Overnight on 2–3 June Fletcher shifted the carrier striking force west to the new operating area 175 miles west of Point Luck and 260 miles north of Midway. Nimitz predicted that 3 June would see simultaneous carrier strikes on Midway and the Aleutians. That would have occurred had Japan kept the original plan.1 On board the Yorktown, anticipation was high, and “scuttlebutt was thick.” The “sensible and confident” demeanor of the veteran carrier impressed Commander Laing. Tasked by Nimitz only to search northeast of Midway, Fletcher did not rely on the island’s seven-hundred-mile search to cover the front door, especially because the weather northwest remained worrisome. Before sunrise the Yorktown dispatched twenty SBDs to scan a two-hundred-mile semicircle oriented southwest to northeast (240–060 degrees) and to ensure that neither of the two suspected carrier groups (Midway attack force and its covering force) was within range. Ten miles southwest of TF-17, Spruance’s TF-16 was poised with attack aircraft crammed onto the Enterprise and Hornet flight decks. Having completed flight operations, Fletcher turned north at twelve knots. Dawn revealed a low overcast with occasional breaks and moderate southeast winds. The search pilots who flew northwest struggled in squalls that greatly reduced visibility in that crucial direction.2
Around 0445 both carrier task forces monitored an urgent Cincpac message relaying a flash report that Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians was under attack. Nineteen planes from Admiral Kakuta’s 2nd Kidō Butai (Ryūjō and Junyō) bombed Dutch Harbor at 0345 Midway time. Nimitz flashed one of his “dazzling” smiles. “Well,” he told Layton, “this ought to make your heart warm.” His own relief must have been tremendous, for he risked American fortunes in the Pacific on the accuracy of radio intelligence. To Fletcher and Spruance word of the Japanese strike reinforced the expectation Midway might soon be attacked. At 0650, almost on cue, the Yorktown’s radar picked up a suspicious contact twenty-one miles northeast. Fletcher directed four fighters to intercept, warned TF-16 by TBS radio, and concentrated his own ships in defensive formation. Spruance ordered his duty carrier, the Hornet, to turn into the wind to launch the combat air patrol. Radar, however, tracked the bogey passing off to the east. He quickly canceled the fighter scramble, which would have entailed a massive respot of the Hornet’s deck to retrieve them. The contact was a Midway search plane.3
At 0904 a Midway PBY (Ens. James P. O. Lyle of patrol squadron Fifty-one) radioed the sighting of two cargo ships 470 miles southwest (bearing 247 degrees) from base. Twenty minutes later Ens. Jewell H. Reid of VP-23, in the sector north of Lyle, flashed the words, “Main body,” which was seven hundred miles southwest (bearing 261 degrees) of Midway. Two cargo ships were only a nuisance, but if the so-called main body included the carriers, Cincpac’s own carrier deployment was in serious error. With TF-16 and TF-17 at least 850 miles northwest, there could be no battle that day. It dawned on Nimitz that “main body” might not be the appropriate term. At 1007 he advised that he believed the group just reported was the “attack and occupation force,” and that he “expected” the “striking force” to be “separated.”4
Nimitz’s surmise was correct. Persistent nasty weather effectively cloaked Admiral Nagumo’s four carriers, now six hundred miles northwest of Midway and 550 miles distant from Fletcher. Yamamoto’s battleship force, located six hundred miles northwest of Nagumo, also plowed through fog. The Midway search discovered part of Admiral Kondō’s Attack Force closing from the west and southwest in four groups. Reid’s “main body” was the Invasion Force and associated Seaplane Carrier Force, escorted by a destroyer squadron. His navigation was good. When first sighted, the transports bore 260 degrees and 675 miles from Midway. Kondō’s own main force of two fast battleships, four heavy cruisers, and light carrier Zuihō gained on them from astern, as did the Close Support Force (four heavy cruisers and two destroyers) from the southwest. These powerful formations remained beyond sight of Midway-based planes. Nonetheless, encountering U.S. flying boats so far from base brought unwelcome surprise. The Japanese expected Midway’s air searches to extend no more than six hundred miles, a line Kondō would have crossed only that afternoon after the morning search already turned for home. The two cargo ships at 470 miles were small minesweepers coming from Saipan via Wake Island. Although close as to their actual distance of 460 miles, Lyle in fact located them too far south. Instead of southeast of the transport force, they were two hundred miles northeast and in fact the unwitting vanguard of the whole force. In flagship Yamato Admiral Ugaki was appalled to find minesweepers out in the lead and decried the Invasion Force’s “premature exposure.” He wished Nagumo could have hit Midway that dawn.5
Midway coaxed more details from Reid on the “main body,” eventually described as eleven ships steering due east at nineteen knots. Fletcher kept to his own plan of heading north and later reversing course to stay in the same area north of Midway. Just to make certain the enemy was not closing in, the Yorktown’s afternoon search of nineteen SBDs covered the same southwest-northeast arc to two hundred miles. Fletcher’s caution proved justified after Midway PBYs again faced “zero visibility” beyond 450 miles northwest. At 1445 Nimitz summarized the day’s developments. “Believe striking force has not yet been located.” Those ships, “probably combatant,” first sighted seven hundred miles west of Midway, “may be escort group heading toward a rendezvous with the occupation vessels sighted closer in.” Nine B-17s left Midway to attack “the supposed escort group.” As yet “there is not enough yet in the picture at either place to confirm or deny my previous estimates or to warrant change in initial developments.”6
After sundown Fletcher swung southwest intending to be two hundred miles north of Midway at dawn on 4 June, and again ready to fight according to plan. Midway struck its first blow. That evening Cincpac relayed reports that nine B-17s bombed the transport main body 575 miles west of Midway. The target was a mixed force of eleven ships, including two or three battleships, one carrier, two or three cruisers, destroyers, and transports. The bombers claimed hits on the two largest warships and also a transport left burning. In fact the transport force, whose mightiest ship was a light cruiser, suffered no damage. Four radar-equipped PBYs sortied from Midway for a moonlight torpedo attack. “The situation is developing as expected,” Nimitz advised. The carriers, “our most important objective,” will soon turn up. “Tomorrow may be the day you can give them the works.” That night he slept on a cot in his office.7
The foggy night of 3–4 June proved especially tense for the task forces that were, in Fletcher’s words, “biting their nails” wondering why the enemy carriers had not yet appeared. Hopefully in the morning the search would find them promptly. “We couldn’t afford to wait,” he later recalled. “We had to strike first, strike swiftly and strike in great force.” Before dawn he learned about the night torpedo attack that took place about 0230 against the main body five hundred miles southwest of Midway. Cincpac claimed a hit on a large transport, and in fact the PBYs had torpedoed the big oiler Akebono Maru with minor damage. One PBY crew reported encountering an enemy plane near the target area, so a carrier might also be nearby.8
Starting at 0415 Midway dispatched twenty-two PBYs to sweep the western semicircle from 200 to 020 degrees. Given predictions of two enemy carrier groups operating independently, the searchers had orders to cover their individual sectors to seven hundred miles, or until all four carriers were reported. Only then were they to take refuge in the Laysan and Lisianski atolls southeast beyond Midway. At the same time sixteen B-17s (two later aborted) under Lt. Col. Walter C. Sweeney thundered aloft to bomb the transport force. Midway would redirect them if carriers were discovered within range. The single biggest concentration yet of heavy bombers in the Pacific gave Sweeney a splendid opportunity to see what they could do against maneuvering ships. Any damage they inflicted only made the job of the U.S. carriers that much easier. Captain Simard prepared additional striking forces if carriers approached within two hundred miles. Six new Grumman TBFs and four army B-26 medium bombers lugged torpedoes, whereas twenty-seven marine SBD and SB2U scout bombers carried 500-pound bombs. Midway’s fighter defense comprised twenty-eight marine F2A-3 Buffaloes and F4F-3 Wildcats, backed by efficient radar and strong antiaircraft.9
Early on 4 June Fletcher steered TF-17 and TF-16 (225 operational planes) southwest at 13.5 knots to be two hundred miles north of Midway at dawn. He again depended on the Midway search to find opposing carriers believed closing from the northwest, but he took precautions in case one carrier group flanked him to the north. As the enemy should already be close, he committed only ten Yorktown SBDs to a dawn “security” search of the northern semicircle to one hundred miles. At 0420 as the eastern sky glowed red, the Yorktown launched six combat air patrol F4Fs and the ten SBDs, then spotted the first deck load of eight F4Fs, seventeen SBDs, and twelve TBDs. This time Schindler did not fly. In the event of a surface action, Fletcher needed his special talents to coordinate gunnery by different ships. Some ten to fifteen miles south, Spruance had 120 planes, the full striking force of the Enterprise and Hornet, ready to go on Fletcher’s order when the first enemy carriers turned up. Fifty-one F4Fs from the three carriers were allocated for combat air patrol under Commander Dow, the Enterprise fighter director. No TF-16 combat air patrol had yet deployed, due to the necessity to break the deck spot if the strike was not launched before those fighters had to land. Once the Yorktown completed flight operations, Fletcher brought both task forces around to the east at fifteen knots.10
At 0500 (0730 Pearl local time), Layton predicted to Nimitz that in precisely an hour a Midway-based search plane would discover enemy carriers 175 miles northwest (bearing 325 degrees) from Midway. From there, he thought, the Midway carrier group would open its attack to crush the island’s air force.11 Fletcher lacked such an exact forecast, but he knew something must break shortly. Nimitz’s intelligence was on the mark. At 0430 Nagumo’s 1st Kidō Butai, the most powerful task force in the Pacific, glided southeast in the growing light 240 miles northwest of Midway and only a little over two hundred miles west of Fletcher’s carriers. It was now the vanguard upon which the fury of the Pacific Fleet was about to descend. Operating together, unlike Cincpac’s prediction, the four elite carriers (247 operational planes, including twenty-one fighters for Midway) comprised Nagumo’s own 1st Carrier Division (Akagi and Kaga) and 2nd Carrier Division (Hiryū and Sōryū), under Rear Adm. Yamaguchi Tamon. The formidable screen, under Rear Adm. Abe Hiroaki (commanding officer, 8th Cruiser Division), contained fast battleships Haruna and Kirishima, Abe’s own heavy cruisers Tone and Chikuma, and Rear Adm. Kimura Susumu’s 10th Destroyer Squadron (light cruiser Nagara and eleven destroyers).12
Like Fletcher and Spruance, Vice Adm. Nagumo Chūichi, age fifty-five, was no naval aviator, but a surface warrior known as a particularly sharp and aggressive torpedo expert. Promoted to rear admiral in 1935, he led light cruisers in the opening stage of the China Incident, and in 1939 he rose to vice admiral in charge of the four Kongō-class fast battleships. Afterward, he served as president of the Naval Staff College. In April 1941 the IJN entrusted Nagumo, who had no previous aviation experience, with the First Air Fleet of carriers. Late that year he formed the Kidō Butai, the operational command of six elite carriers that constituted the greatest concentration of naval aviation yet achieved. Nagumo won great success attacking Pearl Harbor, supporting the invasion of the Dutch East Indies, and in the Indian Ocean. By necessity like Fletcher and Spruance, he relied on the advice of his carrier experts. Unlike his U.S. Navy counterparts, Nagumo appears to have shown little interest in the actual mechanics of carrier air operations. It became increasingly apparent by Midway that he was out of his depth, worn down by the responsibility of commanding a force whose technical intricacies he had not mastered. Such passivity resulted from a system where top commanders almost invariably (Yamamoto a rare exception) decided in favor of staff recommendations, once the staff officers themselves reached consensus. Cdr. Genda Minoru, the brilliant air staff officer who largely planned the air portion of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and senior strike leader Cdr. Fuchida Mitsuo, who executed that plan in flawless fashion, exerted an overconfident influence on Nagumo. The chief of staff was Rear Adm. Kusaka Ryūnosuke, a non-aviator who nevertheless captained two carriers. He refereed the debates and served as conciliator. At Midway illness slowed Genda, and Fuchida did not fly because of a recent appendectomy. Their incapacity contributed to a lack of decisiveness by Nagumo in the top level of command.13
Nagumo’s first order of business on 4 June was to mount his Midway strike and dawn search. Thirty-six Akagi and Kaga Type 99 carrier bombers, thirty-six bomb-armed Type 97 carrier attack planes from the Sōryū and Hiryū, and thirty-six Zero fighters from all four carriers assembled with an ease that again demonstrated the marvelous coordination between carrier divisions and air groups that was far superior to the U.S. Navy’s. Because each carrier only launched a portion of her strength as a single deck load, takeoff and assembly went quickly. Yet the downside of such cooperation in the face of opposition was that all four carriers were committed to the eventual recovery of the Midway strike. By 0445 the 108 planes formed in a single strike group and set off southeast toward Midway. The distance at launch, 240 miles, was far beyond what the U.S. carriers could accomplish. The favorable southeasterly wind permitted Nagumo to close the target even while conducting air operations. The dawn search did not go as well. One carrier attack plane each from the Akagi and Kaga and four Type 0 reconnaissance seaplanes from the Tone and Chikuma handled nearly the entire eastern semicircle to three hundred miles, except a short-ranged Haruna Type 95 seaplane flew the northernmost sector to 150 miles. The two carrier attack planes left for their assigned sectors west and southwest of Midway along with the strike, but the cruiser planes scheduled for north of Midway were tardy. Because of a slipup, the Tone Number Four aircraft departed at 0500. Even worse, Nagumo’s staff committed the key blunder of assigning too few planes to such a wide expanse of ocean. Bates judged the search as insufficiently “dense.” Beyond 150 miles the planes were too far apart to cover their sectors adequately. Nagumo ignored that the Midway strike was going in a day late and that the Americans were already aware of the approach of at least part of the Invasion Force.14
Such slackness reflected Nagumo’s strong confidence that he had surprised Midway. Even so, he tucked a card up his sleeve, actually in the hangar decks of the four carriers. In the unlikely event the search discovered U.S. ships, he readied a second wave of 101 aircraft (thirty-four Sōryū and Hiryū carrier bombers, forty-three Akagi and Kaga torpedo-equipped carrier attack planes, and twenty-four escort Zeros) that could surely handle anything that might turn up. This contingency rose from Combined Fleet orders as a precaution should U.S. carriers already be off Midway. No one in the 1st Kidō Butai seriously believed that would happen. Nagumo allotted only twelve Zero fighters for defense, but the reserve escort and the Zeros being transported for Midway could fight if necessary. Once the Midway strike returned, its strong escort could swell the combat air patrol. To Nagumo the MI Operation shaped up as a repeat of the April frolic in the Indian Ocean.15
Contacts from the Midway PBYs came in fast and furious, to Simard if not as yet to Nimitz, Fletcher, or Spruance.16 At 0523 Lt. (jg) Howard P. Ady of VP-23, handling the sector 312–320 degrees, radioed in code: “Aircraft sighted.” He quickly identified a single-engine seaplane. At 0530 he followed with: “Enemy carriers.” The Enterprise (and possibly the Yorktown) logged that electrifying message at 0534, but never heard his amplifying report placing those carriers bearing 320 degrees and 180 miles from Midway. Wary of Zeros, Ady’s lumbering PBY edged in at low altitude. He only ever saw two carriers amidst the widely dispersed screen and, as instructed, continued on his search. At 0552 the U.S. carriers did copy a plain language message from the PBY in the sector immediately south of Ady. Lt. (jg) William E. Chase of VP-23 trumpeted: “Many planes heading Midway, bearing 310 distance 150.” That had to be the Japanese strike group, showing again the Midway operation was unfolding as predicted. The PBY crews rebroadcast their sighting reports to ensure they were received. Pearl picked up one of Ady’s repeats at 0555 (0825 Hawaii time), causing Nimitz to remark to Layton: “Well you were off only five minutes, five degrees and five miles.” With respect to Layton, both the timing and Ady’s navigation were slightly off. When first sighted about 0530, Nagumo’s carriers were forty miles northwest of where Ady put them.17
Fletcher learned of Ady’s critical sighting from a Midway plain language broadcast at 0603 for Sweeney’s B-17s. “Two carriers and battleships bearing 320 distance 180 course 135 speed 25.” He naturally assumed that position referred to 0600, putting the two carriers two hundred miles southwest of TF-17. In fact Nagumo’s four carriers were nearer to 220 miles away. For Spruance’s TF-16, the distances were 180 miles (supposed) and two hundred miles (actual). Given Nimitz’s plan, the mention of only two carriers certainly did not surprise Fletcher and Spruance or, as will be shown, the Hornet’s Pete Mitscher. It was logical to assume the PBY disclosed the carrier group that was attacking Midway. Those two carriers should continue closing Midway to recover their planes and rearm them for another go. Should enemy search planes discover either TF-17 or TF-16, that second strike, as well as the thunderbolt from the covering force, would pummel them instead. For the time being the Yorktown was committed to its easterly course to retrieve the morning search. No matter, for the plan called for Spruance to move TF-16 into range and swiftly strike in hopes of taking out the entire Midway carrier group in one blow. Fletcher anticipated that Midway’s search would soon also pinpoint the covering force of two carriers. Then the Yorktown could destroy one of those flattops or at least keep them occupied until Spruance could recover his strike and attack again. Fletcher’s other alternative was to commit the Yorktown’s planes in support of Spruance’s assault.
Fletcher did not hesitate. At 0607 he ordered Spruance by TBS: “Proceed southwesterly and attack enemy carriers as soon as definitely located. I will follow as soon as planes recovered.” Spruance had come around at 0600 northwest (330 degrees) to keep station southwest of TF-17. Now at 0611 after receiving Fletcher’s order, he swung TF-16 southwest to 240 degrees at twenty-five knots. Spruance did not acknowledge the order, leaving Fletcher to wonder whether TF-16, too, monitored the 0603 message or simply followed orders to steam southwest. At 0622 he called by TBS to the rapidly diverging Spruance: “Have you received report 2 CV and BB bearing 320 distance 180 miles from Midway course 135 speed 25? This on 4265 [Midway plane frequency].” The incomplete communication logs do not record a reply, but at 0623 both carrier task forces received the Cincpac rebroadcast on the Fox Schedule of the original sighting report.18
Estimate of the situation, 0600, 4 June 1942
Fletcher’s first major decision of the Battle of Midway, to divide his force and direct Spruance to attack the two carriers, completely conformed to Nimitz’s plan. However, some have asserted that from the very beginning Spruance enjoyed virtual independence. Commander Buracker, TF-16 operations officer, and Lieutenant Oliver, Spruance’s flag lieutenant, declared that Nimitz intended from the start to give Spruance a free hand. Bates thought Spruance already left Fletcher’s control when he started to come around to the west at 0600, while Fletcher continued east. Following their lead, Cdr. Thomas B. Buell’s authoritative biography The Quiet Warrior likewise had Spruance deciding early on 4 June on his own when and where and even if to strike, without any reference to a mutually agreed plan. To Buell, Fletcher’s attack order was “superfluous,” because “Spruance was already on his way.” In fact Spruance changed course at 0600 simply to maintain relative position on TF-17. He did not turn toward the enemy until he received Fletcher’s order. Unlike his overprotective champions (and, later, Nimitz), Spruance always acknowledged that Fletcher indeed controlled both carrier task forces at Midway.19
Spruance’s role in the initial phase of the battle was carefully circumscribed, with little discretion on his part. When he thought TF-16 was within range of one of the enemy carrier groups he was to dispatch every Enterprise and Hornet strike plane (seventy-one dive bombers and twenty-nine torpedo planes, plus twenty escort fighters) in a coordinated surprise assault. In truth he could do little else, given his flight decks were configured not only with attack aircraft but also combat air patrol fighters. The limiting factor for range was the maximum accepted radius of 175 miles for the TBDs and escort fighters, the new F4F-4 Wildcats. In contrast, the SBD dive bombers could go well beyond two hundred miles. Spruance’s task appeared straightforward. However, few aspects of the Battle of Midway are less understood than the circumstances behind the launch of the U.S. strike groups.20
At 0615 Spruance reckoned the target, if correctly reported (a big “if,” which was why Fletcher added “as soon as definitely located”), to be about 175 miles away. Should he launch immediately? Mitscher thought so. He directed the Hornet aircrews, less group and squadron commanders, to man planes, but stood down when the Enterprise did not turn into the wind. In truth the relative position of the opposing forces, the wind direction and velocity, and tactical considerations made the decision of when and how to launch the strikes much more complex than it might first appear. TF-16 opened the battle poised on the enemy’s left flank, an admirable tactical position, but one that meant the track of the enemy carriers crossed ahead at nearly a right angle to the incoming U.S. strike planes. Finding them was no sure thing. There must be some margin for error if the target did not appear at the expected intercept point and the strike must search for it. However, an immediate launch at 0615 actually translated to an outbound leg of well over 175 miles, too much under the chancy circumstances for TBDs and F4Fs. That was because the breeze blew from the southeast at a modest six knots, so little that the carriers had to steam above twenty-five knots to generate enough wind velocity over the deck for flight operations. Diverging southeast would take them on a tangent away from the target and substantially increase the distance their planes must fly to get there. If the launch, as expected, lasted forty-five minutes, the target would be twenty miles farther away, closer to two hundred miles, when the groups could actually depart. Fletcher’s TF-17 faced different circumstances in the Battle of the Coral Sea, when on both days the Japanese obligingly steamed toward the U.S. carriers. When Fitch launched at two hundred miles he counted on the target being thirty miles closer when his planes arrived. Spruance had no such assurance. Browning suggested the launch begin at 0700, when the enemy should be 155 miles away. When the strike planes actually departed, that distance should have increased to 175 miles. Eager to attack as soon as good judgment would permit, Spruance readily agreed. At 0638 he ordered the Enterprise and Hornet to commence launching at 0700.21
Bates later laid out the advantages of an immediate launch at 0615: the greater opportunity for surprise and lessened chance of being caught in turn with one’s own planes still on deck. Yet he offered effusive praise for Spruance for taking the “calculated risk” of delaying his launch for about an hour. “This was a courageous decision, and one that paid off handsomely. It was an excellent demonstration of the will of the Commander; that quality which, in conjunction with the mental ability to understand what is required, enables the Commander to ensure for his command every possible advantage which can be obtained.” Actually Spruance had very compelling reasons for following Browning’s advice to wait. Bates did not realize that immediate launch meant either sending the dive bombers out alone, which ruled out a coordinated group attack, or imperiling the shorter-ranged TBDs and F4Fs. Ironically while Bates lauded Spruance for holding off the launch, Morison asserted that he actually intended to wait nearly three hours, from 0607 until 0900, before launching, only to be talked out of it by the astute Browning. This particular myth seemed plausible given Browning’s enhanced reputation after the battle. The citation for his DSM read in part: “By his expert planning and brilliant execution he was largely responsible for the rout of the enemy in the Battle of Midway.” Morison’s claim, however, for such a delay arose from his error in reading an entry in the TF-16 war diary. He failed to realize that because the carriers went by Z+10 time, the 0900 (Z+10) in that document equated to 0700 (Z+12) in Midway local time used in most historical accounts of the battle. Spruance certainly never desired a disastrous three-hour delay. He just wanted to attack as soon as he could do so effectively.22
Unfamiliar with carrier procedures, Spruance understandably left all details strictly in the hands of his staff experts Browning and Buracker and captains Mitscher and George Murray. While in his cruiser flagship, Spruance had closely involved himself in planning. That day in the Enterprise, however, he preferred to “stand in the background while the staff went about its business,” and “reserved himself only to those major decisions which had a direct bearing on the objective.” Unfortunately Spruance’s trust was misplaced. Browning had CTF-16 order “deferred departure,” that is, each strike group was to circle until all of its squadrons had taken off, then maintain tactical contact all the way to the target. Because U.S. carrier plane types differed significantly in range, cruising speed, and optimum cruising altitude (in strong contrast to the Japanese), getting all of them to the target at the same time posed a real challenge. Yet coordination was vital to divide the combat air patrol fighters and antiaircraft, especially given the strong defenses encountered in the Coral Sea. The dive bombers and torpedo planes should attack in concert, or at least the SBDs should dive in just ahead of the TBDs. Mitscher and Murray already made special provision for that form of attack. Assuming the direction to the enemy force was obvious, Browning did not designate the outbound course for the strike. However, he instructed Mitscher and Murray to employ “search-attack” procedure, used “when the location of the objective is indefinite to such a degree as to necessitate preliminary search.” That meant part of each group (usually the scouting squadron) was to form a scouting line en route to the target. Browning also emphasized that each group make certain it attacked a different carrier. It is interesting that he did not implement existing (if little used) provisions for “wing tactics,” in which the senior air group leader, in this case the Hornet’s Cdr. Stanhope C. Ring, coordinated the attacks of the two groups in succession. That day, however, each group was to attack simultaneously.23
At 0700 the Enterprise and Hornet turned south on slightly different courses into the feeble wind and bent on twenty-eight knots. The screen split to cover each carrier. The target was thought to bear 239–240 degrees at 155 miles, but Nagumo was actually 175 miles away, bearing 245 degrees. Once the carriers completed flight operations, Spruance planned to decrease the return leg by closing to one hundred miles of the target. That entailed advancing southwest at twenty-five knots for three hours after the groups departed. The flag provided no formal Point Option—the course and speed TF-16 would steer after the launch—but the Hornet understood that “in lieu thereof closing of the enemy was indicated.” On the face of it, mounting a strike of this magnitude did not seem a particularly tough problem. In peacetime a U.S. carrier customarily crowded her entire air group of seventy-three planes on the flight deck in the order fighters, dive bombers, and torpedo planes, then launched them “in one continuous operation.” The “book” decreed that such mass takeoffs normally required twenty minutes, somewhat less with “skilled pilots and trained flight deck crews.” However, it was always understood such a full group launch was an artificial situation unlikely to occur during wartime, when aircraft would be needed for other duties. Indeed to this point, only the huge Lexington ever spotted as many as fifty planes at one time for a combat mission. And circumstances changed. Planes now equipped with armor and self-sealing fuel tanks were heavier, requiring longer takeoff runs and hence more deck room. The carriers could no longer accommodate all their strike planes in one deck load, making it difficult for each group to ensure its squadrons simultaneously reached the target. Browning followed doctrine and gave both captains latitude to organize their strikes as they saw fit. Neither did particularly well, but one solution proved much worse than the other.24
In the Hornet, Mitscher, although well seasoned in carriers, had no actual wartime combat experience and lost valuable additional training time due to the Tokyo raid. He simply followed the old group launch doctrine, spotting well forward the twenty assigned VF-8 fighters—eight combat air patrol, ten escort, and two standby F4Fs—then all thirty-four operational SBDs. Half the dive bombers, including Ring’s, carried single 500-pound bombs; the balance 1,000-pound bombs. Room remained aft on the flight deck for six TBDs from Torpedo Eight. The other nine Devastators would come up the aft elevator once the deck was clear and take off last of all. Although the fighter escorts had the same short strike radius as the TBDs, Mitscher would launch them first. Evidently he counted on getting the second small deck load aloft before the rest of the strike wasted too much fuel waiting for it to form up and depart. On the basis of initial combat reports from the Coral Sea, he decided dive bombers needed protection more than torpedo planes. He gave all ten F4F escorts to the SBDs for the gas-consuming climb to twenty thousand feet, while the slower torpedo planes followed at low altitude. He expected Ring to maintain tactical cohesion all the way to the target.25
Murray in the Enterprise adopted the same arrangement he employed on the 24 February raid against Wake, reserving the short-ranged strike components for a second deck load. Thus his initial spot comprised eight combat air patrol fighters and all thirty-seven SBDs, armed variously with single 500-pound bombs, a mixed bag of one 500-pound and two 100-pound bombs, and, the last eighteen, one 1,000-pound bomb each. Murray worried the fully fueled SBDs, particularly those burdened with 1,000-pounders, needed as much deck space as possible for takeoff. That was even more true this day because of the slight wind. The second deck load, waiting in the hangar, comprised the escort of ten VF-6 F4Fs and fourteen TBDs from VT-6. Like Mitscher, Murray directed his escort F4Fs to cover the SBDs at high altitude, while the TBDs stayed down low. However, the group and squadron leaders worked out a contingency plan for the escorts to dive to the aid of the torpedo planes if they encountered strong fighter opposition.26
The TF-16 launches began shortly after 0700 but proceeded slowly as plane after plane rumbled aloft and circled overhead. By 0742 the Hornet cleared her deck of the first fifty-eight planes and started spotting the remaining nine TBDs. The takeoff of the Big E’s forty-five aircraft lagged after four Dauntlesses suffered mechanical failure. They had either to be struck below or run out on outriggers to clear the deck. Only after the last SBD lifted off could deck crews start bringing the escort F4Fs and TBDs up from the hangar. Observing from the Enterprise’s flag shelter, Spruance grew increasingly impatient over the obvious holdup. The launch unfortunately seemed a repeat of the 24 February affair, where because of delays in getting the SBDs off, the whole group was thirty minutes late. In this connection Murray recalled what his old boss Adm. Joseph Reeves had said: “Time, gentleman, remember Time,” because “time is a terribly important thing” with regard to launches. “If they can be done without the complication of planes failing to start on deck; if the engines will start and warm up properly, and they’ll all take off—the thing goes beautifully.” If not, like this day, there was trouble.27
Time was up as far as Spruance was concerned. At 0740 Lieutenant Slonim, the radio intelligence officer, alerted him of a possible enemy sighting of TF-16.28 Anxious to get something going as soon as possible, Spruance abruptly dispensed with the coordinated attack. Browning concurred, because he, too, worried about the tardy takeoffs. At 0745 via flashing light the flag signalers told Lt. Cdr. Clarence Wade McClusky, the group leader circling at the head of thirty-three Enterprise SBDs, to “proceed on mission assigned.” He departed southwest minus the VF-6 escort fighters, about to be launched, while the spotting of the VT-6 TBDs had barely begun. At the same time Ring obsessively arrayed the thirty-four Hornet SBDs in group parade formation, as if preening for an air show, while they and the ten ill-starred VF-8 escort F4Fs slowly climbed toward high altitude. The Hornet completed launch of the last nine TBDs at 0755. While the VT-8 TBDs formed up low over the water, Ring signaled his departure. The VF-6 escort fighters, climbing high, had of course missed McClusky’s SBDs, but Lt. James S. Gray, their leader, tagged onto the Hornet TBDs mistaking them for the Enterprise torpedo planes. Finally at 0806 the last TBD of Lt. Cdr. Eugene E. Lindsey’s VT-6 lifted off the Enterprise long after every other squadron had cleared out.29
At 0806 Spruance resumed the base course of 240 degrees at twenty-five knots. In the past half hour wary listeners in TF-16 monitored radio transmissions from an apparent shadower. Finally at 0815 lookouts in the Northampton sighted a twin-float seaplane lurking thirty miles south. Ham Dow, the Enterprise fighter director, broke radio silence on the medium-range high-frequency fighter circuit to direct combat air patrol fighters after the intruder. By that time TF-16 itself had separated into two ad hoc task groups under Murray and Mitscher that would cruise independently until sunset. Heavy cruisers Northampton, Vincennes, and Pensacola and five destroyers accompanied the Enterprise; the Minneapolis (Kinkaid’s flagship), New Orleans, light cruiser Atlanta, and four destroyers joined the Hornet. Kinkaid informed Mitscher, his junior, that he would conform to his movements.30
Unknown to Spruance, a potential catastrophe was in the making. His air strike already fractured into three elements, each going in a different direction. Out in the lead, McClusky figured the enemy carriers would continue to make twenty-five knots while advancing toward Midway to recover their planes. He worked out an intercept course that allowed for their maximum advance. Thus his thirty-three SBDs headed out on 226 degrees, well south of the course of 240 degrees that Spruance announced the carriers would take while closing the enemy. McClusky anticipated finding the target at about 142 miles. Lindsey, leaving fifteen minutes later, chose 240 degrees for his fourteen VT-6 TBDs. Ring led the thirty-four Hornet SBDs, ten F4Fs, fifteen TBDs, and, unwittingly, the ten VF-6 escort F4Fs west on course 265 degrees, taking them far to the northwest of Spruance’s designated target. Ring also evidently intended to go out to 225 miles if necessary. It appears that Mitscher, worried by Ady’s PBY report of only two carriers, took it upon himself to search for and strike the supposed second group of enemy carriers thought to be behind the lead group. Not all of these widely diverging flights could possibly find Nagumo.31
Once Spruance received the order to attack, he threw in everything he had. Fletcher had other matters to consider. At 0622 the Yorktown sent aloft a relief combat air patrol of six F4Fs and prepared to recover the search SBDs and the first combat air patrol. During that process the radio boomed forth in plain language: “Air Raid, Midway.” By 0645 after the landings, Buckmaster respotted the strike group for takeoff. At that time the two enemy carriers were thought to be more than two hundred miles southwest, well out of range. Fletcher faced all of the constraints of wind direction and relative positions already imposed on TF-16. Nagumo was actually more than 225 miles away. In the absence of word of additional enemy carriers, Fletcher resolved to close within strike range of the original contact to retain the option of following up Spruance’s attack. He pointed TF-17 southwest (225 degrees) at twenty-five knots and estimated he could start launching his strike about 0830, when the distance to the original target should have shrunk to 160 miles. In the interval, he waited to see whether the Midway search could turn up the second enemy carrier group. Then he could judge whether to hit it or keep after the first target. Thus at 0648 he advised Spruance and Smith: “Shall follow TF-16 to southwestward and launch attack when within range. Two carriers unaccounted for.”32
Critics charged that Fletcher dithered, whereas Spruance acted decisively. Although Bates lauded Spruance for postponing his attack until TF-16 moved closer and enhanced its chances for success, he chided Fletcher for opting to “withhold launching,” instead of immediately joining the TF-16 onslaught. No “courageous” decision here, or an “excellent demonstration of the will of the Commander” showing “the mental ability to understand what is required.” Instead, Bates castigated Fletcher for violating the truism, “It is generally best to throw all of your available strength . . . in a coordinated attack rather than launch them piecemeal in uncoordinated attacks.” He conceded Fletcher might have had the unlocated carriers on his mind, but condescendingly presumed, “His actions were somewhat colored by his experiences in the Battle of the Coral Sea wherein the Japanese nearly surprised him.” The plain facts are that the Yorktown was out of effective range of Nagumo until after 0830, and that Fletcher attacked as soon as he reasonably could. His decision to hold off the Yorktown’s launch exactly mirrored the one for which Bates so highly praised Spruance, who, not so coincidentally, happened then to be president of the Naval War College and Bates’s direct superior. Morison likewise noted Fletcher “delayed launching, however, for over two hours,” but later conceded that he might have done so “properly.”33
Like the Enterprise (if not the Hornet), the Yorktown reckoned the extreme attack radius of the F4F-4s at 175 miles, the same as the TBDs. Commander Thach, commanding officer of VF-3, said he would go that far, which Commander Leslie, commanding officer of VB-3, thought was “really giving a lot.” Coping with the same disadvantages as TF-16, Fletcher, cued by his aviation advisors Arnold (air officer) and Pederson (air group commander), handled them much more astutely. “We were frantic for additional information,” Arnold recalled, “but we had to launch our planes just on the one contact report.” He plotted the course and speed of the two enemy carriers to be almost directly downwind from Midway and assumed, like McClusky, they would continue southeast into the wind to shorten the range and recover their strike. By the time the Yorktown planes could reach that enemy force, it might be only ninety miles from Midway, but Arnold did not think Japanese carriers would approach Midway that close so early in the battle. He calculated they would stay at least 120 miles distant. That translated to approximately 150 miles, bearing 230 degrees from the Yorktown’s anticipated launch position. Therefore if the strike did not find the enemy at the intercept point, it could count on the target being to the right, the northwest. Arnold told the strike leaders not to proceed southwest beyond the line of bearing between the assumed Japanese position and Midway. If the enemy was not there, they were to turn right and fly northwest along the reciprocal of the Japanese course. “They all agreed that this made good sense and all of them carried out this plan exactly.”34
To ensure the strike had enough fuel for extended search and still delivered a coordinated attack, Pederson worked out another running rendezvous like the Yorktown found so effective earlier. The first deck load comprised Leslie’s seventeen VB-3 SBDs (with 1,000-pound bombs) and Commander Massey’s dozen VT-3 TBDs with torpedoes. Leslie’s SBDs were to circle the Yorktown for fifteen minutes, while the slow Devastators took off and departed at once. Then the flight deck crews were to bring up from the hangar Lieutenant Short’s seventeen VS-5 SBDs, all warmed up and ready to go. They should get aloft in time to follow Leslie’s SBDs on their way out. The SBDs were to climb to fifteen thousand feet en route to the target. Going last of all, but with the fastest cruise (139 knots as opposed to 110–20 knots for the others), Thach’s eight F4Fs were to take off just after the SBDs and remain at low level to cover VT-3. If everything went according to plan, Thach should pass underneath Short and Leslie and catch up to Massey after about forty-five minutes, so the group could maintain vertical integrity long enough to reach the target.35
Fletcher stated in his report that TF-16 commenced launching at 0710 with a Point Option course of 240 degrees at twenty-five knots. As he had no other way of knowing that, Spruance must have furnished him that useful information by TBS radio (to “follow” TF-16 Fletcher had to know where it was going). Arnold certainly learned of the TF-16 Point Option course and speed (he recalled twenty-four knots) soon after Fletcher. Expecting to dispatch the Yorktown strike group against the same carriers, Arnold thought TF-16 could never maintain its stated rate of advance and end up anywhere near where its pilots could expect to find it on their return. TF-16 had committed a “terrible blunder,” that he certainly did not want TF-17 to emulate. Believing erroneously that Spruance, blessed with Halsey’s prestigious air staff, exercised tactical command over both task forces, Arnold worried Fletcher would simply comply with that Point Option course and speed. He never understood that Spruance was indeed subordinate to Fletcher, and that Spruance never issued any orders to TF-17. After Arnold expressed “violent protest” over the TF-16 Point Option, Buckmaster sent him down to the flag bridge. Arnold “explained to Fletcher who partially understood and asked me what Pt. Option speed should be.” To that he replied, “It was not an exact science but a matter of judgement and that I thought it should be 10–12 knots and not 24 [sic].” To Fletcher’s retort, “But we must close the Japs,” Arnold responded, “With the wind as it is we simply could not close at anything like 24 knots.” Frequent diversions off the base course for air operations would prevent that. Fletcher gave Arnold “official permission” to alter the Yorktown’s Point Option estimate of advance to eighteen knots. Arnold was greatly surprised he had not referred it “back to T.F. 16 for concurrence.” Fletcher, in tactical command, needed not consult TF-16, but simply let Spruance handle the details of his own strike. In turn Arnold relayed the eighteen-knot Point Option speed to the squadron commanders, but privately told them to figure on twelve knots for Point Option. His “only excuse” for not following orders was that “something had to be done”.36
While TF-16 completed its laborious launch—its planes briefly appeared “on the horizon like a swarm of bees”—TF-17 endured an uneasy hour and a half with armed and fueled planes perched on the Yorktown’s flight deck. Fletcher learned from Cincpac that Midway took its lumps, but its airfield was still operational. He did not know that Midway’s aircraft had begun their gallant but unsuccessful forays against Nagumo’s powerful fighter defense. At 0810 Fletcher warned TF-17 the Hughes had sighted a strange aircraft to the south. Six minutes later the Enterprise could be heard directing fighters after a shadower much farther south. At 0821 the Astoria’s lookouts spotted another twin-float seaplane thirty miles south. To this juncture Fletcher did not think the enemy knew his exact whereabouts, so Fullinwider’s radio team in the Yorktown failed to pick up the same Japanese radio transmissions monitored by the Enterprise and Hypo at Pearl.37
Still concerned after all this time that the Midway search never discovered the second enemy carrier group, Fletcher reluctantly determined about 0825 not to commit his entire strike to the first attack. Instead he directed the seventeen SBDs of Short’s VS-5 remain in reserve and also reduced Thach’s fighter escort from eight to six Wildcats. Short’s SBDs could either search or attack at the appropriate time with a six-plane division of F4Fs as escort. Thach was livid at the change. His experimental defensive tactics (later dubbed the “Thach Weave”) required multiples of four planes, although Fletcher and Buckmaster knew nothing of that. Racing up to air plot, Thach was all set to argue with Arnold, until he learned the orders came from above and would not be changed. Again Arnold was not party to Fletcher’s deliberations. Set to take off first, Leslie was not even aware that VS-5, still in the hangar, would not be following him. Fletcher’s decision violated standard doctrine for carriers to strike hard and swiftly, not only for the biggest attack, but also because of the risk of being caught with armed and fueled planes. However, in light of his uncertainty as to the location of all four enemy carriers, and his role in Nimitz’s overall plan, he desired a force in hand to commit when necessary. Fletcher trusted his radar to give warning in the event of an incoming strike, so VS-5 could rapidly clear the deck. Circumstances would demonstrate the vast wisdom of an action that on its face appeared overly cautious.38
At 0838 Fletcher changed course southeast into the wind at twenty-eight knots to launch aircraft. The distance at that time to the northwest-southeast track of the enemy carriers was reckoned about 160 miles. Leslie’s seventeen VB-3 SBDs circled as directed, while Massey’s dozen Devastators departed at 0850. Thinking VS-5 would be trailing, Leslie himself left at 0902. Thach’s six F4Fs took off five minutes later and headed out at once. Six other fighters relieved the second combat air patrol. At 0914 Fletcher informed Spruance by TBS: “Launched three-fourths of group at attack same carriers.” After completing flight operations, he took the Point Option course of 225 degrees at twenty-five knots. The Yorktown spotted the flight deck with the dozen remaining fighters (including the refueled second combat air patrol) and the seventeen VS-5 SBDs ready for instant launch.39
By 0920 Fletcher had to feel that so far things were going well. The Japanese did not prevent the U.S. carriers from getting in the first blow of 151 planes intended to reduce the opposition to a more manageable two carriers. It was a powerful opening move, indeed the winning stroke if everything followed the plan and the attackers could return to intact carriers. The next two hours, while the three U.S. carriers confidently raced southwest at twenty-five knots, would see if Nimitz’s bold stratagem worked, or whether the Japanese could counterattack first.
In the meantime Fletcher’s counterpart Nagumo experienced a morning full of twists and turns. At 0620 his strike of 107 planes (one carrier attack plane aborted) tore through the two dozen marine fighters defending Midway and shot down sixteen F2As and F4Fs with little loss. Thereafter dive and level bombers enthusiastically pummeled military installations and tried to put the airfield temporarily out of commission. Seven planes fell or ditched near the target, with numerous others damaged. Greatly impressed by the fierce antiaircraft fire and fighter defense, strike leader Lt. Tomonaga Jōichi advised base at 0700: “There is need for a second attack wave.” American flying boats peeking out of the clouds alerted Nagumo at 0542 that his own position was pinpointed. If the Midway strike planes were as efficient, he could expect the counterattack shortly. The carriers reinforced their combat air patrol with Zero fighters drawn from the second strike wave held in reserve for possible ship targets. At 0705 the swiftest land-based attackers, six TBF Avengers from the VT-8 detachment and four army B-26 Marauder medium bombers, all armed with torpedoes, encountered the carriers 170 miles northwest of Midway. Their furious assault against the Akagi, although unsuccessful and costly (five TBFs and two B-26s), enormously magnified their numbers to the Japanese. Nagumo anticipated only two squadrons of flying boats, a squadron of “Army bombers,” and a fighter squadron at Midway, although those numbers could be “doubled in an emergency.” That certainly appeared to be the case.40
To Nagumo it was obvious Midway required further attention. The reserve of seventy-seven dive bombers and torpedo planes packed in the hangar decks of the four carriers could deliver an even more powerful blow. However, that would be contrary to Yamamoto’s orders. The forty-three carrier attack planes had to be reequipped with bombs for land targets in place of torpedoes (the thirty-four carrier bombers were not yet armed). Before Nagumo took that drastic step he must be completely confident no U.S. carriers skulked nearby. As yet nothing from the dawn search contradicted his strong impression that no enemy ships, let alone carriers, were in the area. By 0700 the search planes were supposed to start their doglegs three hundred miles out, although, of course, some were late, one in particular. The cruiser float plane flying the north-northeast sector already turned back because of bad weather. At 0715, notwithstanding the still incomplete search, Nagumo directed the carriers to rearm the carrier attack planes. Crewmen swarmed to replace the torpedoes hanging from the seventeen Akagi and twenty-six Kaga carrier attack planes with 800-kilogram high explosive land bombs for horizontal bombing. The arduous, time-consuming process of switching such heavy, cumbersome ordnance was only actually attempted once before, as a test in the Hiryū. The thirty-four carrier bombers on the Hiryū and Sōryū would be armed with 242-kilogram land bombs once actually spotted on decks. Before that, fighters could also be landed to restore the strength of the escort.41
Nagumo could not expect to launch his second Midway attack for more than two hours. Rearming should take ninety minutes, with forty minutes more to spot the second wave on the flight deck and warm up engines. That cut things very closely. The returning first Midway strike would be very low on fuel and must be recovered immediately thereafter. Nagumo made the decision, because he still believed the MI Operation was a strategic surprise, even though the Americans had one day’s warning. He acted with the concurrence of his advisors and most likely at their urging. Kusaka later condemned “intolerable” second-guessing by Combined Fleet that declared Nagumo should have kept half of his strength in reserve “indefinitely” against ships that “might not be in the area at all.” Even though exchanging torpedoes for bombs was unusual, it could hardly have come as a complete surprise. It is difficult to believe Nagumo actually contemplated only one strike against Midway on 4 June, whether or not Combined Fleet would have approved.42
Thus it was a terrific jolt at 0740, when the Tone Number Four plane searching the 100-degree line belatedly reported “ten surface ships” bearing 010 degrees and 240 miles from Midway. That contact was two hundred miles northeast (bearing 052 degrees) of the 1st Kidō Butai. The enemy headed southeast (150 degrees) at twenty knots. That was the sighting report that Slonim in the Enterprise intercepted for Spruance. Hypo at Pearl had it as well, but no code breaker could read its enciphered message. The search plane commander was PO1c Amari Yōji. One Japanese author wrote it was “fool’s luck” that Amari was the one to find the enemy, though Nagumo could count himself fortunate that anyone from his perfunctory effort ever did. That Amari got away late due to the balky catapult was not his fault, but the position he gave for the enemy was well north of his assigned search sector, and in fact fifty-three miles north of Spruance’s actual location. TF-16 was only about 175 miles northeast (bearing 067 degrees) from the Japanese carriers. The Chikuma Number One plane flying the search sector 077 degrees had passed to the north within twenty miles of TF-16 and TF-17 but missed them due to cloud cover.43
Nagumo responded immediately to the new potential threat. At 0745 he directed his carriers, “Prepare to carry out attacks on enemy fleet units.” Those Akagi and Kaga carrier attack planes that still had torpedoes were to keep them. The Hiryū and Sōryū carrier bombers also had yet to be spotted on deck and warmed up, although that was a relatively swift process. At 0747 Nagumo told Amari, “Ascertain ship types and maintain contact.” There ensued over the next two hours one of the strangest colloquies in the history of naval warfare. Nagumo and Abe (the senior cruiser admiral) tried without success to elicit clear and unambiguous reports from Amari, who proved remarkably cautious and tentative.44 Even though Nagumo told his force, “Prepare to carry out attacks on enemy fleet units,” there appears to have been no firm staff consensus whether the U.S. force included a carrier. Amari, the man on the spot, had yet to answer that question. Unspoken was the puzzle of why else would U.S. ships even be there other than with a carrier. Apparently none of Nagumo’s staff noticed the enemy’s reported course also pointed into the wind, suggesting a carrier conducting flight operations.45
Soon after Amari’s ominous sighting report, the 1st Kidō Butai fell under attack by a new wave of land-based planes, and even submarine Nautilus, that kept the ships scurrying the next half hour. Diverted from the transports, Sweeney’s fourteen B-17s sighted the far distant Japanese force around 0730 and slowly closed at high altitude. The Fortresses deployed into several small formations for level attacks against individual carriers that maneuvered in tight circles to avoid bombs. Sweeney first noted damage only to one carrier, but after collating accounts the army crews claimed at least five bomb hits that left three carriers in flames. Those exaggerations fueled subsequent stories that the AAF had turned the tide of the battle. The B-17s harmed no Japanese ships. Simultaneously the lead element of VMSB-241, sixteen SBD-2s, braved heavy fighter opposition to attack the Hiryū and lost half their number. The survivors claimed two hits, but the carrier was unhurt. Defending Zeros likewise forced the eleven SB2U Vindicators of VMSB-241 to settle for an unsuccessful foray against the battleship Haruna that cost four dive bombers. The Japanese admired the bravery of their opponents, but thought little of their skill.46
Amari radioed Nagumo at 0758 that the enemy ships changed course east (080 degrees). At 0809 he described the enemy as five cruisers and five destroyers. That seemed a fairly definite statement, but Kusaka finally became suspicious why such ships would even be present without a carrier. The staff considered whether after dealing with the amateurish land-based air attacks to go ahead with the second Midway strike and for the time being ignore the U.S. surface ships. Yamaguchi, apparently alarmed because carrier-type planes (the single-engine marine dive bombers) swarmed over his flagship Hiryū, violently disagreed. “Consider it advisable to launch attack force immediately,” he signaled Nagumo. A rising star, Yamaguchi would certainly have agreed with Vice Adm. Frederick J. Horne, who warned in 1937 after Fleet Problem XVIII: “Once an enemy carrier is within striking distance of our fleet no security remains until it—its squadrons—or both, are destroyed.” Yamaguchi did not hide his dissatisfaction with Nagumo’s indecisive leadership. Around 0820 he apparently directed the Sōryū and Hiryū to start spotting their thirty-four carrier bombers on deck to go after the enemy ships. Beginning at 0825 the Akagi, Kaga, and Hiryū launched ten Zeros as relief combat air patrol and the Sōryū her high-speed Type 2 reconnaissance plane. Only about eleven fighters remained on board the four carriers. At the same time one hundred Midway strike planes, all low on fuel and some shot up besides, neared the force or already loitered overhead.47
At 0830, however, the picture altered much for the worse, when Amari belatedly advised, equivocally as usual, “Enemy force [is] accompanied by what appears to be a carrier.” Again that should not have come as a total surprise, with carrier-type planes already identified among those assailing the 1st Kidō Butai. Yet confirmed carrier opposition caught Nagumo in a dilemma. At that point he would need time, because of the need to spot and warm up planes, even to mount a partial strike. Yamaguchi had no doubt what Nagumo should do and had not hesitated to tell him. Valid reasons existed for Nagumo to follow his advice, not the least of which was to get in a carrier strike as soon as possible. Prospects for a fighter escort, though, were sparse. Kusaka and Genda vehemently disagreed, and they swiftly swayed Nagumo into postponing any second attack. The carrier bombers that Yamaguchi was spotting up on deck had yet to be armed and warmed up before launch. That process might take a half hour. In the interval some or even many Midway attackers might ditch before flight decks were again open to receive them. Thus Nagumo resolved to land the Midway strike as soon as possible, then recycle the combat air patrol, regroup his task force, and complete the rearming. His “grand scale air attack” of seventy-seven strike aircraft (seventeen Akagi and twenty-six Kaga carrier attack planes with torpedoes and thirty-four Sōryū and Hiryū carrier bombers) and fighter escorts should be ready to depart in about two hours. Nagumo and the staff must have judged that any real danger to the carriers in the meantime was minimal.48
The risk of losing many of the Midway first attackers to the sea evidently was the overriding factor in the decision to delay the second strike. Kusaka later declared, and Genda and Fuchida concurred, that they also worried that the precipitous strike Yamaguchi recommended could only have a few escort Zeros. A strong fighter defense could overwhelm a small escort and shred the bombers just the way their own combat air patrol ground up the enemy. This particular excuse almost certainly arose from hindsight to justify the decision that ultimately decided the course of the battle. In fact the staff assigned only a dozen fighters (three from each carrier) to accompany the reorganized “grand scale air attack.” That hardly squares with their supposed concern over defending U.S. fighters. Instead, Nagumo and his advisors perceived the situation as sufficiently favorable not to force them to commit an unbalanced attack. The second strike could wait until everything was ready to go. The methodical Kusaka distrusted precipitate actions, preferring “a concentrated single stroke after sufficient study and minute planning.” He and ex–fighter pilot Genda felt fully confident their own superb Zeros, rapidly reinforced by the former Midway escort, would annihilate whatever the bumbling Americans might throw against them. Fuchida reflected their optimism. “It was our general conclusion that we had little to fear from the enemy’s offensive tactics.” Even Hara’s green 5th Carrier Division performed well in the Coral Sea Battle by sinking two carriers. Nagumo’s decision to stand temporarily on defense and accept attack resembled the one that Spruance himself would make two years later on 19 June 1944 in the Battle of the Philippine Sea.49
At 0830 Nagumo directed Yamaguchi to “prepare for second attack” by arming his carrier bombers with 250-kilogram semi–armor-piercing bombs. With the air attacks from Midway tailing off, he reassembled his task force and turned into the slight wind to recover the fuel-starved Midway attackers. At 0837 the Akagi and Kaga began landing aircraft. The Hiryū and Sōryū followed suit after arming their carrier bombers and striking them below in the upper hangar decks. Three carrier attack planes ditched, and destroyers swiftly rescued the crews. At 0917 with most of the first wave snugly on board, Nagumo changed course northeast (070 degrees) at thirty knots. That would match the enemy’s previous turn to the east and keep the carriers pointed toward the fickle wind, which had shifted to 050 degrees at six knots. By blinking light he transmitted his plan “to contact and destroy the enemy task force.” When Nagumo turned away, the 1st Kidō Butai had approached within about 135 miles of Midway, close to Arnold’s estimate.50
Nagumo radioed Yamamoto and Kondō at 0855 to report the enemy force of one carrier, five cruisers, and five destroyers discovered 240 miles north of Midway. “We are heading for it.” With Amari’s reliability in serious doubt, Nagumo had, as previously noted, augmented the search with the Sōryū’s high-speed reconnaissance plane and dispatched a seaplane to relieve Amari. Uncertainty over the accuracy of Amari’s navigation might have been another consideration for delaying the 0830 attack. By 0900 Nagumo anticipated unleashing his great air strike in ninety minutes. Moreover, Yamaguchi advised that the Sōryū and Hiryū could each dispatch nine carrier attack planes (back from the Midway) between 1030 and 1100. Presumably the Akagi and Kaga carrier bombers would also be available at that time. That third wave could mop up any big ships left after Nagumo’s hammer blow finished off the U.S. carrier. In the meantime Amari radioed that he was homeward bound, but then, about 0840, unexpectedly placed two additional cruisers northwest of the main body. Abe ordered him to stay on station. At 0901 Amari replied that he would comply, and that incidentally, at 0855 he had spotted ten enemy torpedo planes “heading toward you.” During his brief withdrawal Amari stumbled across TF-17 while the Yorktown launched her strike. True to form he only noticed two ships from the screen besides the dozen VT-3 TBDs heading out. One wonders if under the circumstances Nagumo was particularly worried about yet another small wave of enemy planes. Repeatedly urged by Abe, Amari conscientiously stayed on station despite dwindling fuel until after 0940, but in the interval he gave his superiors no additional information.51
In retrospect Amari’s failures to develop his contacts deeply harmed the Japanese cause. Had he come through promptly and clearly with word of U.S. carriers (which certainly were nearby), Nagumo might have attacked them using whatever planes were at hand. The Midway-based planes that raided the 1st Kidō Butai between 0800 and 0830 would have slowed the process of spotting and launching the strike, but at least a part of the Japanese strike planes should have got aloft before the Midway attackers would have to ditch. That blow might not have won the battle for Nagumo, but it certainly could have increased the cost to the Pacific Fleet.
Fletcher’s wait after 0920 in the Yorktown’s flag plot recalled two recent interludes of intense inaction. He could do little else than sit on the transom, pace the flag bridge, or lean over the chart table to ponder yet again the meager enemy data entered on the plot. All ears were attuned to the bulkhead speaker for additional sighting reports and to the phone circuits for alerts from the radar shack (Fletcher’s great advantage over Nagumo) and ship lookouts. Hovering unobtrusively, Commander Laing, the British naval liaison officer, jotted in his little black notebook. He disapproved of the physical layout of the flag bridge and the procedures the fleet used to keep track of contacts. The first was “inadequate,” the other “rudimentary.” Later at Pearl he stressed the need for a grid system to facilitate secure reporting of positions and recommended the British lettered coordinate system. He swiftly acquired a copy via the attaché in Washington and presented it to Nimitz, who was very grateful and soon had the Pacific Fleet adopt the grid concept. Laing would have been far more appalled had he seen Nagumo and his staff simply huddled in a corner of the Akagi’s cramped navigation bridge.52
The only new land-based air sightings referred to the invasion forces now three to four hundred miles west of Midway. At 0857 Sweeney informed base that his B-17s damaged one carrier, but he gave no position. His was the first word from the Midway strike. Dubious about the effectiveness of the Flying Forts against ships (and the accuracy of AAF damage assessments), Fletcher could only hope that was correct. For a time the TF-16 combat air patrol could be seen circling south of TF-17. Dow directed Enterprise fighters after various bogeys that were friendly cruiser float planes flying inner air patrol against subs. At 0949 he tapped one of the distant VF-3 sections for a similar mission with the same result. This problem would persist until all aircraft were equipped with identification, friend or foe (IFF) gear. It is not known whether the Japanese heard any of these FDO transmissions, but they certainly did in other 1942 carrier battles.53
The TF-16 planners thought their strike would reach the target around 0920, but no contact reports came through at that time. The minutes weighed more heavily on Spruance than Fletcher. His planes had been aloft for up to two hours longer and were low on fuel. The first indication the two admirals received that any of their planes contacted the enemy occurred at 0956, via the fighter net, the combat air patrol frequency the strike planes shared. Someone identifying himself as “Grey” stated he was flying over eight destroyers, two battleships, and two carriers. Four minutes later “Grey” advised that after having flown over the enemy force for a half hour, he was “returning to the ship due to the lack of gas.” He said the Japanese did not have a combat air patrol, repeated the composition of the enemy force, and gave its course “about north.” Listeners in the Yorktown were uncertain of “Grey’s” identity, but surmised one TF-16 squadron attacked the carrier group without meeting fighter opposition. The Enterprise indeed had a “Grey” on the mission, Lieutenant Gray, commanding officer of VF-6, who led the fighter escort. In the heat of the moment Browning failed to make the connection. Both he and Spruance thought that McClusky, the group commander, transmitted those messages. They deplored that instead of attacking, “McClusky” was requesting permission to return for fuel. Fuming, Browning grabbed the microphone in the Enterprise’s flag shelter and exclaimed at 1008: “McClusky attack, attack immediately!” A minute later he repeated the message, but remembered to preface it with the voice code names for the Enterprise and Enterprise Air Group commander. Browning then inquired whether the target was in sight but never heard an acknowledgment. The failure to indoctrinate U.S. carrier pilots to make contact reports once they sighted the enemy proved a serious flaw.54
At 1014 Spruance relayed to Fletcher the gist of the “Grey” messages he wrongly attributed to the Enterprise group commander, and added: “My course 285.” Since relieving the combat air patrol at 0955, Spruance turned west to 260 degrees at twenty-five knots. At 1005 he swung northwest (285 degrees) at twenty-seven knots to “close enemy now on northerly course.” That ended any pretense of TF-16 holding to the Point Option solution and ever going where its pilots expected on their return. The staff’s over-optimistic rate of advance to the southwest for Point Option proved disastrous when TF-16 had to match the movements of the enemy carriers. At 1020 in response to Spruance’s new course, Fletcher brought TF-17 around to 290 degrees. Thanks to Arnold’s understanding of the Point Option issue, the Yorktown strike pilots enjoyed a far better idea of where TF-17 was likely to be. Between 1015 and 1030 snippets of radio conversations hinted at least part of the strike assailed enemy carriers. Leaders were heard assigning targets, and one exhorted, “Don’t let this carrier escape,” a sentiment fervently shared by the eavesdroppers in TF-16 and TF-17. So little came over the radio, though, that Fletcher and Spruance had no idea whether their attacks were successful. They worried about the many new radar contacts that developed after 1000 to westward, but no one positively identified enemy planes. With the two task forces widely separated, Pederson took control of the Yorktown combat air patrol fighters at 1102 to check out a bogey discovered thirty-five miles north of TF-17. Dow likewise kept the Enterprise fighters busy chasing contacts to the west. All unidentified aircraft were friendly.55
By 1100 Fletcher, highly frustrated over not having received additional contact reports, sat on the seventeen VS-5 SBDs for nearly two hours. As far as he knew Midway’s planes and the carrier strikes found only the same two carriers, not the second group. The wait grew intolerable. In the next forty-five minutes the Yorktown must break the spot to land combat air patrol fighters and the strike group that should return shortly. At 1104 he radioed Spruance: “When your planes return give me enemy position course speed. I have one squadron [of ] bombers ready.” Fletcher proposed to search the northwest quadrant and asked Spruance’s opinion. At 1110 Spruance gave latitude 30° 38´ north, longitude 178° 30´ west, as the estimated position of the enemy force at 1015, when it was seen circling at twenty-five knots. The unmentioned source of that information was Gray, leading the first strike planes to return to the Enterprise. Having never dived, his ten F4Fs retained the altitude to pick up the Enterprise’s YE homing signal and flew directly back to base. They landed around 1050. The position Gray gave was forty miles northeast of the actual Japanese location. About 1115 Fletcher received a message from Cincpac relaying Simard’s assessment of his attacks against the group of two carriers and eight to ten other ships located northwest (bearing 320 degrees) of Midway. The Midway strike ran into fierce fighter opposition ten miles from the target. No one saw any torpedoes strike home, but the marine dive bombers claimed two hits on one carrier, “resulting in extremely heavy column of smoke.”56
Fletcher finally got word of his own carrier strike. By 1120 the seventeen SBDs of Leslie’s Bombing Three reappeared overhead little worse for the wear. They came directly from the target, aided by the accurate Point Option estimate that the Yorktown’s YE homing signal only confirmed. A flashing light relayed tremendous news that VB-3 sank one carrier. Fletcher passed the word to TF-17 by flag hoist and alerted TF-16 by TBS: “One enemy aircraft carrier sunk. Yorktown received the credit.” Leslie’s SBDs could wait until Massey’s short-legged TBDs and Thach’s F4Fs could land, but there was no sign of them.57
Six days elapsed before Fletcher learned more details of the high drama, sacrifice, and glory of the past two hours, when U.S. carrier aviators fatally damaged three carriers and won the Battle of Midway. The actual sequence of events was stranger than anyone could have imagined; as Arnold wrote in 1965, it was “the most god-awful luckiest coordinated attack.” Two powerful formations of SBDs, one launched ninety minutes before the other, converged simultaneously to catch the 1st Kidō Butai at a highly vulnerable moment. That vulnerability arose after other squadrons, both from Midway and the carriers, gallantly pressed their attacks at enormous cost in the teeth of fierce fighter opposition.58
The first U.S. carrier planes found the target because of a highly unusual personal decision. During the first half hour after the departure of the Hornet strike group, Lt. Cdr. John C. Waldron, commanding officer of VT-8, grew more frustrated and angry after Ring, the group commander, set the westerly course for his fifty-nine planes (thirty-four SBDs, ten F4Fs, and fifteen TBDs). To Waldron that was a serious blunder. He preferred attacking the two carriers already located southwest of TF-16, rather than seek others thought to be somewhere to the west. After a vehement exchange with Ring, who demanded that Waldron just follow him, Waldron swung VT-8 left at about 0825 to head southwest. Gray’s ten VF-6 escorts, cruising twenty thousand feet above, stayed with Waldron. Ring’s strong force moved westward completely out of the picture and eventually disintegrated. First the VF-8 escort fighters broke off for lack of fuel, and all ten ditched in a vain effort to find TF-16. Then VB-8 with half the SBDs turned southeast, vainly seeking the enemy along the reported Japanese track. Most ended up at Midway, but three returned to the Hornet. Meanwhile, Ring with the VS-8 SBDs proceeded all the way to 225 miles, found nothing, then reversed course straight to the Hornet. Mitscher’s great gamble to find the second enemy carrier group ended in disaster.59
Waldron’s instincts proved uncannily accurate, as he aimed directly toward Nagumo’s force. At 0910 the VF-6 F4Fs from their lofty height sighted distant ships almost dead ahead beyond a low cloud bank. Near the water, Waldron noticed smoke on the horizon. The 1st Kidō Butai first espied the low-level intruders at 0918, just after turning northeast. As the ships evaded at high speed, thirty Zeros tore into the new wave of attackers. Waldron bravely bored straight toward the nearest carrier, the Sōryū, but by 0936 all fifteen lumbering TBDs, likened by one VT-8 pilot to “flying freight cars bearing the white star,” fell to fighters. Only Ens. George H. Gay survived. The few torpedoes that VT-8 managed to fire missed their targets. Perched high over the eastern edge of the carrier force, Gray never saw the actual torpedo attack through the clouds. Although the Enterprise SBDs were his primary responsibility, he previously arranged with Lindsey’s VT-6 to descend if they radioed they were in trouble from enemy fighters. Gray heard no such call for assistance (Waldron never knew to ask) and patiently awaited McClusky’s SBDs.60
The Hornet and Enterprise attacks, 4 June 1942
At 0938 Nagumo’s lookouts sighted more enemy planes coming in low over the water. Lindsey’s fourteen VT-6 TBDs went down alone on the 240-degree track and nearly missed the 1st Kidō Butai to the north. At 0930 he sighted smoke thirty miles northwest. Steaming northeast at high speed, the Japanese carriers forced VT-6 to close from astern, a poor angle for the slow TBDs. Zeros swarmed the prolonged approach. Far above, Gray did not know VT-6, too, fought and died nearby. Worried about fuel, he made the “Grey” transmissions that so irritated Browning, and at 1010 left for home without firing a shot. Valiant VT-6 split to try to catch one of the carriers in an anvil attack. Around 1000 one element drew near enough to the Kaga to fire torpedoes but missed the swiftly moving flattop. The other element chased the Hiryū but never got close enough to score. Only five TBDs escaped the vicinity of the 1st Kidō Butai, and one soon ditched.
Even as VT-6 completed its gallant attack, the Yorktown aviators shed their blood in the pending Japanese disaster. Only the Yorktown strike established group integrity. The running rendezvous went well, and by 0945 Thach’s six VF-3 F4Fs eased into covering position over the twelve TBDs of Massey’s VT-3 cruising at fifteen hundred feet. Flying at fifteen thousand feet, Leslie’s VB-3 sighted the TBDs far below. Due to an electrical glitch four SBDs (including Leslie’s) inadvertently jettisoned their 1,000-pound bombs but stayed in formation. Bomb or no, Leslie was leading his attack. So accurate was the estimate of Arnold and Pederson, the Yorktowners did not even have to fly to the end of their navigational leg before finding the enemy. At 1003 VT-3 discerned smoke to the northwest and discovered ships twenty to twenty-five miles off. Thach and Leslie followed Massey’s turn. Japanese lookouts spotted the torpedo planes easily enough but missed the dive bombers above. While Massey assaulted the Hiryū, the combat air patrol grew to forty-one fighters. The Zeros chasing the remnants of VT-6 ran straight into Massey and Thach. Like a reluctant pied piper, VT-3 enticed Zeros down to the wave tops. The relentless interceptors prevented the escort F4Fs from protecting the TBDs. Torpedo Three’s sacrifice (ten of twelve shot down) opened the skies over the carriers at exactly the right instant. Closing from the southeast, Leslie discerned two carriers relatively close together, with possibly a third to the west. Unaware VS-5 had not made the mission, he radioed Short at 1015: “How about you taking the one to the left [evidently the Hiryū] and I’ll take the one on the right [Sōryū]? I’m going to make an attack.” Somewhat puzzled at not receiving a reply, he stalked the Sōryū, northernmost of the three carriers, and still hoped to attack in concert with VT-3. Leslie thought it a great shame no one else was around to take on the other juicy targets.61
The Yorktown attack, 4 June 1942
Unknown to Leslie, other dive bombers already drew a bead on the flotilla of flattops. McClusky’s Enterprise SBDs undertook quite an odyssey since their hasty departure at 0745. He anticipated contact at 0920 about 142 miles out. Nothing was there, so he flew southwest for fifteen more minutes, then pivoted northwest on the reciprocal bearing of the original Japanese course toward Midway. He planned to hold that heading until 1000 and venture northeast for a short time, before finally turning east for home. Fuel became a real problem. Finally at 0955 he reaped the lucky break his careful reasoning deserved. Below, the long white wake of a destroyer beckoned northeastward. McClusky believed she must be rejoining the main body. In fact the Arashi had remained behind to keep the Nautilus down while Nagumo cleared the area. Paralleling her track, McClusky was supremely gratified at 1002 to sight the carrier force far to the northeast. If he sent a contact report, Spruance and Fletcher never monitored it.
Nagumo’s time was up. The torpedo attacks that consumed the last hour (and still continued) disrupted preparations for the “grand scale air attack” originally scheduled to launch at 1030. Busy handling fighters, no carrier yet spotted any carrier bombers or torpedo planes. The combat air patrol Zeros either circled at low altitude low on gas and ammunition, chased VT-3 while it desperately closed the Hiryū, or tangled with VF-3 Wildcats. The 1st Kidō Butai was momentarily defenseless against a surprise dive bombing attack. At 1022 McClusky, closing from the west, confronted two carriers. An ex–fighter pilot unfamiliar with dive bombing procedure, he erred by pushing over against the Kaga, the nearer carrier. Instead, he should have taken the lead squadron to the more distant target and allowed the trailing SBD squadron to attack the first carrier. Some twenty-eight SBDs, nearly the entire force, followed McClusky down and soon smothered the Kaga with perhaps ten hits. Realizing the neighboring carrier was not being attacked, Lt. Richard H. Best, commanding officer of VB-6, tried to round up his men, radioing: “1st div., 2nd div., stay with me and come on over. Don’t let this carrier escape.” In the end only he and his two wingmen broke off after the Akagi. In perhaps the most splendid single performance of the battle, they secured two 1,000-pound bomb hits and a damaging near miss. At the same time, Leslie led VB-3 against the Sōryū off to the north. Nine pilots plastered her with three 1,000-pound bombs. Seeing that carrier was doomed, the other four attacked screening ships.62
Seven decisive minutes (1022–1028) saw Nagumo lose three-quarters of his carrier strength, and with it the Battle of Midway. On all three stricken flattops, heavy bombs shattered flight decks and penetrated into the hangars. Fierce flames torched fueled and armed aircraft, as well as ordnance left lying around after the hasty rearming. Fire-fighting systems were either destroyed by the blast or incapable of dealing with the intense flames. Reminiscent of the fiery destruction of the Lexington less than a month before, it was only a matter of time before the inferno reached aviation gasoline tanks and magazines and finished off the three proud warships. Nagumo himself was dazed by one of the most stunning reversals in history. One moment he was poised to seize victory by destroying the U.S. carrier and reducing Midway, the next he had to take cover. Only twenty minutes after the Akagi was hit, he crawled out of a bridge window after flames isolated the island and descended by rope to the flight deck. Nagumo made his way down to the relatively secure anchor deck to meet a boat from the light cruiser Nagara. Of the once mighty 1st Kidō Butai carriers only the Hiryū remained untouched.63
Yamamoto followed the distant battle as best he could from flagship Yamato six hundred miles northwest. The fragmentary radio traffic indicated everything was going well. The premature discovery of a U.S. carrier off Midway only sweetened the pot, because Nagumo should have had planes ready to deal with her. Then “optimism” turned to “deepest gloom,” as Yamamoto again learned far more quickly than his counterpart at Pearl Harbor that the battle took a calamitous turn for Japan. The ruin of Yamamoto’s strategy of widely separated advances was the inability of his task forces to support each other. Kondō’s Attack Force was 350 miles southwest of Nagumo. Despite its considerable surface strength he had just the light carrier Zuihō. Only the 2nd Kidō Butai (Ryūjō and Junyō) could provide substantial carrier air support, but Kakuta would require three days just to reach the Midway area. In the meantime Yamamoto could only hope his battleships, cruisers, and destroyers could draw close enough to the American carriers to overwhelm them with high-caliber shells and torpedoes. If things looked grim for the Japanese, they still had the Hiryū led by Yamaguchi, an aggressive and resourceful commander. The Yorktown would soon feel her sting. Fletcher, too, would evacuate his flagship by means of a rope and seek refuge on a cruiser while still unsure whether his side was winning the battle.64