On 11 January 1942, Tarakan, in oil-rich northeastern Borneo, became the first Dutch city to fall to the Japanese. Targeted next was the more important port city of Balikpapan, 350 miles to the south, where, it was said, one had only to drive a stick into the ground to strike oil. The ease with which they had captured Tarakan, led the Japanese to assume that they would be able to overrun Balikpapan in similar fashion. They were in for a surprise.
Five days later, the Dutch Army informed Admiral Thomas C. Hart, commander of ABDA’s naval forces (ABDAFLOAT), that a Japanese force of sixteen transports escorted by a cruiser and twelve destroyers was heading for Makasar Strait, apparently bound for Balikpapan. At the time, Hart’s inadequate naval forces were thinly spread in three directions: British and Australian ships were operating from the Singapore-Palembang area westward to Ceylon; Dutch naval forces were committed to the Java Sea, or center position; and the Americans were responsible for defending the eastern flank, which encompassed the island of Bali and eastward to Australia. Because Balikpapan lay north of Bali, Admiral Hart called on units of his Asiatic Fleet to put a crimp in this enemy operation.
His strike force, consisting of the heavy cruiser Houston, light cruisers Boise and Marblehead, and eight destroyers of Destroyer Squadron 29, rendezvoused on 18 January 1942 in Kebola Bay, Sumbawa Island, to refuel from the tanker Trinity and to familiarize the ships’ commanding officers with the operational plan. As outlined by Rear Admiral William A. Glassford, the force commander, the plan called for the Marblehead and the eight destroyers to steam as fast as their tired boilers permitted and intercept the Japanese fleet off the northern coast of Celebes Island. They were to make a night attack with torpedoes. The role of the Houston and Boise was to steam 50 miles astern of the strike force, in order to cover the cruiser and destroyers if enemy pursuit should force them to withdraw.
American surface forces had not yet engaged the Japanese. Having been forced to stomach nothing but enemy victory claims since the war began, men of the Asiatic Fleet were tired of running away and of tedious convoy duty, and were spoiling for a fight. While they were refueling, a report received from the submarines Pike and Permit, which were scouting the northern entrance to Makasar Strait, indicated the Japanese invasion force was not moving toward the strait, as anticipated. This sour turn of events caused cancellation of the operation, and sent the assembled ships on their various ways.
Four days later, the Japanese moved toward Balikpapan, and once again Admiral Hart ordered offensive action. By this time, however, it was a whole new ball game. Instead of a strike force of three cruisers and eight destroyers as originally planned, only the Boise, Marblehead, and six destroyers were near enough to the scene of action to participate. But disaster struck this little force before it could go into action. The Boise, heading for the rendezvous through Sapeh Strait, hit an underwater rock, which slashed a long hole in her hull. With compartments flooding and salt water in her fresh water lines, Boise was forced to retire to the nearest port for repairs. In so doing, a destroyer was assigned to escort her.
Next, the Marblehead suffered a turbine casualty, which slowed her speed to 15 knots. To protect her from falling prey to enemy submarines, another destroyer was detached. It was now up to only four old “cans” of World War I vintage, the John D. Ford, Pope, Parrott, and Paul Jones to attempt the seemingly impossible. Confronting them in their effort to sink the transports were twelve modern destroyers, a light cruiser, and an undetermined number of armed auxiliaries. There was little solace in the thought that the Marblehead would now wait some 50 miles south of Balikpapan to fight off possible pursuers.
Although Glassford on board the Marblehead was in overall command of the operation, it was up to Commander Paul H. Talbot, commander, Destroyer Division 59 in the John D. Ford, to lead the attack. During the afternoon of 23 January 1942, as the four destroyers sped through the Flores Sea toward Makasar Strait, Talbot issued his orders for battle: “Initial weapons will be torps. Transports chief objective. Cruisers as required to accomplish mission. Launch torps at close range if unsighted by enemy. Each tube set for normal spread torps. Fire single shots if size of targets warrants. . . . Will try to avoid action en route. . . . Attack independently when targets located if necessary. When all torps fired, close with all guns. Use initiative and determination.”
Talbot proceeded like a fox sneaking up on a chicken coop. During daylight hours, he steamed his destroyers at 25 knots toward Mandar Bay, Celebes, lying to the east of Borneo. His intent was to throw passing Japanese reconnaissance planes off the scent. Fortunately, the only plane encountered was a PBY from Patrol Wing 10. One hour after sunset, Talbot increased speed to 27 knots, and changed course to the northwest across Makasar Strait toward Borneo. The Marblehead, unable to make 27 knots, proceeded independently.
At 2200, in a move calculated to bring the flotilla in contact with the enemy off Balikpapan at about 0300, Talbot took a more northerly direction. Near midnight, lookouts reported that, many miles ahead, a light was stabbing into the starless sky like a beam from a ship’s searchlight. It was seen for only a few seconds, then vanished. Some minutes later, the John D. Ford’s foretop spotter reported strange orange fires on the water about 30 miles ahead. They appeared to flicker and blaze up from time to time. When they became visible to Commander Talbot, who was on the bridge, he noted the sky in the general direction of Balikpapan was taking on a weird yellow glow.
While the darkened column of destroyers surged ever closer to the enemy, officers and men manning torpedo tubes and guns checked and rechecked their weapons to ensure readiness for instant action. Thirty minutes later, it was discovered that the flickering lights on the water were the burning hulks of several Japanese ships blasted hours before by American and Dutch bombers. To avoid detection, Talbot kept his flotilla well clear of them.
At 0230, on 24 January, the American destroyers were abreast the port of Balikpapan, where raging fires were clearly visible. The Dutch, it was presumed, were destroying oil tanks and other installations to prevent their capture. Thick black smoke hung throughout an area extending 20 miles into the strait, hampering visibility and hiding the onrushing four pipers from enemy eyes.
Suddenly, at 0245, when the destroyers were only minutes away from the reported position of enemy transports, a large Japanese warship burst out of the smoky darkness heading on an opposite course. Although the ships passed close aboard, they were moving so fast that no action was possible before they lost each other in the night. No doubt, the enemy mistook them for their own destroyers, for they certainly never suspected American ships would dare attack in that area.
THE USS John D. Ford (DD-228), with Commander Paul H. Talbot on board, led the destroyer attack on Balikpapan, Borneo, the night of 24 January 1942. Shown here in August 1942. James C. Fahey Collection, U.S. Naval Institute
Minutes later, four Japanese destroyers crossed ahead of the American column from port to starboard. One of them blinked a challenge. Without replying, Talbot ordered an immediate change of course, and these ships too passed without incident. The Americans, ready to open fire at the least provocation, breathed sighs of relief because they were after more succulent targets. Another change of direction put them back on course to their objective. All at once, before anyone could believe their good fortune, Talbot and his destroyer captains found themselves in the midst of a pack of Japanese transports anchored about 5 miles off the entrance to Balikpapan Harbor.
Torpedo tubes had been trained out and ready for several hours. Now, torpedomen zeroed in on targets, and eagerly awaited the order to fire. The Parrott was the first to launch torpedoes. At close range, she sent a spread of three toward a large transport. All hands waited tensely for the expected explosion. Seconds ticked by. Nothing happened. Two minutes later, she fired five torpedoes at a sitting-duck target 1,000 yards to starboard. Again nothing happened. Simultaneously, the John D. Ford fired one torpedo at an anchored transport. It missed. The Paul Jones, the last ship in column, fired a torpedo at a cruiser or a destroyer that briefly loomed out of the night. It too missed.
Launching ten torpedoes against easy targets and not getting one hit was as infuriating as it was frustrating. Here were the first torpedoes fired in anger in the Pacific by highly trained destroyermen, and the scoreboard read zero hits. The destroyermen were not at fault. They, like their comrades-in-arms, the submariners, were plagued with faulty torpedoes.
The all-important element of surprise had been lost. Torpedoes missing or slamming against ships’ sides without exploding sounded the alarm. Signal lights flashed, and enemy destroyers came racing to the scene. By this time, 0300, the Americans had passed through the pack of anchored transports. Undaunted, Commander Talbot turned his column back for another run. As the Parrott steadied on course, she launched three torpedoes at a target on her port bow. This time there was a mighty explosion, and the 3,519-ton transport Somanoura Maru went to a watery grave. Two minutes later, the Pope, Parrott, and Paul Jones fired torpedoes at another ship. Again there followed a tremendous explosion, and down went the 7,000-ton transport Tatsukami Maru.
Upon reaching the southern end of the anchorage, Talbot turned his flotilla for another run to the north. This time the destroyers were to proceed parallel to an inner line of transports. As they turned, the Pope and Parrott fired at what looked like a destroyer to port. Their torpedoes sank a large patrol boat.
By now the enemy force was thoroughly demoralized. The light cruiser Naka and the twelve destroyers, which could have chopped the four pipers to bits, misled into thinking they were being attacked by submarines, charged bone-in-teeth into Makasar Strait on a wild-goose chase.
The John D. Ford and Paul Jones launched single torpedoes at a good-sized transport, which was under way. These missed, but the next one fired by the Paul Jones struck home, and to the bottom of the deep went the 5,000-ton Kuretake Maru. When course was changed for a final dash through the transports, the Pope, Parrott, and Paul Jones reported “all torpedoes expended,” and were directed by Talbot to resort to gunfire. The John D. Ford unleashed her last torpedoes at a group of three transports but was not able to determine the results. Then she, too, opened fire with her deck guns.
Like tigers slashing for the jugular, at point-blank range the old “cans” pumped shell after shell into Japanese ships with murderous results. Sinking and burning ships were all around, and hundreds of Japanese soldiers and sailors were swimming for their lives. According to Lieutenant William P. Mack, the John D. Ford’s gunnery officer, some of the sinking ships looked as though they were “covered with hundreds of flies,” as Japanese soldiers swarmed in panic down their sides.
During this part of the engagement, shells from the John D. Ford seriously damaged and set afire the transport Asami Maru. Others tore into the 7,000-ton Tsuruga Maru, which exploded with a thunderous blast, sending deck plates and debris flying in all directions. The three other four pipers were wreaking havoc on enemy transports, which suddenly realized they were being attacked not by submarines but by surface ships, and directed their fire toward the destroyers’ gun blasts.
Enemy shells erupted in the water around the four pipers, but the John D. Ford was the only one hit. A shell wrecked her after deckhouse and set fire to some ammunition. Courageous sailors rushed to throw the burning ammunition over the side and extinguish the flames. In less than a minute the fire was out. Unfortunately, four men had been wounded.
With a squadron of furious Japanese destroyers and a no-less-disturbed light cruiser about to descend on them, Commander Talbot ordered his destroyers to get out of the area. To put it mildly, the flotilla of American “cans” raced southward like the proverbial “bat out of hell.” They hit the amazing speed of 32 knots, a speed at which their screws had not turned since their trials in 1917 and 1918. Behind them, what was left of a badly shot-up Japanese landing force, was outlined against the smoke-filled sky by fires burning on many ships.
When dawn broke, thirty minutes after the engagement ended, all eyes anxiously strained to pick up the first signs of the pursuit that was deemed inevitable. Enemy ships, however, were conspicuous by their absence. Confounded beyond reason by the devastating fury of this unexpected attack, and hard pressed to rescue the mass of soldiers and sailors floundering in the water, the superior Japanese naval force was compelled to forego hunting the phantom four pipers.
Throughout the battle a Dutch submarine commander was a silent witness. Lying off Balikpapan Harbor at periscope depth, biding his time to score a fat kill, he gleefully reported that, in a little over an hour, the American destroyers sank thirteen ships. Much too engrossed in fighting the battle to keep tally, the Americans claimed only six ships sunk. It is interesting to note that, before he left the area the next day, the Dutchman torpedoed a Japanese cruiser at such close range that the resulting explosions damaged his own boat, forcing him to remain motionless on the bottom until nightfall.
The four pipers scored an incredible victory. They were officially credited with sinking five ships for a total of 23,496 tons, but there is little doubt that they seriously damaged and probably sank several more. This daring and potentially suicidal attack, executed to perfection, was the first surface action by U.S. naval forces in the Pacific war. Though it only temporarily slowed the Japanese advance, the Battle of Balikpapan, fought by the men of the John D. Ford, Pope, Parrott, and Paul Jones, stands as one of the U.S. Navy’s most valiant victories.
