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  Fuchida smirked. The Americans were foolish to try an unescorted attack, he thought. They seemed so inexperienced. Just then, four more enemy aircraft were coming into view and he could see they were twin engine bombers, approaching at a speed so fast the fighters had trouble keeping them in their line of attack as they opened fire from above. He trotted back to the tower.

  Because the Akagi was twisting and turning in a giant figure eight, Genda and Nagumo on the bridge had a hard time keeping track of where the enemy was approaching from, but on the open deck, Fuchida could clearly follow the planes as he watched the converging antiaircraft fire being thrown up by every ship into the sky.

  A fireball shot out from the engine of one of the approaching bombers, sending the plane down, trailing black cotton smoke all the way until it crashed into the ocean. Just as quickly, a Japanese fighter took a hit and spiraled downward ending in a splash of mist.

  In the midst of hellacious fire from all sides, all three remaining twin engine B-26 Marauders splashed their torpedoes into the sea toward the Akagi. Taking full advantage of its flight path, one of the Marauders unloaded its machine guns at the Akagi, panging the ship with bullets and sending Fuchida leaping behind a huge electric winch for protection. Two gunners on the Akagi were not as lucky.

  After the plane roared past, Nagumo breathed a sigh of relief, but as the ship continued in a hard right turn to avoid the incoming torpedoes, an officer on the far right of the bridge turned to Nagumo.

  “Admiral?!”

  Genda, Nagumo, and the entire group of nearly a dozen bridge officers instantly looked right and stared in disbelief as the last B-26 hurtled directly toward their control tower in a suicide run through a furious crossfire of antiaircraft rounds pounding the sky.

  Standing on the deck below, Fuchida fixed his eyes on the crazed plane as a bolt of fear shot through his spine for the first time in the battle. If he hit the tower, he would cripple the carrier as well as wipe out their top officers. Hundreds of rounds of antiaircraft fire continued to stream into the air but were failing to stop the Marauder as it bore down on the helpless ship, rapidly coming closer and closer.

  The eyes of all inside the bridge tower grew wide.

  Fuchida couldn’t believe that Americans had this kind of bravery and zeal for their country to launch a suicide attack. In a matter of seconds the tower could be instantly pulverized.

  The officers instinctively ducked as the plane roared past, missing the tower by mere feet, cartwheeling into flaming shreds into the ocean. A curtain of white spray slowly drifted down to the sea over the sinking wreckage.

  “Enough!” Nagumo shouted. “Midway’s air base must be neutralized! Rearm all reserve bombers with land bombs for a second wave. Immediately!”

  In the hangar below, Kanegasaki and his air crew leaned against the wall watching a Zero fighter descend on the elevator platform to be refueled and rearmed when the intercom blared out, “Attention, prepare to carry out second assault. Reequip aircraft with land bombs.”

  Kanegasaki looked at his men, perplexed.

  Switching over a type 97 bomber from a 17 foot torpedo to 8 foot land bomb was far easier said than done. Their 5 man crew would have to lower the 1,760 pound torpedo onto a cart, unbolt the mounting bracket, and install a completely different bracket on each plane before they could begin to attach the land bombs – a ninety minute procedure – and they had only enough engineers to do six at a time. On a normal, rolling sea it was difficult. During evasive maneuvers it was nearly impossible.

  Sighing hard, Kanegasaki waved a mechanic over to wheel an empty cart for a torpedo secured to one of the bellies of the seventeen aircraft in his group. The carrier Kaga was given the same instructions and the dive bombers on the carriers were also to switch to land bombs. Nearly 200 aircraft would have to be systematically switched over.

  About 250 miles northeast of Nagumo’s carriers, a light gray Aichi E13A scout plane with pontoons droned through the sky. As the observer routinely looked down through patchy clouds he saw what appeared to be foam trails and wakes on the ocean surface reflecting the morning sunlight. He fumbled for his binoculars and focused in.

  7:53 a.m.

  In the bridge of the Akagi, Genda smiled as he received a note from a courier. “Admiral, the battle group reports not a single hit on any fleet vessels.”

  Nagumo nodded.

  An officer peering through one of the mounted, long-range binoculars inside the tower called out, “Admiral – the battleship Kirishima is laying down smoke.”

  On the deck below, Fuchida knew this meant another wave of attack aircraft was approaching their fleet, and this was bad timing. Only twenty minutes earlier they had thirty-three Zero fighters in the air protecting the fleet. Now they had merely thirteen since most of the fighters were being refueled and rearmed. But Fuchida doubted that unskilled Americans could penetrate even a moderate defense from their experienced Japanese fighters. He waited to see.

  Another officer in the observation deck above the tower looking in the opposite direction through his binoculars sighted the aircraft and announced over the intercom, “Sir, fourteen, no, sixteen aircraft approaching from the southwest. Heading toward the carrier Hiryu.”

  Like patient hawks, the Japanese combat air patrol gathered and descended on the squadron of dive bombers, unloading their machine guns and cannons with relentless precision on their prey. In seconds, six American planes tumbled in flames to the sea. As the remaining 10 bombers approached the Hiryu on a slightly declining dive bombing pattern, black puffs of flak from Hiryu’s 5 inch guns began pummeling the formation, then their dozen or so 25mm guns threw up a tapestry of white antiaircraft fire converging on the ever approaching bombers.

  Wanting to know more of what was going on, Fuchida headed up to the bridge. Arriving, Fuchida’s ears tingled as Genda read out the latest radio telegraph sent back by the # 4 scout plane from the cruiser Tone.

  “Sight what appears to be ten enemy surface units – in position bearing ten degrees distance two hundred forty miles from Midway.”

  Nagumo glanced at Genda as Fuchida and several other officers rushed to the map table behind them and hunched over.

  Genda continued, “Course one hundred fifty degrees, speed over twenty knots.” He handed the telegraph to Nagumo.

  “Here!” Fuchida pointed.

  “Sir,” another officer at the map table said, “enemy position is approximately two hundred miles from our fleet, within striking distance.”

  “Surface units?!” Nagumo snorted. “What kind? Carriers?” He held on as the Akagi made a sweeping right turn. “That location makes no sense!”

  Fuchida agreed. The search arc of the No. 1 plane from the Chikuma should have spotted the group an hour earlier. The position didn’t make sense. Not only that, but he knew they couldn’t waste their resources on worthless targets like oilers and destroyers. They’d come to take the island and engage the carriers – period. Fuchida nervously tapped his finger on the map. Since the engineers on their carriers were now halfway through the process of rearming for land bombs they’d be unable to quickly attack if they found American carriers, and they didn’t have time to waste in making a decision. Fuchida glanced at Genda. They couldn’t be fully prepared for a naval attack and a land attack at the same time, but which should they be prepared for?

  Nagumo said to Genda, “Communicate to carriers to suspend rearming of bombers and prepare for a possible attack on enemy ships.” Nagumo shoved the note back to the messenger. “Ask them what kind!”

  Below decks beneath a tied down bomber, Kanegasaki wiped the sweat from his drenched brow onto his sleeve, tightening the last bolt of a land bomb to the belly of a Nakajima B5N when the intercom echoed out once again, “Attention. Suspend rearming operations immediately. Prepare weapons for possible attack against enemy ships.” He and the crew, bracing against a torpedo on its cart, stared at each other incredulously. Even with brakes on the cart, they strained to k
eep it from shifting as the Akagi continued its drastic evasive actions.

  The bridge officers watched intently as the American dive bombers in the distance who made it through dropped their bombs on the Hiryu, each one exploding in columns of gray-white water in the sea. No hits. Smiling again, Fuchida shook his head at the foolishness of attempting such an attack with no fighter support and at such a poor angle, yet he still realized the fleet was lucky to have suffered no damage.

  Another courier arrived at the bridge and saluted Vice Admiral Nagumo. “Sir, lookouts have discovered high-level bombers approaching from the northwest. Five groups of three B-17 bombers at approximately twenty thousand feet.”

  Nagumo nodded almost with a shrug.

  Nor did it concern Fuchida. At twenty thousand feet, any ship would have nearly thirty seconds to change course and evade bombs after they were released. This seemed to him like a desperation run. The Americans had simply run out of options.

  With a pair of binoculars in hand, Fuchida stepped out onto a balcony in the tower and looked far up into the sky until he located the group of American bombers and followed various planes as they made their runs over different ships in their group. The five inch guns of the Akagi pounded the sky, but the bombers were out of range. More Zeroes took to the air off the flight deck below him as one group of American bombers released their payload high above, and the Akagi went into yet another hard port turn. After watching the bombs fall for twenty-five seconds, he finally saw dozens of shells explode in a chain of massive plumes in the sea, hundreds of yards from the ship.

  Fuchida smiled. “High-level bombers. Useless.”

  8:09 a.m.

  Nagumo proudly read aloud a fresh transcript from a scouting aircraft. “The enemy is composed of five cruisers and five destroyers.” He looked around at Genda, Fuchida, and the others as a deep sense of relief settled in among the staff. “Just as I thought.” The word spread quickly.

  Fuchida knew they had hardly been prepared for an immediate confrontation with the American vessels, anyway. The Japanese fleet could effectively deal with their opponents on the ocean later. Since the base at Midway had sent out all they could muster and would have few aircraft left for another wave for a good while, it was up to the Japanese to get their own second wave off to make an end of the American’s ability to attack the fleet. Hoping for the best, he leaned over the map table and wrote with a grease pencil next to the found American group: “No carriers.”

  Another courier from the radiotelegraph office entered and handed Genda a note.

  “Admiral,” Genda said studying the note, “Tomonaga’s attack force from Midway requests permission to be immediately recovered.” Nagumo listened attentively. “Several aircraft damaged and others low on fuel.”

  Nagumo looked at Genda while bracing against a window frame, glanced down at the tilted deck as the Akagi pitched into a hard turn, and looked back at Genda. Obviously, no one would be landing until they were no longer under attack and could straighten out into the wind.

  8:30 a.m.

  Panting, a messenger arrived at the bridge and rushed before the admiral with a quick salute and blurted out, “Sir! From Tone #4 scout. Enemy force accompanied by what appears to be an aircraft carrier.” The bridge command reeled from the shockwave. Fuchida could think of only one thing – if they were close enough to strike the American carriers, then the Americans were close enough to strike the Japanese.

  Nagumo pursed his lips in frustration.

  Fuchida could see the wheels turning in his head. He could launch the dive bombers from the carriers Hiryu and Soryu which were already rearmed with anti-ship bombs, but only some of the level bombers on the Akagi and Kaga were ready with torpedoes and none of the dive bombers were ready. Also, there were few Zeroes able to escort the assault. Without their protection, Nagumo’s attack aircraft could easily undergo the same fate that the Americans had just suffered in their futile offensives. Last of all, the circling attack planes returning from Midway were running low on fuel and had to be landed soon or they’d be crashing into the sea. But if it meant the difference between victory and defeat, the aircraft could be fetched from the ocean by tenders while the strike was launched.

  The eyes of the officers were fixed on Nagumo’s face. He was on the horns of dilemma – launch now and get in the first strike and perhaps land a lethal blow against the Americans, but risk suffering heavy losses including many returning aircraft, or wait and launch a combined attack with fighter escorts for an overwhelming assault while running the risk of allowing a possible American attack that could cripple his fleet.

  He turned to his officers. “We will prepare to recover Tomonaga’s strike force, and then make preparations to launch a combined attack against the American carrier. We should be able to begin launching an air strike no later than ten o’clock.” He ordered the messenger, “Have our fleet notified that after recovering all aircraft, we are to proceed north to engage and destroy the enemy task force.”

  Genda looked over at Fuchida. This was exactly what the war games scenario predicted, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Chapter 57

  8:50 a.m.

  With the last of the returning bombers dropping to the flight deck and bouncing to a halt in the arresting wire, reports were filtering up to the bridge about how the assault on Midway had progressed.

  Fuchida read off a message to the officers. “Commander Tomonaga reports: Midway Island heavily defended. Antiaircraft fire fiercer than expected.”

  As the bridge officers looked on, Genda prodded, “Casualty report?”

  Fuchida shifted papers. “Eleven aircraft shot down. Fourteen heavily damaged. Twenty-nine other aircraft in need of repair. Twenty airmen dead or missing.”

  He folded the papers and looked up soberly. Fuchida wondered – if this is what they had lost on the first strike, what could they expect on the second? Why was such a tiny island so heavily defended?

  But that was another concern. Now he only wanted to see his men get aloft as soon as possible to give a punishing blow to the American carrier and send it to the bottom. He knew that Japanese forces had sunk two American carriers just weeks earlier at the Battle of the Coral Sea, and that a third American carrier was under repair in California. That left only two American carriers in the entire Pacific and they had found one. Despite their loss of aircraft, with four Japanese carriers of highly experienced pilots, Fuchida was sure they’d have the upper hand. They had to finish the job.

  8:55 a.m. The battleship Yamato.

  Three hundred miles west of Nagumo’s attack fleet, at the bridge of the mighty battleship Yamato, Admiral Yamamoto stood staring through the windows over two huge gun turrets into the endless sea when a courier from the radiotelegraph office appeared.

  “Admiral, sir, Vice Admiral Nagumo relays this message: ‘Enemy composed of one carrier, five cruisers, and five destroyers sighted at zero eight hundred in position bearing ten degrees, distance two hundred forty miles from Midway. We’re heading for it.’”

  Yamamoto nodded nonchalantly and turned to the ship’s captain. “Do you think we should order Nagumo to attack the U.S. carrier force at once?” He paused. “I think we had better do so.”

  The captain gave a slight grin. “Sir, Nagumo has reserved half his air force to attack enemy ships and is certainly preparing for an immediate strike.”

  Yamamoto grunted, nodded, and allowed himself a small grin as well. “Of course.”

  8:55 a.m. The carrier Akagi.

  “Sir,” an officer addressed Nagumo in the Akagi bridge, “Tone scout number four acknowledges your orders to remain in his area. He also communicates that ten enemy torpedo bombers are heading toward you, about twenty-five minutes out.” The courier cautiously looked for a reaction.

  Fuchida felt the blood rush to his head. Not only were the Americans going to get in the next punch, but it would also delay their ability to spot their strike force on deck.

  Na
gumo barked to a staff officer, “Launch all available fighters to intercept incoming aircraft.”

  The officer replied, “Sir, combat air patrol for all carriers are in the process of being recovered for refueling.”

  “Be quick, then!” Nagumo said. “And find out when we’ll be prepared to launch our attack against the Americans!”

  A few minutes later, the officer returned to the bridge. Fuchida could tell by his face that it wasn’t going to be good news.

  “Sir, the torpedo planes will not be ready for launch on the Kaga and Akagi until ten-thirty. The mechanics are having trouble rearming.”

  Nagumo cocked his head back, jutted out his chin, and looked down to his lower right at the deck of the Akagi as a Zero fighter came to a stop on the deck.

  Fuchida could see in his eyes the bitter disappointment of having to endure another onslaught of American bombers before being able to launch their own strike force. They’d been very lucky so far, but no one knew if that luck could last. This was getting ridiculous. They needed to get into the fight.

  9:18 a.m.

  The four Japanese carriers turned slowly into the west wind in preparation for spotting aircraft on deck for their assault against the American carrier. Kanegasaki, in the hangar below, urged on his perspiring men as they unchocked wheels and rotated a Nakajima B5N2 newly rearmed with a torpedo, then heaved it toward the lowered elevator. But his team first had to wait until the Akagi had recovered their fighters and lowered them into the hangars for rearming and refueling. The lethal Zero fighters had done marvelously, but they had an acute weakness: although they carried 500 rounds of 7.7 mm ammunition, these guns were mostly ineffective against the heavily armored American planes. Their 20 mm explosive cannon rounds were deadly, but each fighter only had enough to last for seven seconds of firing.