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