Hornet (CVA 12) - Naval Cruise Book

Page 179 text:

tion of naval service which spans nearly two centuries. There have been eight Hornets in all. Number one was a ten-ton sloop cutter- rigged which was commissioned by the Continental Marine Committee in 1775 and harassed th-e British off the Delaware Capes in 1777. The second of the line also mount- ing ten guns was purchased in Malta by U. S. agents who sent her into action with Commodore Rogers squadron at the siege an American peace to the Bashaw of Trip- oli. H ornet number three was the command of Commodore James. Lawrence who gave the Navy its stirring watchwords. Fight h-er till she sinks and dont give up the ship -the famous dying words he later uttered while in command of the Chesa- peake, i Hornet number four was a five-gun schooner and saw service in Southern rivers and bays as a dispatch packet between 1813 and 1820. The fifth Hornet was an iron side-wheel paddle steamer used for river patrol during the Civil War. Hornet six, a converted yacht, was intended for use as a dispatch vessel in the Spanish-American War. She cut the Havana Cable in Man- zanillo Harbor and fought a number of skirmishes out of her weight and class to uphold the honor of the name. ' It was the third Hornet that established th-e line's peculiar knack for turning up to do battle in unlikely segments of the globe. Below Capricorn at 37 3' south latitude and 12 9' west longitude-and for no ap- parent reason-rises a saddle of rock sur- rounded by thousands of miles of sea. On the South Atlantic chart, it is listed as again. This time he made no pretense at scouting the island. The Hornet was Biddles first command. She had b-een James Lawrences ship Cbe- fore he was promoted to captain and given command of the Chesapeakej and had scourged the British since the third day after the declaration of war. Chafing for action Biddle had been blockaded in New London along with the frigates United States and Macedonian. Before that he had dreary months a prisoner of the -Bashaw of Tripoli. Now a captain under Commo- dore Decatur he was spoiling for a fight 'Two months out of sight of land out of contact with the squadron had only honed his mettle to a keener edge. Up on the masthead, the lookout cupped his hand to his mouth 'and sang out. 'Ahoy the deck! Sail on the lee bow! Biddle strained his eyes in that direction but saw nothing. He strode to the lee main- shrouds and fought a losing battle with what he termed his professional dignity. He was too new a captain and too lately a lieutenant to keep his hands off the ratlines. H-e swung himself up, braced against the plunging motion of the ship, and trained his glass forward. There was a sail all right, southward and to the east, steering to westward under a spanking south-southwest wind. Two masts -that would make her a brigantine-with bare poles down to the fore and main up- pertops'ls. 'Mr. Conner! Biddle hailed. The first lieutenant came on the run. She's a brig, the captain said. Perhaps the Peacock, but more likely a lobsterback. down. She was larger than the Peacock higher out of the water than the Hornet. Biddle watched her shorten sail slowly with a clumsiness which seemed almost by design. She came down stem on and the first lieutenant .couldnt understand the rea- son why. What do you make of it sir? he asked the captain anxiously. Biddle had seen a lot of tactics while in the service aboard the Constellation with She wont show us what she mounts on her broadside he said. Perhaps she thinks well run. Run from a tight? Conner looked in- credulous. She misjudges the Hornet, sir. Biddle smiled grimly. Lawrence wouldnt have run. Evans wouldn't have run. They had commanded Hornets before him. Praise God the Hornet would never turn tail not whil-e there was powder and shot flesh and steel, and the stars and stripes of the new Republic. 'Lay her two points off the wind, Mr. Conner, he said. 'Two can play this game. lf she aims to pass under our stern and en- gage us to leeward she'll have to outsail us first!! I don't think she can do it, Mr. Con- ner. The Hornet wore ship three tim-es before the stranger came within musket range without firing a shot. At 1:40 P.M., 'f there was still a doubt that she was a British sloop of war, she haul-ed her wind on the starboard tack, hoisted the English Jack and fired a shot with her chase gun. The Hornet immediately luffed to, ran up her ensign, and raked the now declared enemy with a withering broadside. of Derne- She helped General Eaton dictate languished in an African dungeon for 19 'Truxton and the Philadelphia under Preble. li , ll H C ' r I 1 O C Tristan da Cunha, one of three volcanic upthrusts aptly known as the Inaccessible Islands. To find it on the map, you need plenty of patience and a strong magnifying glass. To locate it at sea, you need a master mariner and a good compass equipped with iron navigator's balls. On the morning of March 23, 1815, Mas- ter Commandant james Biddle stood by the taffrail of the brig-rigged sloop-of-war Hor- net, Price built in Baltimore, of French de- sign, and mounted with a battery of 20 guns. The captain held a brass sight-tube to his eye and surveyed the conical peak of 'Tris- tan da Cunha, rising sharply above the gray South Atlantic swells. Then he swept th-e sea, searching for signs of Commodore Decatur's squadron-the frigate President, the war-sloop Peacock, and the stor-eship Toni Bowline. They were nowhere on the bowl of the horizon. Evidently the Hornet had beaten them to the rendezvous at the northwest point of the island, the only feasible anchorage according to John Pet- ton, an American whaling master who had wintered there in 1791. The wind's dropped a little, Mr. Con- ner. the comniandant said to his first lieu- tenant. We should haul down in about an hour. Put a good leadsman in the chains. This water might suddenly shoal. Yes, sir, Conner said. His eyes were troubled. 1 wonder if the squadron- Biddle cut him short. He wondered too. It had been two months since he had seen the commodore's pennant through the fiying scud of a Hatteras gale. VVe can't beat back and forth on the lee of a rock pile forever. he said. 1 daresay the squadron will arrive when it does and not a moment before. Conner went to join the master's mate and the midshipman of the watch at the chain plate. Biddle looked through the glass We'll run out and see. Put the helm up and we'll bear down on her, Mr. Conner, if you please. With a creaking of blocks, the little Hor- net danced into the new tack under jib, stay- sails, and the boom mainsail. Sailing a close course on the wind, she handled like a fore-and-aft rigged sloop. She made good time, shouldering the oncoming seas and nosing through the needle spray that drove along her flush decks to where Biddle wrap- ped himself in his heavy blue coat, and hitched up his sword, a present from his friends and neighbors in Philadelphia. Mains'l sheets! Conner bellowed, and to the helmsman, Steady as she goes. He turned to the captain. Orders, sir? Biddle had his eyes on the strange sail. She couldn't be the Peacock, unless the gales drove her off course to east. 1'd guess she's an Englishman on the west run in from Africa. We'd best be ready, Mr. Con- ner. Pd suggest we clear for action and run out the carronades. Call all hands! Conner roared at the midshipman. Beat to quarters! The roll of drums throbbed through the ship and the hands raced to their stations. Even though the strange brig was still a long way off, the 18 carronades were run out on their trucks and the gun-layers stood by th-e breeches with smouldering pots and linstocks. Biddle looked at the men, proud of their eagerness, a little awed by their spirit. If there was a fight, there would be a butcher bill to pay, but no one thought of it now. There was only a contagious fever of excitement, keyed by the wild wind thrumming in the lines, by the jaunty cant of a wooden deck, by a strange sail on a distant sea and the glory of a proud ship from a young land. The Hornet bent on sail and tacked to port, waiting for the strange brig to come Bright yellow flashes blossomed from the English brig's side. A ball tore through the rigging over Biddl-e's head. There was a ragged crash below as a load of grape struck home. All about him was the clatter of falling blocks and lines. Biddle braced as the Ho1'net's decks shook under the re- coil of repeated broadsides. Each time the acrid smoke cleared away, he strain-ed his eyes to survey the enemy's damage. Her deck was a shambles and h-er sails were rags. The foremast was splintered from truck to futtock shrouds, yet the lobster- back backed her braces to bear up on the Hornet and run her on board. Mr, Conner! Biddle shouted hoarsely. 'They'll try to board us on the quarter- deck. Have the gunners load with grape and set your pikemen on the rail ! The two vessels, like ponderous levia- thans, came together in a shattering crash. The Hornefs pikemen crowded the rail, rushing to board the enemy only to have their officers call them back. The bowsprit of the English brig had come in between the main and mizzen-rigging like the formidable snout of an enraged swordfish. Heeling hard to port, the Hornet rose with a heavy swell that lifted her ahead while the enemy's bowsprit sheared away the mizzen- shrouds, stern davits and spankerboom. But the brigs weren't clear. The Hornet shuddered forward with the Englishman hung up on her larboard quarter. Biddle, smoke-blackened, bleeding from a bad splinter cut on the head and almost blinded by the flashing of the carronades, called for the master to go forward and set the foresail. The gun trucks rumbled like thunder as the pieces were run out again. On the Englishman, a lieutenant rushed to the rail, tore off his white stock and waved it frantically. :'Brig ahoy! he hailed through :a speak- a . -'i - 1' 1' . ' e-f-Asif:-' f'1!'--'-I' Q 1-'ka-Lithia:- u. .1 21:1 - !1i - U -s'-2-H ' il. in wifi' USR ilkx 20-Eng Qeitans-SES. 1 ll M 1

Page 178 text:

He jumped into the phone pit and started throwing smoke-bombs overside with the grim-faced crew. Ernie and I stared anx- iously at the destroyers training the Hor- net's wake. Freddy Foxton was watching the blackness to starboard for another sig- nal light. The destroyer searchlights began to sweep the sea from where the first light had come. The Hornet's light knifed through the murk in a tortuous, slow arc. Just before the three beams met in the water, another red flare rocketed into the night. For 20 minutes of mounting tension the shortening beams of the destroyers closed in on the patch of sea where the plane had gone in. Finally the Hornefs bull horn bel- lowed the good news which we were pray- ing to hear. The destroyer Boderlon has just picked up Lieutenant Arthur, who crash-landed in the sea. The pilot is in good condition after 22 minutes in the water. Johnny NVright called Pri Fly on the phone. What's the score? he wanted to know. How about the rest of the boys up- stairs? VX'e're sending them in to the beach, Air Boss, Commander Phillips, told him. Knock oil for tonight. You can wave them aboard in the morning. There 'was another flight of planes which Hornet number seven, the predecessor of the present Hornet, once sent to the beach. But it was an alien beach in the heartland of the foepand they were Army planes-huge, lumbering B-25's, their bellies freighted with bombs. lt was the gale-ridden morning of April 18, 1942, and Jimmy Doolittle was leading his .squadron on the impossible Tokyo raid. When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, not all of our screaming was wordless. The great hue and cry went up from all ov-er the land- Bomb Tokyo! It was a brave pair of syllables, and it sounded fine. Any barroom commando could tell you that the majority of Japanese houses were built out of rice paper and matchsticks. All you had to do was drop a handful of incendiaries from a fast plane and Tokyo would disap- pear from the face of the earth. Even if these two conceptions were tru-e -and they weren't-the idea of getting a flight of bombers over the Japanes-e capital in that time of trouble was something rip- ped out of the most lurid science-fiction. The vaunted Flying Fortress, the best plane we could put into the air, couldn't make the round trip to Japan with a full bomb load from any base which was at our dis- posal. The Russians weren't going to let us use Siberian bases. Hawaii and Alaska were too far away. Free China had no airfields adapted to four-engined bomber operation. But the American public wasn't interested in the facts, W-e needed a shot in the arm. Defeat after defeat had left the gritty taste of ashes in our mouths. We badly needed a victory. Something had to be done at once. President Roosevelt called a conference of his top military advisers. Jimmy Doo- little then a Lt. Colonel, and Admiral Bull Halsey were present at the meeting. The strategy which finally evolved from that conference was the fruit of over two months of top-level, top-secret planning. The Hornet, CV-8, seventh of her name, had just finished shaking down in February of 1942. Captain Marc Mitscher was in command. Just before March, two Army Mitchell bombers-B-25's-were lifted to her flight deck with a crane. Their wing- spread was a shoehorn fit between the deck edge and the island. No catapult in this world had kick enough to sling them off. And they were strictly land ships which needed nearly 2,000 feet of runway, wh-ereas the Hornet's flight deck was only 809 feet, 2M inches long. Captain Mitscher took the Hornet to s-ea and a precedent-shattering experiment was just about to take place, when the carrier's sonar apparatus contacted a submarine. The pig-boat had to be knocked on the head. VVith a great deal of careful juggling, the Hornet was able to cat off a trio of scout bombers after worming them out of the hangar deck. They dropped a number of depth charges where the sub was supposed to be and then returned to circle the ship. VVith careful juggling again, they were tail-hooked home and stowed below. The stage was set again. With Navy pilots at the controls, the two Army craft were warmed up on the runway. Th-ey took off at top speed, their starboard wings nearly brushing the island. The Hornet was forg- ing into the wind as fast as her new boilers could move her. The wind was gusty and strong. The B-25's lifted in faltering, heart- wrenching climbs and circled the ship be- fore disappearing in the west. There was no leeway of any kind. It had to be right on the button or the deal was kaput. But it could be done! Medium land-based bombers could be flown of the deck of oi carrier! The Hornet was fueled and provisioned at Norfolk. Then one night she slipped into the channel, blinked a fond farewell to buoy two-charley-baker, and steamed out to sea. She whipped south, ducked through the Canal, headed north with a troop convoy, and finally moored across the bay at San Francisco. In Florida, at Elgin Airfield, Lt. Colonel Doolittle was training Air Force crews for an unnam-ed mission. 'The men were all volunteers. They were told, very frankly, that the job they were slated for had importance equalled only by the extra- ordinary hazards involved. Training for the mission included a meticulous study of detailed maps and pho- tographs of the Tokyo area. It also included taking off from the field in progr-essively shorter runs, each marked with white lines at the start and point of total lift. In a surprisingly short time, the big B-25's were able to hop into the air after an ev-en more surprisingly short run. One more development took place at this time. Captain C. R. Greening monkeyed around with a pair of pliers and a coupl-e of wire coat-hangers and worked out a bomb sight which cost slightly under 20 cents. This gadget was installed in the training squadron's planes, replacing the top-secret Norden bomb sight which could not be permitted to fall into Jap hands. After concentrated training with the new sight, the period of preparation was over. In the middle of March, 95 Army fliers were put aboard the Hornet in San Fran- cisco harbor. Sixteen B-25's were secured to the flight deck. Under cover of darkness, the Hornet slipped out to sea in the com- pany of the Nashville, the Vincennes and a division of destroyers. The Fighting Lady was on her way to launch a reprisal raid against supreme Imperial Headquarters, Tokyo itself! - Bull Halsey, in a task force centered about the carrier Enterprise, headed west- northwest to rendezvous with the Hornet. With the 16 B-25's on her flight deck, the Hornefs own plan-es were, for all practical purposes, locked in the cellar. Without her protective umbrella, she was a sitting duck for enemy surface, sub-surface, or aerial attack. The Enterprise was given the job of flying cover for the combined task force. Every officer and white-hat was told the score. In its conception the plan was so simple and daring that it defied all but the most active imaginations. The deal was to sneak in to about 400 miles off the coast of Japan, launch the bombers in the direction of Tokyo, and then run like hell. The planes would come in at low level, lay their eggs on predetermined targets, and streak for bases in Free China. With luck, the Japs-and the whole world, for that matter -were in the for the surprise of the century. Radio Tokyo, on Friday night, April 17, pulled what Garry Moore would call a boo- boo. A Jap with a sing-song voice hissed a beautiful spiel about how Tokyo could never bg bombed. He picked a good night to pop o . A 60-mile gale was blowing when the sun came up the next morning. The Hornet and company were within 800 miles of Tokyo. A day's run would cut the distance in half, and then the next night would make for a quick bombing run, target illumination by flares, and retreat to China in the darkness -all with gas to spare. It was a happy prospect until an enemy patrol boat cut over the horizon from the east. The situation had suddenly and dra- matically changed. It was a time for de- cision. The Jap ship had to be sunk before she could radio the alert to Imperial Fleet Headquarters. And there wasn't any mar- gin for error. She had to be sunk in record time. The Nashville was ordered in to blow up the Jap patrol boat with her six-inch guns. Maybe the target was small. Maybe the gun-layers were jittery. Anyway, it took the Nashville 10 minutes to score a hit, and they did it, according to fleet scuttlebutt, without using any more ammo than they'd need to sink a first-line battleship. What to do- If the Jap patrol craft had radioed trouble before she went to the bottom, the Tokyo raid was as good as over and done with-even before it began. Bull Halsey, Jimmy Doolittle and Marc Mitscher put their heads together and decided on an imm-ediate strike. The Hornet turned her nose into the gale and headed toward Japan. With 16 bombers lined up on the flight deck, Lt. Colonel Doolittle, first away, had only half the run of the last plane in which to take off. The pitching of the carrier had to be taken into consideration to keep the heavy planes from spinning into the drink. At the trough of each sea, a bomber thun- dered forward up th-e deck. At the crest of the wave, the heavy plane hopped from the lead edge of the runway and faltered into a climb. All 16 bombers got off and streaked east. The Hornet and her escorts wheeled out of the wind and began a headlong rush to the south where the water was only warm instead of hot. The rest is history. President Roosevelt borrowed the never-n-ever land which is the locale of author James Hilton's Lost Hori- zon and told the country that Jimmy Doo- little had taken off from Shangri-La. The Japs and Nazis took him seriously. Doo- little carried out his air attack from the air base Shangri-La, which was not otherwise described by Roosevelt. Thanks to the valiant Hornet, America had a brief and welcome vision of ultimate victory to light the way through the cruel years ahead. The Tokyo raid of the Horn-et is perhaps the peak in the unfolding of a proud tradi- ' - ' A ..s-- -. -. X.: 2, L-:--.- ' ' x i.:' .NJ 1- -2 ' .S' .Sus '-Y. y. -11... -Ava -.- 1 -az-:- :-z:-gg - .-.. F.- an

Page 180 text:

.. fs 4- ., ,., ,,,.,.,... , ,., ,,,,..,,- -...- .,-,.x..- a---1. ff- 'sr' P' ing trumpet. We submit! 'Hold your fire! Do you strike your colors? the captain called back to the Englishman. Th-e answer and a volley of musketry sounded at the same time. Yes, God rot you! Biddle dropped to the deck. A hot musket ball had ripped open his chin and passed along his neck, tearing through his cravat and waistcoat collar. Reprisal came swiftly with a double burst from the Hornefs long 12 swivel guns. The length of the Englishman's decks was raked with hot grapeshot that scythed a swath of destruction from stem to stern. The Horniefs foresail bellied out with wind and the American brig tore free of her enemy, ripping out the British brig's bowsprit as she surged ahead. The brig's foremast was gone and she lay dead in the water. The Hornet wore ship to give her a fresh broadside, but the British ensign slow- ly fluttered down from the spanker gaff. Her colors were struck and the fight was over, exactly 22 minutes from the time the first shot was fired. The ship's surgeon and two crewmen tried to carry the wounded Captain Biddle below. He r-efused to go. They stripped off his shirt and tied it around his throat in an improvised bandage. He 'wouudn't permit them to dress his wounds until the Hornefs seamen were attended to. The butcher bill was one man killed and ten wounded. Not a single round shot had pierced the hull of the Hornet, but her sides were scarred with grape and her rigging and sails were cut to ribbons. 'That evening, the American sloop of war Peacock, and the storeship Tom Bowline sailed over the northern rim of the horizon. The storeship was conv-erted into a cartel to carry the British prisoners to San Salva- dor, and on the 12th of April the Hornet and the Peacock set sail and headed east to round the Cape of Good Hope and begin the long voyage home. It xl in These days, they fold wings aboard the Hornet instead of bending sail, and when Pri Fly asks for a ready deck, no drum corps rolls the beat to quarters. In accord- ance with the strident march of time, the enemy is scouted in the crystal ball of the radar screen instead of from the crow's nest on a swaying mast. But the courage of the men is the same as it always was, and no braver ship than the Hornet ever faced a foe. At the time of her death, Hornet number seven wrote a flaming testament to the line's proud' heritage of valiant service. October 25, 1942. Buildup elements, sneaked ashore during night runs by the Tokyo Express, had reinforced enemy con- centrations along the Matkinau River in Guadalcanal. A heavy Jap attack, launched with tanks and artillery, imperiled Marine and American Division positions on the is- land. A torrential rain which started in the early morning had softened the airstrip at Henderson Field, and with air operations curtailed, the U. S. perimeter was in grave danger. This was the prelude to the great naval -battle off the Santa Cruz Islands. Two gargantuan Japanese flotillas had been assembled for the knockout blow. One was composed of elements scattered around Buka, Bougainville and Rabul. The other, containing the aircraft carriers Syokaku and Zuikaku was steaming south from the man- dated islands of Truk and Ponape. The Jap mission was a powerful carrier drive to knock out the planes grounded at Hender- son Field-then a clean sweep of American vessels in the Esperance narrows and naval bombardment from battleships and heavy cruisers to smash ground resistance once and for all. Another Nipponese victory seemed to be in the cards. But there was a joker in ,this stacked deck. An American Flying Fortress piloted by Lieutenant Mario Sesso spotted the main Japanese naval force north of the Solomons. Gaggles of zeros rose to intercept him, but Sesso streaked for home base with a fix on the Jap position. East of the Solomons, in the gray mist of morning, the Hornet and her destroyer es- cort cut feathery chevrons in the blue-black sea. Admiral Tom Kinkaid's task force, flexing its muscles after a successful peck at the fortihed Jap islands near Buin-Faisi, was patroling the salt floats along the right-of-way of the invincible Tokyo Ex- press. Aboard The Fighting Lady, the butcher bill for Midway was still a throat- catching memory. All planes lost, and only one pilot, Ensign G. H. Gay, of 'Torpedo Eight, limped- home to roost on that black morning of June 4, 1942. There were new faces in the squadron mess and recon- stituted tails warmed the theater seats in the ready room. t Up on the bridge, Rear Admiral Charles Perry Mason already had the word that the Japs were striking for Henderson Field. The word from the flagship was Get 'those Jap carriers. The attack launch was set for 0830-bombers, torpedo bombers, and hghters. Scouting Eight would have to sup- ply some of the bombers for the run. Lieutenant Commander VVilliam J Gus lflfidhelm walked down the ready room aisle, and the briefing began. There would be interference from a heavy Jap umbrella, since the enemy was wise to the game. There would be every shape and form of flak in the books, because the big guns of murderers' row were.out there, waiting to bark their bid for the vital field on Guadal- canal. The Hornet headed into the wind. The Air Boss in Pri Fly hauled in the red flag. The airdales set the chocks and slung the cats. Admiral Mason watched the clock, the sea, the course and the men, and the Hor- net was less a lean, striped ship on a distant sea than a bastion of hope in the heart of home. 0813. Pilots, man your planes. Check prop clearance, winglines, wheel chocks, fire bottles, flight deck uniform, and loose gear about the deck. 0814. Stand by to launch. Stand clear of propellers. Start engines. 4 Ther-e was a long blast on the warning yodel. The green flag went out, a white flag in front of it. Heads up on the flight deck. The white flag is out. 0830. Launch onel' Hurling ber planes aloft, the Horn-et held course and waited. The high angle turret guns guarded the leaden sky. Pom-poms bristled beneath the bridge. 'The AA gun- layers were on station at the deck edge along the beam and forward of the LSO platform. The wait wasn't long. At 0950, the call came in. Cootie to Daisy. This is Cootie four. You got troubles, kid. Visiting attack force dead ahead. We'll ask for their tickets, but some of them are going to crash your party. At 0959, 40 miles from the carrier, Fighter Eight engaged seven Japanese bombers and shot down three. Four got away. But there were more, lots more. A flight was coming in at 18,000 feet, and torpedo planes-escorted by Messerschmitt l09's-were spilling out of the clouds nine miles away. The Hornet steamed a steady course, northeast at 20 knots. The cans and escort cruisers laid down a screen of smoke and the carrier settled into it like a striped Easter egg in cotton wool. The thunder- claps of the first shots boomed out over the sea as the cans began to fire. l009 hours. A flight of enemy dive- bombers, cut ragged by fighter interference, wove through the black lace of anti-air- craft fire. They came' in shock waves, and l5 of them managed to punch through the screen. 'The Hornetfr five-inchers spit blood- colored flame, and over their jolting WHAM-WHAM the one-point-one inchers barked and the smaller weapons stuttered. A slim, silver monoplane reeled crazily just above the island and disintegrated in midair. Another streaked through the tracers to lay an egg on the fantail. It was a near miss, and the Jap dive-bomber spun into the sea. Two more started their runs, overshot, and got clear. ln the puff-dotted sky, one more dive- bomber circled the target, then darted across the tracer lines at 2,000 feet. His engine spouted a beard of orange flame as the AA flre found the range. He was falling fast, and in a straight line-way past his red-line limit. This was a Kamikaze plunge, the aerial equivalent of a Banzai charge. The Jap pilot was out to deliver his bomb load in person! The plane screamed toward the deck, and the sound was even louder than the devil- belching of the guns. Up on the bridge, Ad- miral Mason and the watch officers gasped for air in the partial vacuum created by the gun blasts. Wreatlied in a rising sun of'flame, the Jap hit. He glanced off the funnel and knifed across the signal bridge. Shorn of its wings, the heavy fuselage crashed into the flight deck 60 feet below. It hammered a hole through the deck and rammed into the hangar beneath, blazing like a bonnre among the parked planes around the aft elevator. The Japs' 1,500-pound, armor-piercing block-buster ripped loose from its housing outside the ordnance room! It didn't ex- plode, and was'actually disarmed by the heroic ordnance chief who removed the bomb's warhead in the dark. The two smaller bombs with which the Jap was loaded caused serious fires-one topside, the other in the hangar deck machine. shop. 'The dive-bomber's engine tore loose and ripped through a steel bulk- head to land in one of the squadron ready rooms. On the signal bridge, twisted girders loomed through a geyser of Hafne as a second Japanese dive-bomber delivered its full load. Through the smoke-a picture etched into the minds and hearts of all who saw it-Old Glory still fluttered de- fiantly from, the halyards. What happened in the next 20 minutes aboard the Hornet was like the preview trailer of a visit to Hell. Two-more Jap bombers crash-dived on the ship and seven torpedo planes cut through the screen and leveled off to attack. Three were shot into the sea, but the other four settled down to their deadly business. Two torpedoes pooped along, trailing white streaks in the choppy sea. Both hit on the port side, amidships. On the ship, the main water lines and the primary electric cable were cut. The Horneltir engines stopped turning over and The Fighting Lady