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REMEMBERING MIDWAY
by Captain Roy P. Gee,
USN-Ret
(Written for the Battle of Midway Roundtable, 2003)
Here I am, sitting
at my computer, trying to recall the details of my involvement in a great naval
battle that was fought 61 years ago.
I'm 83 years old and as my recollections of combat fade, I seem to get
braver and more heroic than I really ever was.
I needed some help in remembering those long-ago events, so I’ve relied
upon a letter that I wrote back in 1988 to Bill Vickrey, a Battle of Midway
historian, detailing my participation in the battle. In addition, I’ve used certain dates, times, and facts contained
in various Battle of Midway logs, reports, and books in order to maintain as
much accuracy as I can. My flight log
was not recovered when the Hornet was sunk in the Battle of Santa Cruz,
which meant that I’d lost the most valuable resource a pilot can have in reporting
what he did in the air.
With those
qualifications then, here is my story at the Battle of Midway.
* * *
As I grew up in Salt Lake City Utah, I believe I was
unknowingly preparing for war. I was a
member of the Mormon Church, a very conservative Christian faith. I became a Cub Scout and eventually advanced
to the Boy Scout program, where I reached the rank of Eagle Scout. As youngsters, my friends and I played war
games between the Yanks and the Huns, or the Chinese. We dug trenches and then went “over the top,” which was a
well-known phrase from World War I.
That meant that the infantry troops came out of their trenches, rushed
up and over their high, protecting walls of dirt and sand bags, and from that
position made a frontal assault through “no man’s land” against the enemy’s
frontline trenches. I remember playing
that game many times in my early youth.
Also, I remember as a youngster having seen several movies about World
War I aerial warfare, such as “Wings” and “The Dawn Patrol,” and from that I
developed a great desire to learn how to fly an airplane. I visualized myself as a gallant young
aviator, flying a Spad fighter, and dog-fighting with Baron Von Ritchhofen (the
“Red Baron”) and his bright red Fokker triplane.
I participated in the ROTC program as a platoon commander in high
school, and during the summer months I learned infantry strategy and tactics in
the Citizens Military Training Program, provided by the U.S. Army at nearby
Fort Douglas. I participated in that
program during four consecutive summers, graduating as a Sergeant-Major and
with a temporary commission as a 2nd lieutenant in the U.S. Army
Infantry Reserve Corps.
But I still wanted to fly. During
my sophomore year at the University of Utah, I completed an aviation class in
pilot training, which was sponsored by the Civilian Pilot Training
Program. That program was established
by President Roosevelt in order to gather a very large cadre of young pilots
who could quickly be inducted into the armed forces whenever necessary. I completed the program and earned a private
pilot license.
One day in June of 1940, a U.S. Navy aviation recruiting team came to
Salt Lake City. I took their flight
physical exam with the belief that if I passed that tough test, I would be a
cinch for acceptance by the U.S. Army Air Corps. Instead, as fate would have it, I was skillfully talked into
becoming a naval aviator. Because of
that decision, the course of my life has led me to this moment in time. I now know that I made the right decision on
that June day so long ago.
Upon completing flight school at Pensacola in 1941, I eagerly awaited my
orders to see whether I was staying there or going on to Miami. The patrol bomber and cruiser scout pilots
were trained at Pensacola, while candidates for any of the fighter or attack
squadrons were sent for advanced carrier training at NAS Miami. The orders came—Miami! I was destined for the air group of the
brand-new USS Hornet (CV-8).
Before boarding the Hornet, the air group was stationed at
Norfolk, where my roommate was Grant Teats.
During the first weekend of December, Grant and I took a trip with two other
buddies to Washington, D.C. to see a pro football game between the Washington
Redskins and the Philadelphia Eagles.
During the course of the game we began hearing announcements for Admiral
or General So-and-So to report to the War Department, or for Congressman or
Senator So-and-So to report to their offices at the Capitol. There was a suspenseful feeling throughout
the stadium that something awful had happened.
Our fears came true when a man sitting in our vicinity with a portable
radio exclaimed that reports were coming in from Hawaii about Japanese aircraft
bombing and torpedoing Navy ships at Pearl Harbor. Many had been sunk or severely damaged. Scores of people quickly left the stadium, as did my three
shipmates and me.
We drove back to the Naval Air Station at Norfolk, Virginia, and
reported to the squadron duty officer for further orders. We felt nothing but hatred for the Japanese
at that moment. Their navy had carried
out a very dastardly and cowardly sneak attack against our navy on the morning
of the Sabbath. President Roosevelt put
the attack in perspective: “December 7,
1941—a date which will live in infamy!”
When our country declared war on Japan and Germany in the following
days, I was both mentally and physically prepared to do my duty to God and my
country.
The Hornet pilots were like a group of race horses chomping at
the bit. We were in a big hurry to get
into combat against those “dirty Japs” who had attacked us in such a devious
manner. In retrospect, though, I think
that I wasn’t fully aware at that time of the enormity of the situation or the
realities of war.
ABOARD THE HORNET
After the Hornet
launched Jimmy Doolittle's B-25s on 18 April 1942, task force commander RADM
"Bull" Halsey, in the flagship USS Enterprise, ordered a 180
degree reversal of course back towards Hawaii.
Our aircraft were moved from the hanger deck to the flight deck, and we
pilots were able to get in a little flight time. I was with Bombing Squadron 8 (VB-8) while my former roommate
Grant Teats had been assigned to Torpedo Squadron 8 (VT-8). Our two squadrons plus Fighting 8 (VF-8) and
Scouting 8 (VS-8) flew CAP and search missions during the 7-day transit back to
Hawaii.
On the 25th of
April, as Hornet approached Pearl Harbor, the air group flew to Ewa
airfield on Oahu. After the fly-off, Hornet
proceeded to its berth at Pearl Harbor.
After four days in port, Hornet departed Pearl on the 30th,
recovered the air group, and steamed to the South Pacific in order to aid USS
Yorktown (CV-5) and USS Lexington (CV-2) at the Battle
of the Coral Sea. While en route, the
pilots of VB-8 and VS-8 flew many 200-mile search missions. During one such mission, LT(jg) Randal
Gardner and his radioman-gunner (R/G) from VB-8 failed to return. They were never found.
The Battle of the
Coral Sea was over before Hornet reached the scene, so the ship was
ordered to return to Hawaii. We flew
still more searches on the return leg, and tragedy struck VB-8 again when ENS
Louis J. Muery and his R/G, Richter, failed to return. We later learned that they made a forced
landing in the water as a result of engine failure and had spent 23 days in a
rubber life raft before washing into the rough surf of an island. The raft capsized in the surf, and as the
two weakened survivors struggled to get ashore, Richter drowned. Muery was later rescued.
Hornet arrived at Pearl on May 26th, but sailed again only
two days later—we and our sister carriers were to repulse an expected Japanese
fleet assault against Midway Atoll.
We went to general
quarters at 0630 on the morning of June 4th.
All Hornet pilots and crewmen were at flight quarters in their
ready rooms. A PBY flying from Midway
had spotted the Japanese task force.
The teletype in VB-8's ready room was steadily clicking away with
navigational data that I diligently copied to my chart board, as did the other
VB-8 pilots. The required information
consisted of following elements: (1)
enemy position, course, and speed, (2) own task force position, course, and
speed, (3) wind speed on the surface and at various altitudes, (4) latitude and
longitude of the operational area plus magnetic compass variation. Using these four elements, each pilot was
responsible to prepare his own navigational solution for flying a relative
motion course to intercept and attack the enemy, and also the return course
back to our carrier.
CHAG (Commander, Hornet
Air Group: Stanhope C. Ring) had his
own navigation solution, as did our VB-8 CO, LCDR Ruff Johnson, the VS-8 CO,
LCDR Walt Rodee, and the VT-8 CO, LCDR John Waldron. The VF-8 CO, LCDR Mitchell remarked that he would use the
solution that was chosen. The squadron
COs’ solutions were different from CHAG's, but he overruled them and said that
the air group would fly his navigational solution. LCDR Waldron strongly disagreed.
(The conflict over our proposed navigation was explained in my 1988
letter to Bill Vickrey, and is reported on page 84 of A Glorious Page In Our
History, published in 1990. Waldron
subsequently decided that he’d follow his own solution, and told his Torpedo 8
boys to follow him—he would lead them to the enemy.)
Suddenly,
“Pilots Man Your Planes” was announced.
We all wished each other good luck as we left the ready room for the
climb to the flight deck and our SBDs.
(And by the way, climbing up and down the ship ladders many times a day
will get you in great physical condition!
Carriers didn't have escalators in those days.)
I met my R/G,
Radioman First Class Canfield at our assigned SBD and went over our mission and
recognition charts with him. I don’t
know which particular aircraft (side number) we flew that day—my only record of
that went down with the Hornet at the Battle of Santa Cruz.
After completing
an inspection of the aircraft and its bomb, Canfield and I climbed into the
cockpits. As I sat there waiting for
the signal to start engines, I suddenly got the same feeling of apprehension
and butterflies in the stomach that I got before the start of competition in high
school and collegiate athletics. The butterflies left after takeoff as I
focused on navigating and flying formation.
Our two squadrons (VB-8 and VS-8) rendezvoused in two close-knit,
stepped-down formations on each side of CHAG's section, which consisted of CHAG
and VS-8 wingman ENS Ben Tappman and VB-8 wingman ENS Clayton Fisher. CHAG's section was flying above and somewhat
separated from VB-8/VS-8 and was escorted by 10 VF-8 F4Fs. As we proceeded to
climb to 19,000 ft, we soon lost visual contact with VT-8. We were maintaining absolute radio silence
and were on oxygen, and our engines were on high blower. I eased my fuel mixture control back to a
leaner blend in order to conserve fuel as we leveled out at 19,000 feet and
proceeded on our assigned course.
We continued
flying on a westerly heading for some time and were getting close to our point
of no return without seeing anything of the Japanese fleet. LCDR Johnson decided to break away and fly
towards Midway because some of our pilots didn’t have enough fuel to return to
the Hornet. So we left CHAG,
VS-8, and VF-8 and flew to Midway.
Shortly after we turned towards Midway, LT Tucker, for some reason,
turned his section of 3 SBDs away and headed in an easterly direction. As the remaining 14 VB-8 SBDs headed towards
Midway, ENS Guillory suffered engine failure and made a forced water
landing. He and his R/G, ARM2/c
Cottrell were observed to safely leave the aircraft and get into a life raft. They were later rescued by a PBY.
As we approached
Midway, the skipper signaled us to jettison bombs. Afterwards, as we continued our approach to the Eastern Island
airfield, we received sporadic AA fire that caused minor damage to some of the
planes, but it quickly ceased after our SBDs were recognized as friendly. Shortly thereafter, ENS T. J. Wood ran out
of gas. He and his R/G, ARM3/c Martz
were safely rescued after ditching their aircraft. ENS Forrester Auman ran out of fuel on his landing approach and
safely ditched in the lagoon, where he and his R/G, ARM3/c McLean were rescued
by a PT boat. After the remaining 11
SBDs had landed, we taxied to an area where our aircraft were refueled and
rearmed with 500 lb. bombs. Refueling
from gasoline drums was necessary due to fuel trucks being damaged from the
Japanese air attack. The runways had
not been damaged, but certain buildings and the water system had been hit.
Midway Air
Operations had notified Hornet of the arrival of VB-8 at Midway. LCDR Johnson was ordered to return to the ship
and to attack any Japanese ships that we might find while en route. So we departed Midway and returned to the Hornet
without incident. We were recovered
aboard at about 1400 with our 500 lb. bombs intact. When I entered the VB-8
ready-room, I was shocked to learn that none of VT-8's 15 TBDs nor VF-8's 10
F4Fs had returned, and that all the crews had been declared MIA. I went to the wardroom to get something to
eat and paused to look at the empty chairs that were normally filled by my
friends from VF-8 and VT-8. It was a
sorrowful site, but I could only dwell on it for a moment—the announcement came
for all VB-8 pilots to report to the ready room immediately.
ATTACKING THE HIRYU
Upon entering the
ready room, I was informed that we were launching on a mission to attack the
Japanese Carrier Hiryu. The
attack group would consist of 9 VS-8 SBDs carrying 1000 lb. bombs and 7 VB-8
SBDs carrying the 500 lb. bombs that we’d loaded on Midway. No VF escort would be available. The enemy ships were located approximately
162 miles out, bearing 290 degrees. I
plotted my course for intercepting the enemy formation and returning to the Hornet. LT(jg) Bates, the VB-8 flight leader for
this mission, briefed us on tactics for the strike. We were ready to go.
Since we’d seen no
action that morning, I thought that this could be VB-8's first exposure to real
combat. We were ordered to man our
planes at about 1540. I met Canfield at
our SBD for the second time that day, and we completed our same routine and
boarded the aircraft. We went through
the takeoff checklist after I started the engine, then we were ready to roll
when our turn came. As I approached the
take-off position, I was given the stop signal followed by the hold
brakes signal, and was then handed over to the Takeoff Control Officer
(TCO), who held a stick with a brightly colored flag in his right hand. When the deck ahead was clear, the TCO
rotated the flag above his head, which was the signal for me to rev the engine
to full takeoff power while holding the brakes and keeping the tail down with
the elevators in the full-up position.
The TCO made eye contact with me, then suddenly bent forward on his
knee, pointing the flag towards the bow.
That was my signal to release the brakes and let ‘er rip. It’s an exhilarating way to take off in an
airplane, and old-time carrier pilots can recount many interesting tales.
We were safely
airborne and proceeding to our rendezvous point. Our VB-8 SBDs, led by LT(jg) Bates joined up with VS-8 and LT
Stebbins, who was the strike leader.
The Enterprise had also launched a much larger strike group about
30 minutes before ours.
By the time we
arrived in the target area, the Enterprise group had already finished
their strike. That had cleared the
upper altitudes of Zeroes, leaving our approach over the enemy force
unopposed. The Hiryu was
observed to be completely on fire, so LT Stebbins directed us toward other
suitable targets. He took VS-8 toward
one while signaling LT(jg) Bates that our squadron was to bomb a nearby
cruiser. We maneuvered to make our
attack out of the sun from 15,000 ft.
There were puffs of AA fire all around us.
Just as we were
approaching the dive point, we noticed several explosions on the ocean’s
surface, quite some distance from the target.
Looking up, we saw a flight of B-17s high above us. They’d dropped their bomb loads right
through our formation, missing us as well as the enemy ships!
We then tailed off
into our dives. LT(jg) Bates had the
lead plane (bomb 50 ft. off the starboard bow) followed by ENS Nickerson (100
ft. astern). I was next (hit
astern). The second section dove next
with ENS White first (miss), followed by ENS Friez (miss wide), followed by ENS
Barrett (hit on starboard quarter), followed lastly by ENS Fisher (no release). During the dive, what looked like orange
balls were popping up at me and continued coming from all directions during my
high-speed retirement at sea level.
Following the strike, all 16 of Hornet’s SBDs rendezvoused
unscathed and returned to the ship, landing back aboard at dusk. VB-8 had at last lost its combat virginity.
The Hornet's
deck log reported the following remarks on Friday, 5 June 1942:
"Zone
Description: plus 10
0 to 4
Ship darkened and in
readiness condition three.
0110: held funeral service and buried the remains
of the late Lieutenant R.R. INGERSOLL, U.S. Navy; the late CUMMINGS, W.B. JR.
Pvt, USMC; the late HUMFLEET, L. E., Pvt, USMC; the late IGNATIUS, W.B. SGT,
USMC; and late MAYER, E.A. Sea. 2c, USN, in Latitude 30 degrees- 19' N,
Longitude 174 degrees- 52' W."
Thus, the Hornet's
deck log recorded the final resting place of five brave men who were mortally
wounded at their battle stations during a tragic landing accident that had occurred
the day before. Radar had observed many
bogeys in the direction of Yorktown, which was reporting that she was
under attack by enemy aircraft. The sky
in her direction was filled with AA bursts.
As the attack subsided, Yorktown’s fighters were low on gas and
ammo and were ordered to land on either Hornet or Enterprise. A wounded pilot flying F4F, side number
5-F-4, crashed on landing aboard Hornet, which caused the plane’s
machine guns to accidentally fire. That
resulted in the five deaths noted above in the ship’s log, and it also wounded
20 other men at their battle stations.
Hornet went to general quarters for an hour at
0530 on the morning of June 5th.
Thereafter, readiness condition 2 was set in order to await strike scheduling
from CTF 16, and by late afternoon we had been in the ready room for most of
the day. Readiness condition 2 allowed
the pilots to leave the ready room for meals so long as we kept updating our
chart boards with the latest navigational data reported on the teletype.
A mission
assignment from CTF 16 finally came in at about 1700. We were tasked to search for and attack a damaged Japanese
aircraft carrier and its escorting ships bearing 315 degrees, about 300 miles
out and on a westerly course with a speed of 12 knots. At about 1730, I launched in SBD no. 8-B-8
with an eleven-plane strike group consisting of CHAG and ten VB-8 SBDs. Clay Fisher was again flying CHAG’s wing,
and our skipper, LCDR Ruff Johnson was leading a nine-plane division of three
stepped-down sections, slightly separated from CHAG and Fisher. LT Tucker's section was flying loosely on
the LCDR Johnson’s left, while LT Moe Vose had positioned his 3rd section aft
of Tucker’s and stepped down to facilitate maneuvering. I was flying number 3 on the right wing of
Vose, and LT John Lynch was number 2 on his left wing.
We proceeded on
course at 18,000 feet to search for our target. After about an hour, five B-17's were sighted apparently
returning to Midway. We continued on
course, and at about 1910 a lone enemy cruiser was sighted heading west. We passed it by in order to locate the
damaged carrier, but to no avail. At
our maximum range, CHAG reversed course back toward the cruiser we’d previously
sighted. We found it again shortly
after 2000, and it began to increase speed and send up AA fire as we formed to
attack. We followed CHAG down toward
the cruiser, which skillfully maneuvered to avoid our bombs. CHAG's bomb failed to release and none of
the other ten hit the ship, although there were several near-misses.
We all turned
toward home with little attempt to rendezvous after our dives. I was able to form up with Vose, and we flew
back toward the Hornet together.
By the time we approached the task force, darkness had enveloped the
ships and it didn’t seem that a deck landing would be possible. Suddenly their lights came on and we were
ordered to land. I followed LT Vose
into the landing pattern, and Canfield and I went over the carrier landing
checklist: wheels down and locked,
flaps down, tailhook extended. I picked
up the LSO and his lighted wands as I turned into the groove. My approach speed was good, but I was a
little high. The LSO gave the high-dip
signal, meaning I was to drop the nose, come down about ten feet, and resume my
approach attitude. The LSO then gave me
the Roger signal, followed shortly by the cut engine signal, and
I landed the aircraft, catching the third wire. This was my first night carrier landing in the SBD, and I felt
very good.
After my tailhook
was cleared from the arresting wire and put in the up position, I revved the
engine in order to quickly clear the landing area and move forward so that the
barriers could be raised in time for the next plane to land. After the propeller stopped turning and the
wheels were chocked, Canfield and I climbed down and proceeded to our ready
rooms. As I went through the hatch and
down the ladder, I felt uncomfortable with the surrounding bulkheads and
passageways. Somehow, they looked
strangely unfamiliar. And for good
reason—as I entered what I though was VB-8’s ready room, I discovered that I’d
landed on our sister ship, the Enterprise! And of course, LT Vose had done the same thing.
They told me I’d
be assigned to fly another search on the following morning, so I was billeted
in a room and told to go to sleep. Although three additional Hornet
pilots (ENS Doug Carter of VB-8, ENS Jim Forbes of VS-8, and one other whose
name I don’t remember) had also landed aboard Enterprise, I don't recall
having any contact with them while aboard.
MOGAMI AND MIKUMA
I awoke about 0500 on June 6th and remembered that I was on Enterprise
and scheduled to fly a 200-mile search that morning. I hopped out of the bunk, washed myself a little, slipped into my
flight suit, and hurried to the wardroom for breakfast where I encountered an
atmosphere similar to the one in the Hornet's wardroom the previous
morning: many missing pilots would
never again sit in the empty chairs. I
have never forgotten that feeling.
I finished breakfast and went quickly to the ready room to prepare for
the mission. The search group was
launched at 0700, and Canfield and I were flying a sector to the southwest at
1500 ft. I was on autopilot, making it
easy to keep track of my relative position from the task force as the search
proceeded. After about an hour I
noticed several silhouettes on the horizon ahead. As the distance closed, I could see that they were four ships in
formation on a southwesterly course. I
dropped down to 800 ft. and tracked them for several minutes in order to record
their position, course, and speed, and also to determine their ship class from
my IJN silhouette cards. The two larger
ships were cruisers with pagoda-type superstructures, and the other two were
destroyers. (I later learned that the
two larger ones were the Japanese heavy cruisers Mogami and Mikuma.)
Remaining at a safe distance out of AA range, I dictated a message for
CTF 16 to Canfield. The message
contained the enemy formation’s composition, relative position, course, and
speed. Canfield sent the message by
radio but got no confirmation that it had been received. He was concerned that a problem with his
radio transmitter might have prevented the task force from receiving the
message. It was already 0835 and I
decided to get out of there and back to task force ASAP. Arriving over the Enterprise at about
0930, I dropped them a message containing the data on the enemy cruiser
formation that we’d located. I then
returned to the Hornet’s air pattern to await recovery. After she
launched a strike group, I was recovered aboard at about 1015. I proceeded to the bridge in order to brief
RADM Mitscher on the details of my sighting.
After reporting to the VB-8 ready room, I was told that I wouldn't be
flying any more that day.
No flights had been scheduled for the VB-8/VS-8 pilots on June 7th,
although half of us were on standby in our ready rooms from 0600-1300 while the
other half did the same thing from 1300-1900.
Our SBDs were also on standby, loaded with 500 lb. bombs and machine gun
ammo. On June 8th we were tasked to
provide intermediate air patrols covering sectors up to 50 miles out from Task
Force 16 during ship refueling operations.
I launched in 8-B-7 at 1340 to fly an intermediate patrol, and after a
time I spotted a life raft with one man in it.
I rocked my wings to let him know that I saw him and tried reporting his
bearing and distance to CTF 16, but once again Canfield got no response. I noticed that I wasn’t receiving a ZB homing
signal either. I reversed my course in
order to fly back toward the task force, but it had become enveloped in a local
storm and I couldn’t see it. With my ZB
inoperative, I didn't want to waist fuel waiting for the ships to break clear
of the weather, so I decided to fly to Midway.
I radioed CTF 16 with my decision and reasoning, and changed course for
Midway, which wasn't far.
I was directed to taxi to the Marine Air Group area upon landing, where
Canfield and I reported to the air group commander, Lt. Col. Ira Kimes. He informed us that we would be temporarily
assigned to the Marine bombing squadron pending further orders. A message was sent to the Hornet notifying
them of our safe arrival on the island, and a reply was received that we were
to turn our SBD over to the Marines and to await sea transport to back to Pearl
Harbor.
Around June 20th, USS Pensacola (CA-24) put into Midway in
order to pick up wounded personnel and other survivors of the battle for
transport to back to Pearl Harbor. Canfield
and I boarded the cruiser for the short transit to Hawaii, and rejoined our
squadron a few days later. While en
route, I asked the Pensacola's communications officer about Canfield’s
transmission concerning the man I’d spotted in the life raft. He did some checking and later told me the
message had been copied and the man was rescued. I felt very relieved, but I never found out his name.
* *
*
Editor’s note: In Gee’s narrative above, he reports two
hits on a cruiser during the Hiryu mission, one by himself and one by ENS
Barrett. Japanese records did not
record a hit on any of the Hiryu’s screening vessels on the afternoon of
June 4th, but Gee’s bomb was seen to strike a cruiser by his section leader,
his R/G, and by ENS Fisher. Gee was
awarded the Navy Cross for this action.
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