“Fletcher?”
“He’s senior to Reeves on the Wasp, so I put him back in the saddle with Taffy-18. He can take Wasp and Shiloh east and screen that damn sealift operation, but by God, I’m going to keep my fighters in range of Suva, come hell or high water.”
“Well we might just end up getting both,” Captain Murray warned. “You’re going to split up the Task Group and then wait here for the whole enemy force to come at us? That last sighting report had them coming due east. It looks like they mean business.”
“Well I mean business too,” said Halsey with a scowl, “but we won’t stand here with our chin out. We’ll do the same thing we pulled two days ago, and swing south. They had to pull most of the Wildcats off Suva and post them to isolated bases when those Jap battleships made a run at the place. Now they’ve nothing more than those obsolete Army Aircobras. Hell, they even moved the PBYs back to Pago Pago. That’s where we’ll be fighting this battle next if we don’t stop them here. So we swing south, but stay in range of Suva so I can cover the field with a few Wildcats.”
“And what if they hit us with everything they have? We could lose both Enterprise and Hornet, and that would leave the Fletcher Group the only flat top we have worth mentioning.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take.”
“A risk you’ll have to take… Aw, hell, I didn’t mean it that way. Admiral, sir, my men will back you 110% out here, but I just hope to God you know what you’re doing.”
Halsey gave him just the hint of a smile. “Funny you should mention that,” he said, “because He and I were discussing this situation just last night, and the lord on high tells me he has our back this time. Come about, Captain. Give me 180 South and ahead full. You get the flags up for Mitscher with this, and I’m off to send Fletcher his marching orders east. He’s about to comply with Fleet Order 140, Fifth of May, 1942. I have business elsewhere.”
Halsey was dividing his force in the face of the enemy attack. One day historians might squint and say he was brash, and acted stupidly, but not today, not on the 5th of May, 1942. Most of the men who would analyze and second guess the fighting Admiral were still waiting to be born.
They came out of the north, flying right through tall rising columns of thunder storms to get there. The weather had been so bad in the pre-dawn hours of May 5th that Halsey only had four Wildcats off each of his two carriers up on patrol, and all they could think of was getting out of that turbulence and seeing if they could land in that mess. Heavy seas move a flight deck around quite a bit. You could time a wave set better for takeoff, and even use that to good advantage when the bow would fall away and help a plane get airborne, but landing was a hazardous affair. That deck could suddenly swing up when you didn’t expect it , and smack your plane right in the belly.
The Japanese were up in spite of the storm, and out to bring a little thunder and lightning to their enemy. Nagumo’s search planes had seen the American fleet late the previous day. Yet morning searches noted one group heading east, another bearing south. Nagumo considered that the withdrawing unit might be no more than bait, and resolved to strike south, keeping his carriers close to the Fijis.
It was a very good guess, and Admiral Hara’s 5th Carrier Division led the way, with Zuikaku, and light carriers Zuiho and Shoho. They would open the action with 21 B5N torpedo planes led by Lt. Yoshiaki Subota, the cream of what was left in the fleet for that plane type after Nagumo’s disastrous use of the torpedo bombers to conduct that long range strike earlier. Another two Chutai of D3A Dive Bombers was led by Lt. Tamatsu Ema, the heavyset bearded wonder of the dive bomber squadrons. His plane was clearly evident in the lead, its scarlet tail impossible to miss. His second Chutai was one plane light, but its Chutachio, Lieutenant Hayashi, Had boasted he would make up for the missing plane personally.
The men were in high spirits that morning, in spite of the weather, and the gloom that had enfolded Hayashi the last few days dissipated now that the adrenaline of battle was flowing in his blood again. Thos odd dreams of rockets in the sky no longer bothered him. It was only lightning now, and the occasional rumble of thunder, which seemed to set the scene for him perfectly. They were the Thunder Gods now, he thought. They were out to avenge the loss of their sister ship, Soaring Crane.
In spite of the bad weather, the raid was detected on radar about 77 miles out, some 30 minutes before they would get over Halsey’s carriers. Even with that lavish grace period, Enterprise got no more than three additional Wildcats up to join the CAP patrol, three planes off Hornet also scrambled, and more were being spotted, but that group would fly off in the wrong direction and fail to find the Japanese when they bored in on Halsey’s position.
The Big E was well out in front, and actually entering a squall line when the strike came in, which left Hornet and her closest escort, the cruiser San Francisco, as the most visible targets. The D3As came in first, with orders to strike the closest escorts to give Ema’s torpedo bombers the best chance to put their thunderfish to work. Hayashi would prove true to his word and draw first blood when he put a 250 KG bomb on San Francisco, right behind the aft stack. Not to be outdone, Ema came in right after him and scored yet another hit amidships, starting heavy fires there. Now the way was clear for Subota, as San Francisco had to fall out of it screening position for the carrier when the ship lost power and slowed to 20 knots.
Subota would lose only two BN5s on the run in, with two more damaged by flak and forced to abort, but the other 17 would all make the attack over those wild seas. The torpedoes, however, had a very rough run into the target, many lost and diverted from their intended course in the batting waves. One would run true and get a torpedo hit on the Hornet that penetrated the belt armor and caused significant damage just aft of the island. The high white wash of seawater clearly marked the hit, and Hayashi could see it as he looked over his shoulder after recovering from his dive through a hail of flak. The Thunder Gods had announced their presence, and he clenched his fist, eager to get back to Zuikaku and rearm for a second strike.
But fate had other plans for him that day, and they were now churning in the mind of a self proclaimed Fighting Fool, Admiral Bull Halsey. When he got the news, Halsey scratched his neck, where a bright red rash was plaguing him again that morning.
“Is Hornet still underway?”
“Yes sir, her speed is good and the flight deck looks clear.”
“Good, thank God we got our boys up before this squall line hit us. They ought to be getting close to the other fellow by now. Why haven’t we heard anything?”
It was a special agony there in the close confines of the main bridge, one eye on the mission board where he was taking in the names of the men he had just set out into that storm, and one ear on the overhead intercom, listening for any sound that could tell him what they were doing. The ceiling above him was a morass of grey cables, all hooking in to some piece of equipment or another, and then snaking off in thick bundles to vanish into the grey guts of the ship. One coiled near the Captain’s Command Announcing System, where many a “now hear this” had been shouted over the last years of duty. Ten red lights sat in two rows of five, each with a thick black switch that would be flipped to activate any of those stations, the Open Bridge, Secondary Conn, Damage Control, Pre-Flight Briefing, AA Stations and more. Now those lights sat dark, the switches all set to the vertical off position.