The dedication, this month, of the Naval Aviation Museum at Pensacola will be the occasion for recalling the deeds and accomplishments of men and their machines, that, together, have contributed immeasurably to the strength and security of the nation during the relatively short span of years of naval aviation's existence.
Of the many instances of achievement and heroism that have marked the progress of naval aviation, was there a single event that might be considered the most significant? Presented here, in a vastly simplified narrative, is one nomination—a moment of decision and exemplary professionalism—which altered the course of the war in the Pacific and precipitated the remarkable action which is depicted in this month's cover subject of the Battle of Midway.
For the pilots of the two squadrons of SBD Dauntless dive bombers, and most especially for their group commander, Lieutenant Commander Clarence McClusky, the 50-mile visibility on this cool and beautiful June morning served only to emphasize the emptiness of the ocean, 20,000 feet below. Where were the Japanese carriers?
At daybreak on the morning of 4 June 1942, Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo had launched an air strike against Midway which was aimed at softening up this westernmost U. S. base preparatory to its seizure by naval forces under the command of Isoroku Yamamoto. Now Nagumo was confronted with the decision of whether to send his aircraft for a follow-on strike on Midway or to rearm all of the aircraft on his four carriers, Akagi, Kaga, Soryu, and Hiryu, for an attack against the American carrier whose presence had just been reported by his scouts.
At this time the Japanese carrier force (Midway Attacking Force) was some 150 miles northwest of Midway (Admiral Yamamoto with the main body Midway Invasion Force was following well behind). The American carrier force was north of Midway; approximately 150 miles separated the two carrier forces.
Even as Nagumo pondered his decision, he was successfully fending off attacks by Midway defending aircraft, including Navy torpedo planes, Army B-17s, and Marine dive-bombers, all of which failed to inflict any damage. Nagumo elected to forego his second attack on Midway in order to launch a combined strike on the enemy carrier. He then ordered a course change, from southwest to northeast.
Meanwhile, Admiral Frank Fletcher, the U. S. force commander, directed Rear Admiral Raymond Spruance to proceed southwesterly and attack the Japanese carriers which were reported approaching Midway from the northwest.
The Enterprise and the Hornet launched their air groups first, followed by the Yorktown, and the strike elements proceeded on separate courses to intercept the enemy carriers at an estimated point of advance. The Hornet's dive-bombers reached the point of intercept but, because of Nagumo's abrupt course change, found no targets and were forced to return when fuel reached a low state.
The Yorktown's dive-bombers, although actually departing an hour later than those of the Enterprise, followed a more direct route to the enemy force. The Enterprise bombers, 33 SBDs under McClusky, searched on a southwesterly course.
Now, airborne over two hours as he arrived at the expected point of contact, McCluskey scanned the sea with increasing concern as he continued some 35 miles further with still no sighting. Although he could not know of all the confusing events which were acting to focus an enormous significance on his own actions, he nevertheless was aware that much, if not most, of the U. S. striking power was represented in the bombs slung beneath the SBDs. Posed for him was the question: where had the Japanese gone? Such profound importance of the correct answer to that question for McClusky and the U. S. Navy has rarely been encountered elsewhere in either fact or fiction.
Confident of his own navigation and of his estimate of the speed of the Japanese carriers, McClusky concluded that the enemy might have reversed course, and so he turned his formation to a northwesterly course to overtake. Then, for half an hour he searched anxiously for the glimpse of wakes of ships or smoke which might reveal the location of his quarry.
There was only the sea. Then, as, surely, anxiety must have begun to give way to mounting frustration, there appeared on the surface ahead the thin, but unmistakable wake-trace of a ship traveling at high speed. As he closed the ship, McClusky identified her as a Japanese destroyer that was in an obvious hurry.
And it was at that moment, if indeed one moment may be singled out for recording, that there occurred the decision which changed the fortunes of a war and thrust U. S. naval aviation to its highest peak of effectiveness in its 30 years of existence.
McClusky reasoned that the enemy destroyer was racing to rejoin its parent formation—which most likely was the carrier force—and once again he led his formation in a turn, to parallel the destroyer's course, northeast. Within a quarter of an hour McClusky sighted the Japanese force on the horizon, where Nagumo was even then repelling the ill-fated attacks of the torpedo planes which had found the carriers and were attacking independently and without support cover.
What followed is, indeed, history, well-recorded in detailed accounts of how McClusky's aircraft arrived for the attack even as the Yorktown's dive-bombers closed from another quarter, each group unaware of the other's presence as they dove on the box formation of four carriers and their escort units.
For the Japanese, exultant over their successful defense against the torpedo attacks, their world was turned upside down in the space of five devastating minutes. In that brief span, the Kaga, Akagi, and Soryu became the focal points of destruction that was as appalling to the Japanese as it was satisfying to the attackers. Only the Hiryu, fleeing under cloud cover, escaped for the moment. She would also be sunk within hours, to complete a victory which established, for the first time since Pearl Harbor, a balance of naval air power which would enable the United States to continue the Pacific war to the final victory.
For the Japanese Empire, Midway marked the end of the major naval victories it had amassed for three and a half centuries.
For America, Midway gave the first encouragement in the years of prewar uncertainty and the months of dismaying wartime experiences.
For the U. S. Navy, Midway meant the turning point which opened the way to success in the long campaigns still ahead.
For naval aviation, Midway was both the hour of reckoning and the time of fulfillment for a force which could not be ignored again, for any reason. On the results of one decision, by one naval aviator, in one moment, naval aviation had come of age.