worst had faded and he would live a reasonably normal life.
The Yamato was nearly forty miles away from the destruction of the Kongo. Even though over the horizon, smoke from the numerous fires slowly destroying her was plainly visible. Vectored in by the pall and the guidance of the floatplanes, the three battleships again began their dance. At twenty miles, they opened fire. Again the brightly colored splashes guided the shells until they too smashed into what had been the massive symbol of Japanese might.
There was no response and the American ships continued to move in closer until they were firing at only a few miles, point-blank range. The three American ships formed a line so their shells wouldn’t hit each other, and prepared to launch torpedoes.
“The damn thing won’t sink, won’t stop,” muttered Green.
Oldendorff heard and nodded. “We may be pumping shells into a corpse. If the torpedoes don’t kill her, we’ll just pull back and let her steam in circles for all eternity. For all we know, her engines are so well protected we haven’t done a thing to them.”
They moved closer, now only a couple of miles away. Through binoculars, Green and others could see the utter destruction on her deck.
Wait! Was that motion? Green stared at the sternmost turret on the ship, the “D” turret. Yes, it was slowly turning and her guns were rising. The sons of bitches had been lying low. The three guns pointed directly at the Pennsylvania like three massive eyes and then fired.
All three giant shells slammed into the Pennsylvania. The American battleship was well-armored but not against this. Two shells penetrated her hull and a third struck her superstructure. The ship reeled from the titanic shock. One, the shell that struck her superstructure, obliterated all traces of life there, while one of the shells that pierced her hull found one of her magazines. A few seconds later, the Pennsylvania exploded. She broke in half with the two pieces floating briefly before slipping beneath the waves and taking her entire crew with her.
In a vengeful fury, the crews of the two remaining American battleships ships first pounded the surviving turret into rubble and then fired every shell and torpedo they had, reducing the Yamato to a burning hulk. After an eternity, she rolled on her side and sank.