Part Eight
(SPOILER: As I alluded to earlier, this is my first ever attempt at writing and I'm probably being far too ambitious. What I am trying to do is to put a first person POV every few chapters to personalize my wider narrative. This my weak area and too often the result seems to me too wooden and one-dimensional. Nevertheless, here is the first part of my 'Midway' effort. The "Dikkipedia' battle account will follow and parts are pre-empted her, but I hope you enjoy this attempt, and feel free to critique not just my AU but grammar as well. Have fun and look forward to hearing how its perceived. T)
INTERLUDE ONE: - “A Tough Day at the Office for a Fighter Ace.”
0430 hours 17 June 1942 – HMNS Australia.
Task Force 44, 90 miles ESE Midway Island.
‘Are you awake Sirs, it’s 0430?”
Lt John McDaid, (Jimmy or Stretch to his peers), was lying on his bunk naked except for a pair of shorts. Already half-aware in expectation of this call, managed to grunt out a response, but failed to stop a firmer knock on the hatchway and louder repetition from their hovering steward in the passage outside, “Are you awake Sirs, its reveille?” This time his roommate, Pete Driscoll, responded more loudly from the lower bunk, “Yes, we’re awake and moving,” flicking on the lamp above his bunk, the sudden brightness making Jimmy wince as it flooded the narrow-cramped cabin with light.
Now awake Jimmy carefully reached up to the light fitting above his own head, and by feel, disengaged the bayonet fitting in the socket, feeling the gentle wash or air cease over his sweaty chest, as he swapped back in the bulb, he had earlier removed that night. With his own top bunk now lit, he carefully moved the small personal fan to the improvised shelf by his head, checking the already cracked and brittle Bakelite plug for damage and gently rolling the frayed cord up. One of the very first purchases on his initial visit to Hong Kong in 1938, the fan itself displayed a fine patina of cracks, but belying its cheap cost and acquisition in one of the myriads of tiny back lane shops of the crown colony, it still continued to work and remained a lifesaver in the tropics. Despite the attempts to improve ventilation during its reconstruction during the 30s, the fact remained that Australia was a pre-WW1 ship, designed for the North Sea, and poorly suited for the vastly increased crew and employment in the tropics. Already he could feel the fine sheen of sweat drying clammily on him, and at action stations with the already inadequate fans turned off, the room would rapidly become a humid still sweatbox. Undoubtedly it was his prize possession on this deployment, and reflecting this Jimmy treated it with deliberate care, valuing above most of his other items of personal kit, simply for the meagre cooling effect it offered in his current situation. This vital task done he then joined Pete in the well-practiced and finely choreographed routine of two men sharing a confined space conducting their daily routine to start the day. This done and both now in uniforms already losing their creases as sweat made them cling, he followed Pete out into to the dimly lit passage outside. A quick glance at his watch and he said, “Still some time to go. Deck, Irish?” he posed, receiving the expected muffled “good enough,” response and they both proceeded to head to the first set of ladders leading up to the flight deck.
Two minutes later they both shuffled through the blackout curtain and dimmed tactical light, exiting the island onto the still empty flight deck, both silently welcoming the fresh air and breeze blowing from the ships passage. This was the best time of the day, actually, just before dawn. The Pacific stars were still shining, the flight deck still wet with perhaps a little spray misting up from the bows. The island loomed, a large shadow against the stars, and looking at the dull shapes and angles of a Seabattle, tail ran out onto the nearest outrigger, broke the immediate view aft. Curious how it was all dark but you could still see and define shapes by their bulk. There was the sound of waves brushing the ship’s side, steadily, on and on, with their own sort of rhythm. No heat yet, no action, no gunfire, no adrenalin, no shouting or tumult, just an impression of coolness and welcome contrast to the heat and confines of below. This was another simple communion and true indication of shared friendship needing no words as both just quietly enjoyed the ambiance. After a while the faint wash of pale light began to define the horizon behind the ship, and soon the brief ting of alarm indicated the aft elevator dropping into the hangar deck below, and the first of the aircraft handling parties commenced their tasks of marshalling the first sortie of the day. Recognizing that their brief quiet interlude was done, both turned almost in unison to reenter the island and head for the squadron ready room below, even as the ships Tannoy crackled to life and called the crew to dawn action stations. The timeless routine of a ship of war, sanctified by tradition and experience had begun again for another day.
Shortly thereafter they entered 712 Squadrons slowly filling ready-room one deck down seeing the Commander (Air) and his assistant, Lieutenant Commander (Flying), Wings and Little F, as they were always known, already in deep discussion with the Squadron CO Lt- Comd Phillip Carstairs ‘Skipper”. Once flying operations actually commenced you would rarely see them outside Operation Room in the island or Flyco, the small open space with a parapet overlooking the flight deck, where they oversaw the conduct of all the ships aviation operations. But till then they would continue to liaise directly with the aircrew when possible.
Skipper made that point with some force at the command ‘huddle’ — gesturing at a proffered document, then obviously getting the expected response, nodded once and broke from the group moving to the dais at the front of the room, while Wings and Little F moved off to one side, and would leave shortly, returning to the island as the crackling Tannoy ordered the ship to action stations. At this point they were joined by the last two of the squadron’s internal hierarchy Michael Phelan, the Senior Pilot, or SPLOT, and in effect the skipper’s exec, and Andy ‘Dusty’ Rhodes, the other flight commander of the squadron. For administration purposes, at the moment Australia operated two ‘type’ Squadrons, 712 with 24 Dragonfly and 709 Squadron, the TBR/Scouting Squadron with 16 Seabattles, giving it an embarked air group of 40 aircraft at full strength, though these usually broke down and operated in flights of four within the squadron. The four Lieutenants, all experienced and senior most officers of the squadron, exchanged greetings and moved to the front of the ready room as a group, dropping as a block into the front row, the in effect bringing quiet to the room and the remaining Sub-lieutenants rapidly gained seats and paid attention. This air of at tentativeness was disrupted as a last pilot, gear obviously in disarray and thrown on in a hurry banged his way through the door. Even as he received the SPLOTs evil eyed glare, Skipper spoke up, “So nice of you to join us Tangles, take a seat and we can get this show on the road.”
“Righto,” he commenced, “from now on the task force will be maintaining a CAP during daylight hours until otherwise notified. This will be a single flight of four at this stage, though all non-alert carriers will also have an additional flight each at normal Alert and Standby readiness. For today Aunty has the starting shift for the airborne flight, followed by us tomorrow and then Placid,” quoting Pacifica’s callsign. “We will continue to maintain this rotation until the situation changes. What we now have is the Wing order from Aunty (Terra Australis) outlining the task force operations order in event of encountering major enemy forces. This will be an all-out strike, employing all available squadron aircraft that were serviceable, from all three carriers. The details of the strike package are in the op-ord which will be available here,’ gesturing to the document, but I will provide a brief outline so that all pilots are aware of the Wings intent.”
“The strike package will consist of three elements, a TBR element, callsign Heron, Divebombing element, Callsign Magpie, and fighter escort, callsign Kestrel. The balance of unassigned fighters will remain as TF defense and identified as callsign Sparrow. The planned breakup of these elements as follows. Heron element will consist of the full Seabattle complement of Aunty and Lady Oz, hopefully 32 aircraft. Auntie’s four flights will be Heron One and our 16 709 squadron SeaBattles will be Heron 2. Now we get down to the nitty-gritty for us. Magpie element will be 24 dragonflies in the dive-bombing role. Lady Oz will contribute 16 aircraft in this element. I’ll be leading element one with two flights. Stretch," nodding to Jimmy, "you will be Magpie Two with the remainder. Since you’ve apparently achieved your bag limit already this year Stretch, I’m afraid we’ve got to get dropping bombs this round, so the rest of the squadron can start working on their own scores,” He delivered this line with a slight smile, as it generated the expected laugh from the gathering, and whilst responding with a smile, Jimmy again winced internally at the unsolicited notoriety generated by his leading ace hood. Continuing on Skipper resumed, “Placid will proved Magpie Three with a further, eight bomb equipped Dragonfly to round out the package. Depending on final availability numbers the Magpie element may be rounded out by an additional flight of four from Placid to act in the close escort role for the strike, but that will only be confirmed on available numbers at the time. The balance of the escort will consist of hopefully 24 Dragonfly’s from Aunty as Kestrel 1,2 and 3, to operate in the fighter role. These figures are for maximum effort and assumes 100% availability,” generating a raspberry from the pilot group. “I know, but there’s sufficient flex in organization to massage these numbers if needed,” he responded. “This breakup leaves us with up to 32 Dragonfly employed as the Sparrow element for defense, with eight from Placid and us, sixteen from Aunty. For control purposes Chill you will lead the Sparrow elements in event of a major attack,” nodding to the SPLOT. The final element is the Stringbags off Placid, these will be callsign Crow, and will continue their usual patrol taskings as directed by Wing. That in general term is the deployment overview for the planned strike if the task force is required for a major attack. A final confirmatory brief and detailed orders will be issued prior any actual strike. I’ll hand over to Schoolie now for the balance of the normal daily brief, but when that’s done, Stretch I’ll get you to duck down a get an update on the timing and availability status on our down birds.,” nodding to the status board to the side of the ready room.” “Will do sir,” taking in at a glance that there were currently two down checked aircraft on the board, before concentrating on the remainder of the brief. With one of his ‘George’ jobs being the squadron maintenance officer, and he was quite familiar with its expectations, so just spent the remainder of the briefing recording the usual details, frequencies, heights, and weather on his knee pad and map, as normal preparation for flight ops. Till the ship stood down from dawn action stations his duty station was here, when not flying, and he would remain seated, going over some of the upcoming issues with the other three Lieutenants present. With its conclusion and a brief confab with the other Lieutenants as to any issues, he then headed down to the hangar spaces as the remaining pilots were corralled by the flight commanders and settled into the daily taskings of any operational squadron.
Soon the announcement crackled out over the Tannoy, announcing stand down from Dawn action stations, replaced by a new voice. “This is the captain speaking, all hands be advised we have just received news that Japanese aviation forces have just commenced air attacks on Midway Island. At this stage there is no further updates, but be aware that there are significant enemy forces now operating in our proximity, be aware and alert as the next action stations may very well be for real and no drill. I expect you to listen well to your officers and attend to your duties. We will keep you informed as we receive further update. Until then carry on.” And the voice cut off with a crackle. With this triggering a murmur of discussion, and after a brief check on the status board, Jim ducked out, heading forward and down a deck for the hangar and the squadron maintenance offices. Stepping out into the huge dim enclosed box, it was abustle in activity as usual. Shared home of the two squadrons of Lady Oz’s embarked air group it was capable of holding 32 aircraft currently, though with a deck park and outriggers on the flight deck above, this had been stretched to 40 in wartime. By their very nature the two types had roughly polarized the hangar into two areas, with the larger SeaBattles, needing a longer takeoff, were customarily mustered to the aft of the hangar space, while the smaller more numerous Dragonfly filled out the balance forward. This generalization was subject to the reality of a slow, constant almost Brownian-like motion as airframes were bustled to and fro, in the endless dance of maintenance work and marshalling for launching, all notionally under the management of the ship’s aircraft handling officer. This almost tribal division within the air group itself meant that 712 Squadron offices were located forward on the opposite side to the ships island, and 709’s located aft.
Stepping into this openness of the largest single compartment of the ship Jim was pleased to see that at the moment both the elevators at either end were down, currently allowing a wash of light in at either end, and the welcome movement of air from the ships passage to course through its crowded expanse. In more temperate latitudes this steel enclosed box, crowded holding 30-odd aircraft, could be a pleasant enough workshop for the boys. Here however in the tropics it could become hell upon earth. In a daytime temperature of anything up to 120-130 degrees Fahrenheit, the slightest movement produced a stream of perspiration. Fortunately, it was still early and the temperatures were for now more reasonable, but this would change with the lifts up and ships ventilation fans stopped in the event of action. Taking this familiar sight in, Jimmy briefly scanned the view, before ducking across the hangar deck between the closely packed airframes and avoiding the bustling aircraft handlers, many of them already shirtless and sweating, undertaking the daily array of tasks and checks, implicit in keeping the aircraft flying, His brief scan had not revealed his own aircraft, side-number A-22, It was RNN practice for each carriers embarked aircraft to have a specific prefix for the carrier and aircraft number in white, located immediately to the blue and white roundels of Nieustralis aircraft in the Pacific. Thus, Australia’s airframes bore a ‘A’, while the other wings respectively had a ‘P’ and ‘T’ for Pacifica and Terra Australis. Not seeing his own aircraft immediately visible, he didn’t bother searching and made for the heart of the squadrons ground support, The hatchway leading to the712 Squadron maintenance and administration office opposite.
Entering the compartment was to enter realm of the senior non-commissioned ranks who formed the institutional backbone of the squadron. Well aware that his hat might be as its maintenance officer, but in reality, this was just a figurehead for the vast experience and knowledge that was collectively gathered here. The intricate web of choreographed actions required when an aircraft was flown regularly without mishap rested on the foundations managed here. Each airframe was controlled, for all that its servicing was a straightforward, uncomplicated procedure. Every 30 hours it underwent an ever-increasingly rigorous overhaul culminating—if it lasted long enough! —in a truly major one which was tantamount to taking the whole thing apart and re-building it. It was also subjected to a daily check—tyre pressures, oil, hydraulic and air pressures, the correct functioning of ignition, instruments, radio and guns. If an aircrew was fortunate and their aircraft was in the right place at the right time, this daily check could conveniently be carried out on the flight-deck. If they were not so lucky, however, the daily check had to be done in the hangar, that ill-lit, noisy, and here in the tropics unbearably hot dungeon where aircraft were lashed down cheek by jowl, surrounded by straining, swearing mechanics clad only in a pair of shorts—wringing wet from perspiration—and gym-shoes. Here they toiled, fuming at obstinate nuts, red-hot pipes and sparking plugs; and with the roll or pitch of the vessel calling constantly for a change of balance. Their hands never ceased to clear sweat from their eyes and within ten minutes their faces were covered in greasy filth and grime, rendering them almost unrecognizable. It was an alien yet inextricable partnership to his own role as pilot. There were times when the state of serviceability called them to slog it out in the hangar until the early hours of the morning. Yet each new day found them again repeating their tasks, at times after only two- or three-hours’ sleep, an example of professional endurance and pride, often characterized by an almost possessional degree of moaning that a happy lower deck considered almost a right.
Conscious of his own intrusion into this specific small microcosm, he approached the Squadron Chief Petty Officer, greeting him “Morning Chief,” unsurprised at seeing a familiar copy of the op order already in his hands. “I see you’ve got a head start on me as usual.” “Aye Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of sending Maggs, down to the bomb magazine and he’ll check the grease and plungers of the fuses as well as prep sixteen for our full strike portion. Sixteen will be the full load out we hope. I see from them readiness board before I came down two are down checked. Aye, that should be updated soon. 247 was down checked with radio problems, but we found it to be just simply a loose wire and connection, and given a quick test it should be available within the hour. Actually, our only doubtful problem child stopping a full deck could be 244. It appears to have blown a head and I’ve got a full crew working on replacing that and, barring any new issues we hopefully will be closing her up before 1000. That will give us a full board technically, but only without doing a full engine test to seat the replacement and run it well in, which I’d rather we do if we get the chance before launching. “As always chief, yours and the crew chief will have the final call. Aside from the 500-lb eggs I see that the op order has us launching with drop tanks? " "Aye sir, it’ll be a maximum weight launch, with all Magpie elements to carry the smaller 45 gallon drop tank in the plumbed outer pylon. From there the discussion briefly devolved into the technicalities of total aircraft weight and probable fuel consumption rates and ranges as Jimmy confirmed details to present at as part of the squadron brief if the strike was launched. The final confirmatory point was made by the Chief, that all the strike aircraft had been fitted and tested with the newer more powerful windscreen heating element, and reminded Jimmy that this would need to be engaged before commencing any attack, otherwise diving bombing from height through moist tropical layers of air would cause fogging, obscuring targets. Thanking him for this reminder, Jimmy ducked back out of his hair, retracing the route back to the ready room, noticing in passing a small group of aircrew laboring over the raised cowling of one Dragonfly. “Our sole problem child he concluded before ducking back up into to start preparing reviewing the updates and preparing his own briefing points if needed.
Sitting in the ready room proved to be more trying than normal, waiting for further updates whilst trying to get immersed in some of the relentless processing of paperwork that was required in his role as flight commander, hearing first that an enemy carrier force had been located unexpectedly southwest of Midway and then the shortly after 0920 the news that the Americans had launched a major strike. Combined with this he was just one of several plotting the rough positions on the board in the ready room. It came as no surprise when the news came down that Placid had been tasked to dispatch a flight of her Stringbags to search to the south and west of the task force, even as he could feel the increased thrum underfoot as the ship increased speed to close on events. Glancing at the board he noticed that the full complement of aircraft where now available, and then at around 100 the entire ready room was galvanized by a report cut short from one of the Stringbags of enemy carriers 200 miles to the south. Even as this was being processed and the steps to marshal the ships strike aircraft for launching, a second confirmatory report, also cut, short, confirmed the carrier’s presence. A previously unknown Japanese carrier force was to their south and closing.
Even as the Tannoy blared to announce "Now hear this. Search has located two enemy carriers roughly two hundred miles south-southeast. Ship is to assume flying stations. Stand by for strike orders.” As Jimmy checked his watch, which said 1120. Even as. Skipper strode hurriedly into the ready room, saying, “As you were.” Jimmy joined the brief conference at the front with the others, adding the couple of information points and then they quickly returned to their seats. Putting some papers on the lectern, the CO immediately began the strike briefing. “We’ll be launching soon, so listen carefully and write the numbers down. No changes in the mission order, so both Magpie and Heron elements leaves together. Once formed up the strike will cruise at one hundred thirty knots, Heron at eleven and Magpie at twelve thousand feet as previously detailed. Wings orders are to proceed to the target independently if separated but coordinate our attack by radio with Heron Lead, if possible. I will be Magpie Lead with Red and Green flights, Stretch you will be Magpie Two, with Blue and White flights. Magpie three is from Placid with Gold and Orange flights,” he concluded as the pilots frantically scribbled down details. Late changes, we will have Yellow Flight of four Dragonfly as Magpie four to act as our close escort. If we encounter fighter opposition it will be at the discretion of each element lead as to which if any flights jettison their loads to act to protect others of the strike element. Kestrel element will conform to the Heron element and act as its close escort as first priority. The sense of urgency continued to come through as Skipper spoke rapidly, “Course to the target zero zero eight, and distance should be one hundred seventy-five. Wind one two zero at twelve. All the pilots were writing rapidly. The reports indicate that there are increasing incidence of tropical squalls to the south, though we should be above most of the frontal weather upon approach. The frontal weather could cover the target area: “If the Japs are under the clouds, we might have to do some hunting, but the frontal weather has been patchy, so we should be able to find a whole task force with two carriers. With the fuel load and range we should have a little time to loiter for the torpedo planes to arrive.” Jimmy thought, that’s if we aren’t immediately engaged. Without radar, the Japanese have to do all their fighter direction visually. As long as we are able to locate their carriers and make our dives, the frontal weather at the target could be an advantage for us. Skipper continued, “Stretch told me to remind you to switch the windscreen heater to max before commencing any dive. With the humidity and thunderstorms there is a high chance of fogging if you don’t. The Task force will maintain the present course south heading directly for the enemy to shorten our return. On the way back, both Manchester and Melbourne will be launching Walruses, Callsigns Duck 2 and Duck 3, to act as search and rescue for damaged returning aircraft. If you are in trouble, contact them on the guard frequency, and also gave a ditching point to aim for if you cannot communicate. At launch we will be at max gross weight with full fuel and a five-hundred-pound bomb.” Then the Tannoy announced, “Now hear this. All strike crews and escort, man your planes
[JD1] .” Skipper finished by addressing the SPLOT. “Chill you’ll be boss of the TF CAP and Sparrow elements, with Aunties FDO (Fighter Direction Office) in control. As soon as the strike is cleared, get the rest of the fighters on deck, and a second flight into the air, Understood?” Receiving a nod, he turned to the pilots and, raising his voice, said, “Good luck all and I’ll see you on the other side!” As the pilots stood up, Jimmy grabbed his heavy lined flight jacket along with his parachute and plotting board and checked his Mae-west lifejacket. It could be cold above 10,000 feet, despite the tropics. As all the pilots were heading for the flight deck, he took a final look at his watch, it had only been about forty minutes since the search results were announced. Emerging from the island into a hot, sunny day to be faced by a packed flight deck. With the Seabattles stacked to the very stern round down, even tightly interlocked the leading Dragonfly was level with the bridge. As the various plane captains and handling parties were swarming over the last few planes to be brought up. The 709 pilots were already heading aft to their ranked charges as the 712 pilots scattered to their own dragonfly at the front of the marshalled strike. so as not to hold up the launch when their turn came.
Jim noted that Skipper had paused ahead of him, gathering the 7 pilots of his element in a huddle for a final word and elected to copy him. Grabbing the attention of the pilots from his Blue and White flights, he gestured them close, suddenly again conscious that this kind of skill was not his forte. “OK guys, are there any final questions?” He quietly posed, and after a brief pause to shape his words went on. “Right, from here on just treat this as another day at the office,’ he continued, ‘no frills and unnecessary risks, just concentrate on the task in hand and do it cool, calm and steady. Watch your fuel state. We have plenty, but if they are in squalls we may have to stool around a bit and hunt around for business, “getting nods from the gathering. “Drop tanks first and punch them individually as they go dry, and then just do each task to the best of your ability.” Feeling he was finishing lamely he just gave a brief nod to the group and said, “Good luck and mount Up,” turning to head for his aircraft as the others also broke up to head for their aircraft.
Knowing his position in the strike he headed for the third row of marshalled Dragonfly seeing the plane captain, Chief Rigger Monsen watching him approach. He walked up to A-22, his ‘Three Belles’ skirting around the forewings to the left side. Greeting the CPO with an “All set to go Chief” and receiving his confirmation he did his quick walk around, inspecting the control surfaces and pitot tube and for no obvious sign of leaks, not that any was expected but a condition reflex for all pilots. Completing his circuit, he glanced down and seeing a chalked message on the 500-pounder on the center pylon under the fuselage, ducked closer to read “Dragon Droppings” clearly. Despite the serious ness of the moment, he couldn’t help but quirk a grin as he straightened. It was an RNN tradition for the ground crew to hold a competition to see who got to apply the art to any bombload. Turning to the CPO he asked with a gesture “Who?” still smiling and received a grin in response as he replied “Gillman.” “The tall thin armorer from outback Queensland?” he posed, searching his memory and getting a nod in response. “Actually, I think that's pretty damn good, so pass on my thanks,” he finished with a smile as Jimmy stepped up onto the wing root. He paused briefly here, not registering the six rows of victories stenciled on the fuselage, rather just doing his own personal pre-flight routine for luck, bringing his fingers to his lips before touching them to the nose art of his three girls just forward of the cockpit, then touching the small photo inside his vest pocket, before the athletic scramble to get seated followed by the plain captain as he assisted him.
Lowering himself into the concave bowl of the seat, designed to fit a packed parachute on which he sits., he pushes his feet forward to the rudder pedals. Being six foot three inches tall had given him his nickname ‘stretch’ but also meant that he was a very tall man to fit into the cockpit, making it comparatively cramped in his case. Between his backside and the parachute, is a one-man dinghy, carefully stowed into a canvas case and attached to the parachute harness by a webbing lanyard. Slipping the spare water bottle he carried into the convenient recess by the seat, he straps himself in, first, into the parachute harness, then into the safety harness, assisted by the Chief standing on the wing and tightening the straps. Donning his helmet and goggles and connects the R/T lead and oxygen pipe, he’s ready to start up and with the thumbs up settles as his chief who jumps down to reappear forward of the left wing. In front of him are ranged the controls, levers, switches, dials—in all, about 90, with which he is thoroughly familiar. Commencing, he runs through his check-off list. Magneto switches off; Control locks off; check that rudder, elevators and ailerons are all turning ‘the right way’ in response to movement of the controls. (They have been known to have been reversed, with dire consequences.) Nose wheel locked; the propeller control is in fully fine pitch; Mixture control to full rich, to give the engine plenty of petrol to get her started. Elevator and aileron trimming tabs in neutral; Five degrees of right rudder trim; cooling gills open; oil coolers and intercoolers open; petrol cock turned on to main tank. This self-sealing container, holding 350 gallons, is positioned immediately behind the cockpit, in front of the engine, is supplemented at the moment by the two small 45 gallon drop tanks, one under each plumbed mounting in the rear wing immediately outside the retracting undercarriage. (Consumption, as a matter of interest, is about 60 gallons per hour at cruising speed and no less than 100 at operational speeds.) All this conducted in only a few seconds as almost a conditioned reflex. Glancing now out of the cockpit to confirm to the Chief, visible forward to one side below him, that the magneto switches are off. With this the Chief signals a fitter, invisible at the rear of the airframe to commence. The fitter grasps the propeller blade nearest to him and rotates it once or twice ‘the wrong way’, blowing out; tough going, this, against the compression of 14 cylinders. Now the Chief moves back and gestures to the pilot who turns on the master electrical switch, rendering all systems ‘live’ and gives the priming switch two or three short but squirts, injecting a shot of neat petrol into the cylinders. Again, looking to the fitter, who signals to him that no one is standing within range of the great propeller. The pilot turns the magneto switches to ‘on’ and presses the starter switch, firing the Koffman starter with a deep-throated tiger’s cough. It jerks the propeller into life, back-fires once, then settles into the comforting roar which signifies a good, clean, fire-free start. Jimmy seeing the all clear relayed, moves the mixture control to auto-rich and advances the throttle to give 500 revs per minute on the rpm indicator, watching as the oil pressure gauge awakens and climbs too normal. Concurrently scanning the dials before him, hydraulic pressure is normal, oil temperature is rising to normal, the ‘artificial horizon’ is vibrating slightly, showing that it, too, is awake and healthy. He switches on the radio and a crackling quick test confirms the set is functioning satisfactorily. With all showing normal he opens up the throttle steadily to 1,000 revs and, keeping an eye on the rev counter, turns off one of the magneto switches. The revs drop by 50. He switches back to ‘Both’. A pause; then he turns off the other. Now the drop is only 30. Both are acceptable, for anything up to a loss of 100 is safe. Everything is OK for him to move. He throttles back and gestures both thumbs up to the Chief receiving a snappy suit in return.
The start-up routine now done, he scans the masses aircraft to his front, now a sea of blurring propellers as the engine warms up and he awaits the takeoff release. Looking up he can see the green light on Pri-Fly lit to approve takeoff and sees ahead the launching officer gesture then drop his flag, and the launch was underway. His view limited by the massed airframes of Magpie One ahead, he can see little as Skipper leads off with the first element, only becoming visible as it lifts into view climbing and turning to port. Gradually the deck ahead clears, and things seem to be progressing trouble free till the sixth aircraft, two ahead obviously runs its engine to full power in preparation to launch, when suddenly there is a loud bang, audible even over his own engines roar, and a sharp black puff then ragged banging clatter as the engine erupts a cloud of grey smoke. In a well-trained rush he can see the deck crew run forward to push it aside to continue the launch. Seeing the fuselage number A-44 as it is cleared from ahead, he can help but recall that this was this morning’s problem child, and obviously the attempt to get it ready for the strike was unsuccessful. Finally, the deck ahead was clear and he is the next cab off the rank. Running up to full throttle and checking the gauges are clear he quickly rehearsed the takeoff in his mind. Meeting his eyes he waves his hands crisscross once in front of his face and gives a thumbs up to Fly One, who gestures the chocks clear and swings his flag down, as Jimmy released his brakes and starts down the deck. When the bow looked to be about two hundred feet ahead, Three Belles lifted off with its usual elevator like sensation, the Dragonfly needing little stick rotation once it reached flying speed. After the slight bobble crossing the bow, it commenced its climb, feeling heavy and cumbersome with its load, as he followed the aircraft ahead as they turned left and began to circle to wait for the third element and escort flight to join them. Throttled back to climb power as his wingmen cut inside his turn to close up on his plane; he then raised the landing gear and flaps, seeing Magpie one ahead. Looking back, he could see that all of Magpie Two was off successfully as they formed up on him, as the first SeaBattle of 709 now trundling down the vacant expanse of deck, struggling airborne with its torpedo underslung. Circling steadily as they climbed, he could see the Dragonfly from Placid rising to join Magpie lead to its port, as his own element shook out to starboard. Clearly one short, he heard the brief, “Three to Magpie Lead, joining with six, one went in on launch,” came the terse update, as the final flight of four joined assuming a cover position above the three Magpie elements, and distinguished only by the larger 90 gallon drop tanks in the fuselage pylon rather than the 500-pound bombs of the rest. Now marshalled the whole strike group departed, assuming the attack heading even as it continued to climb. Compared to normal it was undoubtedly sluggish, but it was still the best climb rate and the entire Magpie package matched Skippers lead shaking out into a looser transit formation. Even as his eyes continued the relentless rove of the sky of a fighter pilot, he couldn’t help but feeling 22 of a possible 24 dive bombers was good result and going to be a serious problem for someone. With the sweeping clear vision at the moment, he could see the mustered SeaBattles slightly below and lagging with their slower cruise and the cloud of their escort hovering now above. An hour later they began to see more broken cloud forming as they were approaching some of the frontal weather. There were cumulus clouds, some fairly dark, but there was a lot of space between them, and they could maintain their cruising formation, only occasionally flying through small wisps of cloud. By this time, they had leveled off at 14,000 feet, still below the tops of the highest towers of clouds beginning to hump up over the horizon well to the south.
After another twenty minutes, as Jimmy scanned the sky, he heard a crackle and a voice from Kestrel One reporting spotting a large formation of airplanes off to one side headed north. “Two o’clock, looks like an enemy strike group heading north,” came over the radio. “Kestrel lead, I see them too. Leave them for now, our mission is the strike,” before relaying the update to Aunty and the Task Force. Now, on top of the risks of their own mission, Jimmy knew their ships would be attacked before they got back, possibly disabled or sunk. Having already twice experienced the loss of his own ship this thought left a cold feeling in his stomach. They droned on. Another three quarters of an hour went by broken only as the various aircraft jettisoned their empty drop tanks. They passed over many small and much more broken cloud in the overcast at about 8,000 feet in a long streamer to the formations port, but saw no ships. Ahead rising in a much more pronounced rampart of clouds stretched right to left across the horizon ahead, some parts towering well above their own height. Before this Jimmy could see a large opening in the overcast ahead and to the left of their course. Suddenly there was a crackling in his earphones. “Magpie Lead here. Tallyho! Directly below.” Glancing down he could see nothing immediately, then checking the clock on the instrument panel, which read 1302. He also looked at the outside air temperature on the gauge, which read 36. He shivered thinking how cold that was and glad he’d kept the canopy closed now. With this change and humidity, he was almost certain fogging was going to be an issue as he followed the formation around in a shallow turn to the left, circling counterclockwise towards the wide opening ahead, staying over the clouds mostly out of sight from below, but still not seeing what had triggered Skippers ‘Tallyho.”
Now coming up to the opening, he got a start at realizing how much it was like coming to the edge of a stage and for the first time he could clearly identify the wakes of ships below in the distance, all seemingly heading north. He led his section slightly to the right to get out of sight again over the clouds and then followed the planes ahead in a shallow left turn. His tension increased, but they were lucky so far and it was inexplicable to find no Japanese CAP up high, even if the formation was still some distance away. The Dragonfly formation continued in a large circle skirting the opening. Now they were southwest of the opening in the clouds and could see that the Japanese task force was headed away from the black squall line with heavy rain clearly forming to the south. If they had to wait a long time for the torpedo planes, this opportunity might disappear into that squall. Jimmy could now for the first time glimpse the leading carrier through the clouds, unusually seeming to have a green hull, in contrast to a sand-colored flight deck. Clearly visible was a large red meatball in the center of the fore deck. She had turned into the wind and was obviously launching aircraft and he could see the small dark green crosses seemingly to slowly lumber off the bow before gaining height. Slightly more distant he could now confirm the second square deck of another carrier, also launching planes, and both odd looking in his eyes with the absence of an obvious island.
Others that had taken off earlier were climbing in the distance and for the first time he thought he might have detected the specks of a distant CAP near their height, but if it was it had made no move toward their formation. They were very lucky to be out of sight while they waited, but they would get a hot reception when they made their dives, and the fighters might keep climbing and find them. Watching almost God like from up here he could see that the leading carrier had almost finished launching and would soon be free to use the approaching the rain squall. Skipper came on the radio again: “Heron Flight, be aware the carriers have flushed their birds and our windows closing’!” At first there was no reply till about four minutes later, the radio crackled: “OK, Magpie, Herons starting in.” With this Skipper transmitted, “Kestrel, this is Magpie Lead, you’ve got a dozen plus diving in on you from about Angels 10, and they’ve just flushed their decks, so it looks like there’s another bunch coming up low. I’m releasing my escort to assist, but it looks like they’re going to dogpile you". "Understood Magpie. You heard the man boys, it looks like we’re about to get busy,” came a faint response. As there obviously began a furball of aircraft in the distance, and already one or two trails of smoke streaking the sky. That must be them, meaning they had the Japanese task force in sight and were starting the run in to the target.
Feeling surreally like a spectator, Jimmy followed Skipper in one final circle to the left on the southeast side of the opening in the clouds. This was good for concealment, because the Japanese were now closer to the northwest. Jimmy paused, wondering however if they would be able to dive from that side, because the ships below now seemed fully aware of their exposure, obviously turning away from the developing attack north, and heading for cover under the clouds below. Jimmy felt his adrenaline flowing as Skippers final instructions came over the Radio. “Magpie Two, take your element and engage the nearer, westernmost of the pair. I’m going to extend East with Magpie One for a moment and engage the second more distant one. Understood?” “Copy One”, he responded, as Skipper continued, “Three hold for the moment and observe the results. If we miss, follow up targets at your discretion, copy?” “Roger that," came the response as Jimmy already was preparing for his dive.
Not wasting any further time, he ordered Magpie Two to echelon left, as he watched One continue on for a moment, before adjusting his own final heading, bringing the now charging carrier below to be visible at about the 11 O’clock position to his own nose. A glance at the dashboard clock revealed It was 1318 as he did a brief final check of the seven trailing Dragonfly shaking out in a loose spaced line to his left. In contrast to his one previous live dive-bombing attack this was almost surreally like a peacetime exercise with training bombs. For all it was no peacetime target barge being sedately towed below him, the contrast with his memory of the mad scrambling attack from 6,000 ft under overcast at a wildly turning Japanese cruiser was unbelievable. Naturally it had missed, but here everything just seemed so much comparatively simpler. Hopping to repeat that peacetime accuracy of his last attack on a barge target, he was suddenly felt calmly in the zone as his target slid into his view.
Pulling down his goggles, and sliding back his canopy as it locked, and felt the icy wind, as he tightened his harness and gave his last command, “Everyone make sure the windscreen heater is set to full,” before his perception said everything was just right, and said, “Attacking now.” With this he could feel the tension peak as his gaze rivetted on the carrier seemed to slide virtually under his wing. She was not a Japanese fleet carrier and was beginning to make vigorous evasive maneuvers, leaving a snakelike wake, but she would do.
He put out the dive flaps and went through the routine, feeling Three Belles slow sharply as the large, perforated flaps of the rear wing popped open: supercharger low speed; propeller low rpm; mixture rich; and carburetor heat on. He closed the throttle and snap rolled up and over into his dive. As he straightened out and found the aircraft steadied out in a 70-degree dive, airspeed stable at about 280 mph, as the carrier appeared in his windshield directly ahead of him as he hung from his straps. Already passing through 10,000 feet, for the first time the experience seemed to differ from a drill as a few antiaircraft bursts appeared ahead. In his calm state of concentration, he suddenly was not very afraid of the antiaircraft fire because it was late, and he was coming down so fast that there was only a small chance that the gunners would get the range right. That was a big advantage of dive bombing, some part of his mind abstractly mused, as he lined up the gunsight on the rapidly growing carrier ahead. Vaguely a few seconds later, he peripherally registered a fogging beginning to form around the windshield edges and he hoped the others also remembered the windscreen heater. But it was effective, and he could still see the outline of the carrier clearly in the center of the windshield. The wind appeared to be from the southeast as his target began to drift, so he rolled ninety degrees to fly northwest and tried to aim off for his release point to the southeast of the carrier as it twisted and turned. Again, he had a distant feeling of lucid clarity, as if he had all the time in the world as the altimeter showed him passing through 3,000 feet, everything seemed startlingly clear and simple as he gathered the large red meatball of the carrier deck into his sight, adjusting slightly to where he thought it would be on the point of release. Dropping his left hand on the bomb release lever as he was passing through 2,000 feet, the normal release height, he held steady another long second before releasing at 1,400 feet. Even as doing this he briefly triggered a one second burst of the Dragonfly’s cannon to trip the gun camera for record. Feeling the slight bump as the bomb dropped clear, he started a smooth steady pullout as his body was suddenly being pressed firmly into the seat pan by the rapidly rising g-force, quickly ramping up to over 6-g. As the blood rushed from his head his vision began to gray out, becoming almost tunnel like though it did not quite disappear, and the sudden surge of voices in his headphones lost as a waning murmur.
Unbeknownst to him, the 500-pound semi-armor piercing bomb released by him tracked perfectly, striking the flight deck of the IJN light carrier Chitose just some three feet to right of the center line marking. Part of the Fifth air fleet and operating with her sister ship Chiyoda as the 11th carrier division, both had just finished launching their remaining fighters and were seeking to duck into the squalls to the south when the strike from TF 44 arrived. Concentrating on the approaching torpedo aircraft threat from the north, there is little doubt that the threat of dive bomber attack from the Dragonfly element was not recognized until that attack was fully developed, with hardly any defensive fire until the first bomb was already falling. Easily piercing the wooden flight deck it then punched through the hangar deck to finally detonate, striking the. Starboard steam turbine and destroying the engine room and all propulsion. In itself, this hit was probably sufficient to have sunk the light carrier. Being barely 15,000 tons the three strikes which rapidly followed doomed the lightly built conversion. Afire from fore to aft and racked by internal explosions and fewer than 150 of its 1100 complement and air group would be recovered from the water.
[JD1]
), doesn't mean that rationale applies here. Yamamoto is a decisive commander and will bring the maximum force to bear to expedite this occupation and then withdraw ASAP. Your providing me with a different garrison figure is useful to adjust force levels involved, but the historic reality of our TL can be met fairly easily with changes without being unrealistically. The line that the invasion force will be slaughtered easily, IMO is not reflective of the changed timeline and the options involved such as the level of naval gunfire support available and its effective use to suppress opposition. For narrative purposes, it will be a bloody defense, the Japanese will be very badly handled, but eventually with the level of available support and force imbalance prevail, end of chapter and setting the scene for subsequent events.