In the broad perspective of global warfare,. where no single continent or ocean may be a decisive theater, task forces have definite missions of paramount importance.
As we examine the official communiqués of the nations participating in World War II, it appears clear that the war is becoming more and more a succession of operations conducted by task forces. The magnitude of the whole deprives even such great battles as were fought in France, Russia, Africa, and Asia of the dignity of decisive character. Portions of continents have been conquered intermittently for a time, but did not remain conquered. Nations have had naval, air, and/or land supremacy for a time, then the enemy achieved ascendancy.
Victory will come, ultimately, to the side whose task forces will have exhausted and checkmated the opponents. The American policy, as expressed by President Franklin D. Roosevelt and implemented by Congressional appropriations and plans for mass production and training, is to insure that victory will be on the American side.
It is, therefore, of utmost importance that the outstanding lessons of World War II as regards the organization and operation of task forces be made available to those who are likely to participate in planning, organizing, and directing, as well as executing the missions of task forces.
With that in mind, Rear Admiral Bradley A. Fiske, recently deceased, former Aide for Operations and member of the General Board of the Navy, and the writer have examined over 1,000 official communiqués of the nations engaged in World War II and have selected those that afford the greatest measure of usefulness to officers and men engaged in the implementation of the American war program, particularly from a naval and air standpoint.
Rules for Judging Measure of Success of Task Forces for American Purposes
Faced with about a thousand accounts of deeds of task forces since September 3, 1939, when Great Britain and France declared war on Germany, Admiral Fiske and I decided to examine all and note their respective value, but to select for the purpose of this survey those which would be of maximum value in the operation of task forces from the American continents and American bases on the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. Then we judged the accounts with these questions:
(1) Does the account illustrate co-ordination of naval and/or air strategy, tactics and logistics by a task force, to implement a specific plan of action?
(2) Did the task force take the initiative? (This is essential to harmonize with American tradition.)
(3) Did the task force compel the enemy to fight on the force’s own terms? (This is essential to maintain the initiative.)
(4) Was the force adequately protected from unforeseen enemy actions and natural factors beneficial to the enemy?
(5) Did the force have sufficiency of ships or planes, men, arms, ammunitions, equipment, fuel, supplies, food, and other necessities?
(6) Did the enemy give battle? (This is essential for a real test.) .
(7) Did the task force achieve the objective for which it set out?
(8) Did the task force come out of the engagement with a balance in its favor?
(9) Did the enemy suffer material losses? (Compared with the enemy’s forces.)
(10) Were the losses suffered by the task force commensurate with the achievement? (Excessive loss nullifies the value of the effort.)
(11) Did the task force utilize all the units with which it started out?
(12) Were the operations directed at one or at a number of objectives?
(13) Were there possible perils between the starting place and the situs of the objective? (An expedition may be destroyed en route.)
(14) Did the operations take place under one commanding officer?
(15) How was directive responsibility distributed?
American Naval and Air Expedition against Marshall and Gilbert Islands Best Organized and Operated
The first two and a half years of World War II produced few accounts of distinctive battle-tested operations by task forces comprising actions illustrative of successful co-ordination of basic principles of naval and/or air strategy, tactics, and logistics.
As will be seen hereafter, by comparing the official accounts of the outstanding operations of task forces of warring nations with the accounts of the naval and air expedition against the Marshall and Gilbert Islands of February 1,1942 (January 31 in U. S.), the American expedition was the best-organized and operated task force of the first two and a half years of World War II, affording maximum illustrations for organizing and operating American task forces.
It is well to state at this point that the Japanese expedition against Hawaii cannot be considered on account of having been an attack before declaration of war. Had such an attack been attempted after declaration of war the outcome would undoubtedly have been unfavorable to Japan.
A detailed account of the British expedition which resulted in the sinking of the Prince of Wales and the Repulse off Malaya by a Japanese air task force is given in my article “The New Method of Warfare” in the April, 1942, issue of the Naval Institute Proceedings. Only reference to outstanding points will be necessary here.
The thousands of air and sea raids of the hit-and-run class have only tactical significance and do not come within the scope of this survey. Accounts of expeditions in which torpedoplanes were predominant are given in my survey “Torpedoplanes in World War II,” in the Naval Institute Proceedings for December, 1941.
Torpedoplanes, Bombers, and Fighters Indispensable to Naval Task Forces
An outstanding lesson of World War II is that torpedoplanes, bombers, and fighter planes are indispensable to naval task forces. After reading the account of the few antiquated torpedoplanes that were available for the British attack on the German battleships in the Battle of Dover Strait, February 12,1942, emphasis should be placed on having efficient torpedoplanes.
The Germans learned their lesson on how to lose a valuable capital ship through not having air protection in May, 1941, at the same time as the British did. On May 24 the mighty British battle cruiser Hood, out on a task mission with the Prince of Wales and other ships, reached the objective off Greenland: the German battleship Bismarck. The Hood was sunk by the Bismarck's guns and the Bismarck steamed off victorious.
On May 27, 1941, a British naval task force, out to battle the Bismarck, was enabled to overtake it after torpedoplanes had wrecked her rudder and propellers. The Bismarck was ultimately sunk by torpedoes from the British cruiser Dorsetshire about 400 miles due west of Brest.
The torpedoplanes which inflicted the crippling damage on the Bismarck were insignificant compared with the tonnage and gun power of that huge British naval task force, which included those mighty capital ships the King George V, the Prince of Wales, the Rodney, and the Ramillies (all battleships), the battle cruiser Renown, the cruisers Suffolk, Norfolk, Sheffield, and Dorsetshire, the aircraft carriers Ark Royal and Victorious, the destroyers Cossack, Zulu, Maori, and others, with necessary auxiliary ships.
That costly assemblage would have been unnecessary and the Hood saved if the British had had aircraft with their original task force.
The “Prince of Wales” and “Repulse” vs. the “Scharnhorst” and “Gneisenau”
When we consider the facts surrounding the sinking of the British battleship Prince of Wales and battle cruiser Repulse by Japanese planes off Malaya on December 10, 1941, along with the facts surrounding the escape from the terrific British air and sea attack on the German battle cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau on February 12, 1942, there appears to be conflict, with undue reflection on the 600 British torpedoplanes, bombers, and fighters for not having succeeded in doing to the German battle cruisers what 40 Japanese torpedo- planes and bombers had done to the Prince of Wales and the Repulse. The facts are as follows:
(1) The fact that British lost the Prince of Wales and the Repulse agrees with the fact that the Germans saved the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau when we consider that (a) the British did not have air protection for the Prince of Wales and Repulse, whereas (b) the Germans had adequate air protection for the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau.
(2) The Japanese sank the Prince of Wales and the Repulse with only about 40 torpedoplanes and bombers in one and a half hours because the two mighty British capital ships were entirely unprotected aerially, not having a single plane to fight for them.
(3) The British were unable to sink the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau with 600 torpedo- planes, bombers and fighters, plus the destroyers, motor torpedo boats, and other naval units, in the engagement which lasted from 11:30 a.m. till darkness because (a) the Germans had selected suitable weather for their task and (b) had planned and provided adequate protection against both air and naval attacks.
Selection of favorable weather for a task mission is part of efficient leadership and planning. It is the utilization of a factor provided by Nature for the success of the mission.
Lessons from the Battle of Dover Strait
The Battle of Dover Strait of February 12, 1942, provides lessons of unusual nature, as follows:
(1) A German task force was escorting the battleships Scharnhorst and Gneisenau and the cruiser Prinz Eugen from Brest to Helgoland. The British had bombed Brest 110 times to destroy the two battleships. Somehow they had escaped destruction and were on their way out of the combat zone under the command of Vice Admiral Ciliax.
(2) At about 11:30 a.m. February 12, Royal Air Force planes spotted the German expedition. A combined air and naval task force—comprising some 600 bombers, torpedoplanes, and fighters, and all available naval craft that could be summoned by the British authorities —attacked the Germans.
(3) The British task force, with some 600 land- based planes, were, technically, in a strategical offensive. They attacked furiously. The Germans were in British home waters well known to the British naval and air units. The German ships could not fly off. Their highest speed was probably 25 knots.
(4) The German naval force was supported by a strong Luftwaffe force under the command of Field Marshal General Sperrle. While technically on the defensive, the Germans were, strategically, equipped for the offensive operations which followed.
(5) The German task force successfully discharged its mission, which was to escort the battleships from Brest to Helgoland. Its losses were insignificant.
(6) The British task force failed in its mission, which was to destroy the German battleships. It suffered comparatively large losses.
While poor visibility was a factor, the greater factor was that the Germans had prepared for adequate defense, whereas the British had not prepared at all for the offensive. It was an unplanned offensive.
The British had reported weekly the bombing of the Scharnhorst and the Gneisenau at Brest. They believed that they had disabled the two German battleships and did not have capital ships in the neighborhood to give battle in the English Channel.
British Admiralty’s Report on the Battle of Dover Strait
The following report on the Battle of Dover Strait was issued by the British Admiralty on February 14, 1942:
The enemy was first identified and reported at the western entrance to Dover Strait at 11:35. The first striking force of six Swordfish aircraft was at once ordered to take off from a shore airdrome to attack. This striking force was led by Lieut. Comdr. E. Esmonde, D.S.O.
Lieut. Comdr. Esmonde and the crews of his Swordfish knew very well that the task of attacking the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau and Prim Eugen was very different from attacking even a very heavily armed ship on the high seas. The German ships were hugging the coast of enemy territory very closely. They were covered by an umbrella of hundreds of shore-based fighters, all of them having more than twice the speed and maneuverability of the Swordfish, carrying a torpedo.
Moreover, enemy ships were passing in succession past airdromes and landing grounds from which fighter escorts could be reinforced at a moment’s notice. If the crews of the Swordfish ever thought of the odds against them the thought certainly did not deter them. They knew they were flying aircraft very vulnerable to the fighters they were bound to meet. They knew they were about to attack a naval squadron which was capable of putting up a tremendous volume of anti-aircraft fire, but they knew also the task was to press home the attack and score hits with torpedoes on the enemy.
They had to contend with bad weather as well as the enemy, but they found targets and pressed home their attacks. Exactly what happened in the closing stages of the attack is not yet certain but conditions were such that it was almost impossible for anybody to observe with certainty whether or not the enemy ships were hit. Fighters of the R.A.F., engaging enemy aircraft high overhead, reported explosions and flashes which they considered to be one certain and two possible hits with torpedoes. Crews of the fighters speak of having seen the Swordfish dive down almost to sea level and press home their attacks regardless of all opposition. But not one of those six Swordfish came back. Only five men from the crews were subsequently saved by our light craft. Meanwhile all available motor torpedo boats in the Dover area had put to sea at full speed despite the fact that the weather was by no means suitable for these small, fast craft. It was nearly 12:30 when the first of the motor torpedo boats sighted the first of the enemy heavy ships. The enemy’s main units were heavily screened by destroyers and E-boats.
As our motor torpedo boats went into attack they were engaged by very heavy fire and they also were engaged by German aircraft who dived on them continually, firing machine guns and cannons. The motor torpedo boats held on until it was obvious that, unless they fired through their torpedoes at once, their opportunity would be gone. Thus they carried out their attacks and fired their torpedoes, refusing to be deterred by enemy aircraft or enemy shellfire or by the fact that the enemy’s escorts were laying smoke screens to try and shield their heavy ships. Again it was impossible to tell what hits had been scored on the enemy. The wonder is that the motor torpedo boats were able to disengage themselves successfully. Every one of them returned to harbor.
While Swordfish and motor torpedo boats were attacking the enemy in the Strait of Dover, destroyers in the North Sea were steaming to intercept and attack the enemy. It was clear to these destroyers that if they were to succeed in making contact with the fast enemy ships, which kept well over toward enemy occupied territory, they would have to steam at the highest possible speed. Moreover there was no time to make detours through mine-swept channels. They would have to steer straight across suspected enemy mine fields. This they did without a moment’s hesitation and no ship struck a mine.
It was nearly a quarter to four in the afternoon when the enemy battleships and destroyers were sighted from H.M.S. Campbell (Captain C. T. M. Pizey, D.S.O., R.N.). Visibility was bad and the enemy heavy ships were sighted at a range of only 4 miles. There could be no question of maneuvering into ideal attacking positions. It was a question of dashing into the attack and getting as close as possible before firing torpedoes and treating the whole action almost as a night encounter.
Four miles is very short range for 11-inch guns. The British destroyers were up against eighteen 11-inch guns, twenty-four 5.9’s and twenty-eight 4.1’s from the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau alone. Then there were eight 8-inch and twelve 4.1’s of the Prim Eugen and dozens of guns on destroyers and other German escorting ships, many of whom were much closer to our destroyers than the enemy battleships.
Overhead were 300 aircraft. The destroyers had been unsuccessfully bombed as they were dashing out across the suspected mine fields to get at the enemy. As the destroyers were dashing in to attack they constantly were attacked by German aircraft who did their utmost not only to sink or damage the ships but to divert the attention of the destroyers from their attacks on the German heavy ships. In this they did not succeed. The destroyers were engaging the aircraft all the time, but they were not to be diverted from their main task of attacking the enemy heavy ships.
The destroyers went into attack at full speed at 3,500 yards—only a mile and three quarters. Their helms went over, and as they swung round they fired their torpedoes. One destroyer did not turn with the rest. Lieut. Comdr. E. C. Coats, R.N., commanding the H.M.S. Worcester, held on his course toward the enemy even longer. She reached a position only 2,500 yards from the battleships without being hit—only a mile and a quarter from the muzzles of the enemy’s big guns. Then the Worcester turned to fire. As she did so she was hit, but the ship went on swinging under the helm and her torpedoes were fired just as if it had been a peace-time exercise in which certain breakdowns were being practiced.
The officers and men of the H.M.S. Worcester could not see the effect of their torpedoes. They could see very little but splashes and the smoke of falling and bursting shells. Moreover, they were busy. As the Worcester swung away she was hit again and set badly on fire forward. It would have been an easy matter for the enemy to have finished her off. It would not have needed a battleship. Destroyer crews considered that two torpedo hits were scored on the leading German battleship, one before and one abaft the mainmast. While this destroyer attack was being forced home on the enemy, another destroyer attack was made on the Prinz Eugen, led by H.M.S. MacKay (Captain, J. P. Wright, R.N.).
The Prinz Eugen was sighted steering straight toward the destroyers as if attempting to drive them off and prevent them from attacking the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau.
Torpedoes from this wave of "destroyers were fired at a range of 2 miles but again one destroyer went in even closer and fired her torpedoes and got out again. Again it was impossible to be certain of results but an orange flash on the enemy cruiser was seen by some of the men. When the destroyers got out of sight of the German heavy ships they had not finished with the enemy. German aircraft continued to attack for some time but without any success.
H.M.S. Worcester was badly on fire and was stopped but her crew got her under way again, got the fire under control, and got their ship safely back to harbor under her own steam.
The Marshall and Gilbert Islands Naval and Air Expedition
The American Marshall and Gilbert Islands naval and air expedition of February 1, 1942 (January 31, in the United States), provides battle-tested blueprints for organizing task forces.
The Navy Department made a valuable contribution to the cause of public education as well as to the science of naval and air warfare by permitting war correspondents and war photographers to accompany the expedition and make reports of what they had seen and heard. The Department released the accounts for publication partly on February 13 and partly on February 14 and the photographs on February 15. The press was as liberal with space as events permitted. The Battle of Dover and the dramatic last days of the Battle of Singapore clamored for space.
Their importance justifies assembling the dramatic detailed reports here with vital photographs.
We shall give first the official United States Navy Department communique. Then the account of Joseph Rucker, the veteran Paramount newsreel photographer, of what happened on board the aircraft carrier from 3:00 a.m. till 12 hours later.
Then follows the timed account of Robert J. Casey, representative of the New York Post and the Chicago Daily News, written from the cruiser, as well as the account of Jack Rice, the Associated Press photographer, who was also on board the cruiser, but gives different aspects of importance.
Official Account of Marshall and Gilbert Islands Expedition
The first account of the Marshall and Gilbert Islands expedition was given in official Navy Department Communiqué No. 39, on February 12, 1942. The reason for the delay of 11 days from the date of the operations was to give time to the expedition to return to Pearl Harbor and transmit the reports to the Navy Department. It stated:
On January 31, 1942, Vice Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., in command of a well-balanced force of aircraft carriers, cruisers, and destroyers, raided the Japanese strongholds on Roi, Kwajalein, Wotje, Taroa, and Jaluit Islands of the Marshall group and Makin Island in the Gilbert Group.
The results of these separate actions follow:
Roi Island.—On this Island of the Kwajalein atoll a well-equipped air base was located with 12 fighter planes and several bombers. Two hangars, an ammunition dump, all fuel storage and warehouses, a radio building, and three fighter planes and six scout bombers in the air, in addition to one bomber on the ground, were destroyed.
Kwajalein Island.—At this anchorage 10 surface ships, 5 submarines and a seaplane base were located. Our attacking force destroyed 1 converted 17,000-ton aircraft carrier of the Yawala class, 1 light cruiser, 1 destroyer, 3 large fleet tankers, 1 cargo vessel, 2 submarines and 2 large seaplanes. Other enemy vessels were badly damaged.
Our losses in the two above attacks were 4 scout bombers.
Wotje Atoll.—No planes were found on the Wotje Atoll. There were present, however, 9 vessels of various categories in the harbor. Four cargo vessels of about 5,000 tons each were destroyed in addition to 3 smaller ships.
The entire shore installation, consisting of 2 hangars, oil and gasoline storage, shops and warehouses, 2 anti-aircraft batteries and 5 coastal guns, was completely destroyed.
There was no damage or loss to our attacking forces.
Taroa Island.—On this island a new, well- equipped airfield was attacked. Two hangars, all fuel tanks and industrial buildings were destroyed. Seven fighter planes and 5 scout bombers in the air plus 5 fighters and 6 bombers on the ground were also destroyed.
Our only loss in this attack was one scout bomber. In addition, a United States cruiser sustained a hit from one small bomb.
Recapitulation.—Enemy losses from Admiral Halsey’s combined attacks included one converted 17,000-ton aircraft carrier of the Yawala class, 1 light cruiser, 1 destroyer, 3 large fleet tankers, 5 cargo vessels and 3 smaller ships, while several other ships were badly damaged.
Two large seaplanes, 15 fighter planes, 11 scout bombers, and 10 additional bombers also were destroyed. In addition, destruction to enemy shore establishments was as follows:
At Roi—Two hangars, ammunition dumps, fuel stowage, all stores and warehouses, and the radio building.
At Wotje—Entire shore installations—2 hangars, oil and gas storage and storehouses, 2 antiaircraft batteries, and 5 intermediate coastal guns.
At Taroa—2 hangars, all fuel tanks and industrial buildings.
The raid of our forces on the Island of Jaluit was conducted in a heavy rainstorm. Our aircraft attacked two enemy auxiliary vessels, badly damaging them.
At Makin Island these forces destroyed two enemy patrol planes and badly damaged one auxiliary vessel. In addition, one enemy patrol plane was destroyed at sea.
The losses sustained by the American forces were later corrected to 11 scout bombers which failed to return, 4 from the islands of Roi and Kwajalein, 1 from the island of Taroa, and 6 from the islands of Jaluit and Makin. The Japanese had lost 41 planes and 16 ships aggregating approximately 100,000 tons.
Directive Command and Staff Support
The accounts of the Marshall and Gilbert Islands expedition give an insight into the all-important administrative structure of a task force. An official Navy Department communiqué states:
In carrying out the raids on the several islands Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., divided his surface and air forces into self-sustaining units. Timing the arrival of each force at its destination perfectly, he was able to carry out simultaneous and highly destructive attacks on each island.
Rear Admiral Frank J. Fletcher, acting under orders of Admiral Halsey, led the forces which made the attacks against the islands of Jaluit and Makin.
Vice Admiral Halsey has been awarded the Distinguished Service Medal for planning and conducting these brilliant and audacious attacks on Japanese strongholds and for driving them home with great skill and determination.
Commander Miles R. Browning, Chief of Staff of Admiral Halsey, has been recommended for promotion to captain.
Appropriate rewards to other officers and men may be expected later when all recommendations have been received and acted upon.
Admiral Halsey retained the directive command throughout the operations. From his flagship he followed the progress of the engagements and gave such additional directive commands as appeared advisable.
The expedition had, evidently, been planned with harmonious staff support, which continued unfailing to the completion of the mission.
As the operations extended over an area approximately 400 miles long by 350 miles wide, each unit became vested with an independent role which was part of the pattern of the mission of the expedition. The leader of each unit had a directive responsibility. The success of the expedition depended on the success of each unit. The members of each unit gave to their leaders full support, all acting with “great skill and determination.”
The Fight from the Aircraft Carrier
Pearl Harbor, Feb. 13 (AP).—A gripping account of war at sea, including a spectacular but futile suicide plunge by a Japanese dive-bomber, was related today by Joseph Rucker, veteran Paramount newsreel man. He was the only civilian aboard an aircraft carrier when U. S. ships attacked Japanese mid-Pacific islands Feb. 1. This is how Rucker told his story:
3:00 a.m.—Awful hard to get up. We’re on the “Galloping Ghost of the Oahu Coast.” The boys nicknamed her because the Japanese reported her sunk so often. Everyone is on his toes and all hands busy. Now general quarters sound. It’s an unearthly noise. Then a booming voice says, “Man your stations.” Everyone rushes to battle positions. A loud speaker orders covers taken off the cockpits and rudders. Flight deck hands hasten to comply. Pilots get last-minute instructions and dash for the planes. Plane handlers holler the planes’ numbers so pilots and gunners will be able to find the right planes without being delayed. The latter climb in the planes. A loud speaker hollers, “Stand by to start the engines,” and a minute later “Stand clear of propellers” and then “Start engines.”
The sudden roar is startling. The Ghost heels over at a fast speed into the wind. The first plane is on the starting line. Two blue streaks of exhaust pierce the darkness, the pilot releases his brakes and the plane is off. Other planes roar seaward. Blue flames dot the sky, then the streaks converge in perfect formation and disappear toward the objective. It’s zero hour. Daybreak now. Powerful glasses are trained on the island in the distance. We watch for the first bomb blast. All hands cheer as the first column of smoke is sighted. A dull blast echoes. Mechanics and refuelers already are preparing for the return of the first squadron. They start landing. Bombs are wheeled out and attached, new ammunition loaded, and damaged planes rushed below for quick repairs.
A tall curly-headed pilot reports prosaically to the commanding officer that he had just shot down two enemy planes and had his own aileron controls shot away. He wasn’t worried, the same as the rest just waiting to take off again.
Word comes that torpedo planes might be useful for a kill. Off they go. I learned later they scored 100 per cent.
Time has gone fast. It’s afternoon now. Japs just starting to retaliate with their few remaining planes in this sector. Five twin-engined bombers drop from the clouds. The gunnery officer, in the control room atop the mast, lets out a yell “here they come, give them hell.” Our anti-aircraft throws them off course. The leader seems hit. They overshoot their mark—20 heavy bombs land in the water at the port side. Concussion terrific. The leader apparently is disabled. He tries a straight down suicide dive to the Ghost’s deck. He saw he was going to miss us. He managed to swoop level and attempted to plow straight toward the deckload of planes.
One of our gunners in a deck plane conked him. He crashed on the edge of the deck, the wreckage flying in all directions, mostly into the sea. I learned later some of the other four bombers with him also were destroyed. In the meantime bomb fragments with near misses start a fire. A sailor rushes to put it out pronto.
Now there’s another attack.
Two Japanese twin-engined bombers up 2,000 feet. Our planes are chasing them. A marine captain on the control yells an order not to shoot because American planes are in the line of fire. He had an eagle eye.
The gunnery officers sings out to the captain: “Bombs on way; hard over.”
The Ghost maneuvers quickly. Bombs drop o2 the starboard bow. A fighter plane gets one of the Jap bombers . . . anti-aircraft gets the other.
The smoke control lookout still is busy. Been that way all day. He is the guy who tells the engine-room the stacks are smoking. Also tells them other things. I heard him on the phone. He said “No. 2 stack smoking black, enemy planes diving, bombs hit water; No. 2 stack clear; small fire port side, now it’s out; No. 5 stack smoking black, hang on, here’s more bombs, okay; No. 5 clear, attack over, take it easy.”
The attack ends. Pilots congregate to the wardroom with coffee to have fun swapping notes. One says he got a big one. Another reports he dropped a heavy one on a tanker. Someone says he left a ship blazing stem to stem. Another chimes in about terrific explosions in a land hangar. They are a happy lot. One says Jap fighting planes are no match for ours.
Give these boys plenty of planes and they will finish the job. We have men in our Navy.
Robert J. Casey’s Account of the Fight from the Cruiser
With the Pacific fleet at sea, Feb. 13.—
6:00 a.m.—The moon was still big, yellow and brilliant—too brilliant. Aft, the seaplanes began to gurgle and roar.
6: 15—The guns of the after turret swung skyward. Suddenly unseen planes were catapulted out of the black in noisy sequence. They rose as gray blots against the gray sky with a ghastly blue halo of hot vapor clinging to them.
6:40—The sun seemed to be struggling up through low-lying clouds. Eight seaplanes came across the dim light and took off westward in formation.
6:45—The lookout called that smoke was coming up from the island dead ahead. It was plain to the naked eye, hanging low over the land, though only a little different from the cloud formations in the smoky light of dawn. The island is a typical coral atoll—a string of little palm-covered islands circling a lagoon. It is low on the horizon notwithstanding the trees, hardly visible in the dim light save for the breakers eternally feathering its reefs. Planes came up on our starboard bow. The lookout called. The multiple pompoms—Chicago pianos, the trade calls them—pointed their glistening pipes upward and swung about on a platform like the throne of a movie organist. But the lookout identified the planes as our own. The strafing of the atoll was finished. The bombers were going back and the job from here on was ours.
7:00 a.m.—The ship swung farther in toward land. With terrible abruptness the big guns in the forward turrets broke loose with a train of concussions that seemed likely to wrench apart everybody and everything aboard. Four shells hit in the lagoon and tossed up high fountains. Other ships in the unit joined in the fire. Other shells made odd patterns at the south end of the largest island of the atoll, now lying off our starboard bow. With field glasses it was easy to identify this island as our principal objective. Among the palms you could make out the wrecked towers of the radio station. Some buildings were afire behind the trees.
7:05—The lookout called “Ship dead ahead, sir!” There it was, halfway between us and the horizon—a little thing looking like an ocean-going tug, but more likely a well-armed patrol boat. It had come blithely from the dawn to run squarely- across the bows of a destroyer—a bit ironic. The tub and the destroyer began to shoot it out.
7:07—There came suddenly the smash of a time-fuse shell almost atop the bridge of the ship ahead of us—land batteries! Where had they been? Three more shots came over. This time they struck without exploding. All seemed short. All our guns went on firing regularly, not to say brutally. One of the enemy batteries made no attempt at concealment. You could see the yellow flashes where it fired from the beach.
7:15—The light was getting better now and we had a chance to note the odd things that were uncovered as our shells painstakingly tore this particular South Sea island to bits. There were wharves stretching out into the opalescent lagoon —dwelling places on the white beach mostly hidden by the North Island—and things made of concrete that erupted large chunks and great pillars of gray smoke when dynamite exploded under the trees. The land batteries, if you cared to watch them, were still at work. You could see flashes even if the shells by some odd chance passed you by.
7:28—Two shells went over us. They seemed to be considerably off in deflection. No one seemed to notice. We continued our sweep up and down the battered island.
7:40—Two more ships came into the opening between the islands. One seemed to be hunting for shelter as waterspouts broke out between them. The other was heading straight for the beaches if nothing could stop it. Nothing did. It went aground, lifted its prow from the water and with dense smoke pouring from its funnel, listed far over to starboard.
7:48—The front of the island was getting hazy under shreds of black smoke.
8:15—Two 6-inch batteries, or maybe 3 over there in the smoke, were tossing out shells with no thought of economy. The sea between us and the island was tufted with them. Our 5-inch batteries, which had been hammering the ship now beached, shifted to shore objectives—-all the starboard batteries were working and the din was close to the limit of human endurance. The puffs of the first 5-inch salvo and the flashes of a battery in the middle of the island seemed almost simultaneous. The second salvo fell in the same place and another cloud of black smoke went up to join the gathering murk.
8:17—A new ship moved hazily into sight on the lagoon. Our guns straddled it on the third salvo with a tremendous uprush of white water. The ship, which had been firing steadily from the guns fore and aft, stuck her prow down under the swell, shivered, leaned to port and went out of sight. Whoever was aboard went with her.
8:25—After a brief lull and a change of position we were firing everything we had except pompoms. The result was almost immediate. There was a burst of red flame and a tremendous black cloud rolled skyward—oil would be my guess— and a big tank of it. From some source or other came word that our planes had destroyed a landing field and that shells from our warships had leveled a large industrial installation camouflaged by palm trees.
8:30—We shifted our fire to the north end of the island and most of it went over the crest toward targets that only our air observers could see. Meantime, shells from shore batteries were falling nearer to us. One batch lit about 200 yards off port.
8:35—Four shells tossed white water to starboard. There wasn’t any doubting what that meant. We were bracketed. They had finally got us dead in range.
8:41—Another string of geysers flashed ahead of us—just the same sort of geysers we tossed up around the Jap ship in the lagoon before she fell apart. The land battery was slow but working well. The range was now about right—deflection not far off. Four white plumes rose from the island. Somebody had apparently just smashed a large wooden building.
8:45—Three shells just smashed in front of us; one almost scraped our stem. From our platform you can see the widening circle of green, spreading over the deep blue water like ooze on a swamp. Our fantail had a segment cut off it on one side— which shows how close it came. About then the bridge decided to stop this nonsense. We Could hear telephone men relaying the order already transmitted by other routes to the engine room— 30 knots. We swung about almost on a pivot. Our correspondents’ coop on the foremast rolled over until we were looking almost straight down into the blue water and we came up with a jerk at right angles to our original course. Four shells fell in a patter astern and to port.
8:50—Our guns lifted a few salvos from the stern. Shells began to pile up on the island where the battery was flashing at us. We were doing a sort of adagio dance—the sort of movement one might expect of an elephant doing a bayonet drill.
8:52—Numerous geysers rose about another of our warships. Apparently the second battery was working and had no intention of quitting. The ship squirmed through a barrage that might have been murderous. Our firing went on.
8:53—Another black fire started about a mile north of the earlier pillar of smoke. Almost immediately two more sizable blazes arose to the north of that. We took time to admire them. We had come well out of range of the remaining cannoneers on shore.
8:54—A third fire of first magnitude erupted at the north end of the island. The smoke column was hundreds of feet high and spreading out in a dense mass over the atoll and a long horizon to the south. We dumped a couple of salvos on top of the flashing battery south of the fire. There is no more sign of life on the island.
8:55—One of our airplanes delivered a message. This base, an important part of Japan’s easternmost menace to the United States, now in irreparable bits—and so are the sea forts to the southward where other ships and planes of the fleet have spent a busy and profitable couple of hours. Cease firing.
Jack Rice's Account of the Fight from the Cruiser
Pearl Harbor, Feb. 13 (AP).—The story of the U. S. Navy’s smashing attack on one of the Jap bases in the Marshall islands was told today by Jack Rice, Associated Press photographer, who was aboard a cruiser participating in the attack.
Just before noon, Feb. 1,1 saw great guns from our ship rake the strongly held Japanese island of Taroa from one end to the other. They fought off repeated attacks from the air, hammered enemy shore batteries into silence—and right now we are steaming away with not much more damage than could be fixed by a village blacksmith. It was a stunning show of strategy, skill, and cool courage. And as we stand around now, wolfing ham sandwiches and coffee in the officers’ mess, I have a brand new respect for this bunch of veterans and for the determined youngsters who took the hail of steel and shells as if they were in a snowball fight back at school.
Our operation was but one of several in this general area today and, from fragmentary reports now available to us, we are certain the Japanese must have taken a terrific beating. (It developed later that this base was destroyed.) It seems that our particular force plowed into the enemy’s greatest concentration of strength in these atolls, and that our baptism of fire was probably the heaviest of the day. In many instances our other forces apparently met little opposition. But our ships, too, gave far more than they took insofar as ships and shore action was concerned. Even two score enemy bomber and fighter planes could not keep this force from carrying out its mission of destructive assault.
Through field glasses I saw coast defense guns tossed high into the air by direct hits from our batteries, a tall radio tower crashed to the ground, and palm trees with their roots and dirt flew up like weeds. What must have been the damage back from the coast those of us who were not in the air only imagine—but we could see at least five separate fires. Men died in this hell of noise today, and other men were wounded. But proportionately our loss was unbelievably low. By one of those freaks of war, the only pilot lost from this cruiser was the only one who remained on the ship. A bomb fragment got him. Just a few hours before he had beaten me at cribbage. The pilots in the air returned to the cruiser safely.
It was one of those muggy tropical mornings when we were called before daylight to prepare for action. All night long we had known about what the force planned to do and while we had not lost sleep, it was a welcome, if apprehensive moment, when we knew the time was at hand. Advancing steadily toward its objective, this cruiser launched observation planes just before dawn—which came up almost as quickly as an oil lamp when you turn up the wick. They flew toward Taroa Island and, within a few minutes, we could see the palm-fringed atoll ourselves. It was ten miles away. Our presence in these waters apparently was unknown even then and we drew closer. Everyone was at his battle station. The usual chatter dwindled. I saw no sign of fear, but the tense waiting wasn’t doing the pit of my stomach any good.
Just before seven o’clock, we saw two enemy planes take off from the island. Our anti-aircraft suddenly blasted the weird silence with a din which from that moment on seemed almost continuous. Shore batteries sprang into sharp action and we could see what seemed like dots and dashes of white and orange gunbursts all along the shore. Their aim was bad. Almost at that minute a squadron of American fighter planes from a carrier far above the horizon swept over the island, bombing and strafing with everything they had. They must have caused plenty of damage and several fires started even then. As the fighters shot away from the scene of destruction, our cruiser’s huge guns went into action exactly as scheduled. Their full salvos lifted me almost clear off the signal bridge deck. The shore batteries were missing us by thousands of yards and there wasn’t much time to worry about things like gunfire anyway.
The enemy was striking back by that time as best they could after getting caught with their guard down, and here were our first dive bomb attacks. My ears couldn’t even believe themselves in all that hell with all the guns going. The navigator remarked dryly as he plotted the course, “It looks like we stirred up a hornet’s nest here.”
There was that chilling whoosh of huge explosives, ending in a dull ominous whoomph. Planes were diving in high from several directions. I noticed the huge morning sun seemed spotted with them.
But for the time being neither bombs nor shore batteries were effective against us and I recall thinking there was something majestic about the way the ship was blasting its way through a veritable trough of precarious safety. Our cruiser and destroyers were dropping shells onto the island base in a never ending stream.
It was just about this time that one of our destroyers reported submarine contact on the port quarter. I didn’t find whether a sub actually was there but I know the depth charges added to the noises, the ship shuddered from the effects of its own gunfire and the concussion of bombs exploding in the sea not too far away.
We could see more fire springing up on the island under the ceaseless blasting from the ships. The enemy bombers still were not coming closer than 2,000 feet because our anti-aircraft was setting up what looked like a black tufted blanket almost as high as one could see.
The bombers were not having a steady target to aim at either. Our ship was going through astounding maneuvers, changing course constantly, and was shaking like a wet dog under the showers of white hot bomb fragments spraying in from near-hits in the sea. It was more than an hour after the attack had started—and after it had altered direction in the knowledge that the mission was accomplished—that the first and only dive bomber came which really got through.
He came in fairly high and released a bomb which shook us up from 50 yards off the starboard side. Then he climbed steeply, turned, and roared straight down with the second half of his 2-bomb load. Its shattering explosion killed several men and wounded others but did not hit a vital spot and did no appreciable damage below deck. Meantime, our anti-aircraft blasted at least one attacking plane from the skies. Some others had left and the air was getting clearer. But the rudely awakened enemy sought one last chance.
We saw 8 twin-engined bombers take off from the island. They hummed along in a wide “V” formation and probably were 12,000 feet high when they were nearly overhead. They shot their whole works almost simultaneously—16 of their bigger bombs, probably 500-pounders.
All 16 crashed just astern and set up such a wall of water that one of our pilots said that from the air it looked like the whole stem of the ship was enveloped in the ocean. But it wasn’t. It didn’t even get hit. It was one of those split-second maneuvers executed by our skipper that let us live. There were only a couple of other futile dive bombing tries after that and the engagement was over.
The sudden silence was deafening. We glanced toward the island, but it was out of sight. The destroyers still were with us and their guns also finally were quiet.
The sky was blue and clear now with tropic heat. We had forgotten about the weather but still were perspiring with excitement. The sea is calm and the wind is warm on our faces.
We are plowing along steadily now. Men are going about their routine duties, the guns are in order and the decks are cleared of the shell cases. Our observation planes were picked up safely although with bullet holes—and there’s no land in sight.
We don’t know where we’re going but the boys have had a great big bite at the enemy and they don’t care.