Never a Battle Like Midway

by Joseph Bryan III

Published in 1949

Although the Battle of Midway was fought on 3-6 June 1942, it had been precipitated six weeks before, on 18 April. At eight o’clock that morning, Vice Admiral William F. Halsey blinked a signal from his flagship, the carrier Enterprise, then 650 miles off Tokyo, to Captain Marc A. Mitscher, of the carrier Hornet, nearby. The signal read: “Launch planes. To Colonel Doolittle and his gallant command, good luck and God bless you.”

As Doolittle had hoped, his raid deceived the Japanese into assuming that he had jumped off from a land base—“Shangri-La,” President Roosevelt announced jocosely. Officers of the Imperial General Staff measured their charts. Excepting the sterile and unlikely Aleutians, the American outpost nearest Tokyo was Midway Island, 2,250 miles eastward. Not only must this be Shangri-La, the Japanese concluded, but it was additionally dangerous as “a sentry for Hawaii,” 1,140 miles farther. They had long contemplated seizure of “AF,” their code name for Midway. The commander in chief of their navy, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto—a stocky, black-browed man with two fingers missing from his right hand—had only to designate the forces and set the date. This he now did. By the end of April the ships chosen for Plan MI—Midway Island—were being mustered from the fringes of the empire.

Right then, a full month before the first gun was fired, Yamamoto lost the battle—for the same reason that, precisely a year after the Doolittle raid, he would lose his life. Certain ingenious men in the United States Navy had broken Japan’s most secret codes, and when Yamamoto flashed Plan MI to his subordinate commanders, these phantoms were eavesdropping at his shoulder.

Their hearing was not quite 20/20. They weren’t entirely sure whether D Day would be at the end of May or early in June—nor whether AF was Midway or Oahu. COMINCH, Admiral Ernest J. King, thought Oahu at first, but CINCPAC, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, thought Midway. He flew out there from Pearl on 2 May, along the curve of those small, sparse wave breaks with the oddly poly-lot names: Nihoa, French Frigate Shoal, Gardner Pinnacles, Lisianski Island, Hermes Reef, and finally Midway. Except that Nimitz was in a Catalina, not a schooner, he might have been Robert Louis Stevenson, making the same landfall fifty years before:

“I eagerly scanned that ring of coral reef and bursting breaker, and the blue lagoon which they enclosed. The two islets within began to show plainly… low, bush-covered, rolling strips of sand, each with glittering beaches, each perhaps a mile or a mile and a half in length… Over these, innumerable as maggots, there hovered, chattered, screamed and clanged, millions of… seabirds.”

The lagoon is about six miles across, and the islets, Sand and Eastern, lie just inside the southern reef. Sand Island is about 850 acres; its highest point is thirty-nine feet. Eastern, less than half the size, also has less freeboard. Both are arid, featureless and uninhabited, yet they are far more important than many larger, lusher islands. The name of the atoll tells why—midway across the Pacific, it is strategically invaluable.

The Navy realized this as early as 1867 and spent $50,000 to have Midway surveyed and an anchorage dredged. But for the next thirty years its only visitors were Japanese, collecting feathers for millinery. In 1903, Midway was made a naval reservation, and in 1904 a cable station was built on Sand; then followed another thirty-year silence, until Pan American Airways arrived to develop a seaplane base. Midway’s name was becoming known now. Soon afterward it rang from Washington to Tokyo. A board of naval officers headed by Rear Admiral Arthur J. Hepburn reported to Congress that “an air base at Midway Island is second in importance only to Pearl Harbor.”

The report was made public in December 1938. Heavy construction started on Midway almost at once. A Marine garrison was sent out in September 1940. The naval air station was commissioned in August, 1941. By 7 December, Mid­way represented a military investment of $20,000,000.

Sixteen hours after war struck Pearl, it flicked Midway. Night had fallen when two Japanese destroyers crept close inshore and bombarded Sand, killing four men and wound­ing ten, burning some buildings and destroying some stores. In January a submarine lobbed a dozen shells at the radio station, and twice again in February. In March, Marine fighter planes shot down a flying boat, presumably from Wake, 1,034 miles southwest. Then Nimitz flew in.

Accompanied by Lt. Col. Harold D. Shannon, commanding the 6th Marine Defense Battalion, and Comdr. Cyril T. Simard, commanding the naval air station, he inspected both islands. Each had its own galleys, mess hall, laundry, post exchange, powerhouse and dispensary. The chief difference was that all the aviation facilities, except the seaplane hangars, were on Eastern. For a whole hot day Nimitz strode and climbed and crawled through the establishment, peering at firing lanes, kettles, ammunition dumps, repair shops, barbed wire, underground command posts. He said nothing about his secret information, but he asked Shannon what additional equipment was needed to withstand “a large-scale attack.” When Shannon told him, Nimitz emphasized the point again: “If I get you all these things you say you need, then can you hold Midway against a major amphibious assault?”

“Yes, sir.”

Soon after Nimitz returned to Pearl, he wrote Simard and Shannon a personal letter, addressed to them jointly. He was so pleased with what they had accomplished that he was recommending them for promotion. The Japanese, he continued, were mounting a full-scale offensive against Midway, scheduled for 28 May. Their forces would be divided thus, and their strategy would be so. He was rushing out every man, gun and plane he could spare. He hoped it would be enough.

By now Nimitz knew for certain that Midway was the objective. A smart young officer, Comdr. Joseph J. Rochefort, in Combat Intelligence’s ultra-secret Black Chamber at Pearl, had suggested instructing Midway to send a radio message, uncoded, announcing the breakdown of its distillation plant. Midway complied, and two days later Pearl’s cryptanalysts intercepted a Japanese dispatch informing certain high commands that AF was short of fresh water.

Nimitz’s letter had a violent impact, but Midway was not dislocated. Although its war had been “cold” so far—begging those few dozen shells—the garrison had stayed taut. Every dawn, patrol planes fanned out westward over a million and a half square miles of ocean. The galleys served only two meals a day. The Marines carried their rifles and helmets everywhere, even to the swimming beaches. At night, everyone went underground, except lookouts. So Simard and Shannon had to make no radical adjustments; they had only to assign priorities to their final efforts, and to absorb their reinforcements as smoothly as possible.

On 25 May Nimitz wrote them again: D Day had been postponed until 3 June. The reprieve let them put the last touches on their defenses. Shannon’s garrison now numbered 2,138 Marines. Simard’s fliers and service troops numbered 1,494, of whom one thousand were Navy personnel, 374 were Marines and 120 Army. Midway was a thicket of guns and a briar patch of barbed wire. Surf and shore were sown with mines—anti-boat, anti-tank, anti-personnel. Every position was armed with even Molotov cocktails. Eleven torpedo boats would circle the reefs and patrol the lagoon, to add their anti-aircraft to that of the ground forces and to pick up ditched fliers.

A yacht and four converted tuna boats were assigned to the sandspit islands nearby, also for rescues. Nineteen submarines guarded the approaches from southwest to north, some at one hundred miles, some at one hundred and fifty, the rest at two hundred.

Defensively, Midway was as tough as a hickory nut. Before a landing force could pick its meat, a bombardment would have to crack it open. That is what worried Simard and Shannon. If enough Japanese ships stood offshore, under a fighter umbrella and out of range of Midway’s coast defenses, and began throwing in a mixture of fragmentation and semi-armor-piercing shells, it would take a lot of planes to beat them off. On 3 June, the first day of enemy contact, Midway had 121—thirty of them patrol planes, slow and vulnerable, almost useless in combat; and thirty-seven others, fighters and dive bombers, dangerously obsolete. Worse, some of their crews were Army, some were Navy and some Marine, and inter-service liaison was little more than a wishful phrase.

Midway’s fliers would write one of the most heroic chapters in the history of forlorn hopes. Their glory is the glory of the Light Brigade and of Pickett’s charge. But if Midway’s security had depended on its air arm alone, its ground arm might have had to throw the Molotovs. Nimitz, however, in addition to fortifying the shores of his orphan island, also fortified its seas.

Only a few ships were available, but he sent them all—the aircraft carriers Enterprise and Hornet, with six cruisers and nine destroyers, comprising Task Force 16; and the carrier Yorktown, with two cruisers and five destroyers, comprising Task Force 17. Rear Admiral Raymond A. Spruance, commanding Task Force 16, flew his flag on the Enterprise. Rear Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher, the over-all commander, flew his on the Yorktown.

The two task forces sortied from Pearl Harbor and rendezvoused on 2 June at “Point Luck,” 350 miles northeast of Midway. A signal searchlight on the Yorktown began to blink, and Spruance’s flag secretary made an entry in the war diary: “Task Force Sixteen [is] directed to maintain an approximate position ten miles to the southward of Task Force Seventeen… within visual signaling distance” [so as not to break radio silence]. Next day he added, “Plan is for forces to move northward from Midway during darkness, to avoid probable enemy attack course.” Then, “Received report that Dutch Harbor was attacked this morning.”

Yamamoto had chosen Dutch Harbor for the opening scene of his Plan AL—Aleutians—which was parallel to Plan MI and had the dual purpose of seizing Aleutian territory and weakening Nimitz’s strength by luring part of it north. Word of the attack was still flashing from command to command when another flash outshone it. Spruance’s flag secretary logged it thus: “Midway search reports sighting two cargo vessels bearing 247 [degrees from Midway], distance 470 miles. Fired upon by anti-aircraft.”

The report was made by Ens. Jewell Reid, who had lifted his Catalina from the Midway lagoon at 4:15, forty minutes before sunrise. Chance did not lead him to the enemy in that waste of water. Nimitz had written Simard, “Balsa’s air force [Balsa was the Navy’s code name for Midway] must be employed to inflict prompt and early damage to Jap carrier flight decks.” Rear Admiral Patrick N. L. Bellinger put it otherwise: “The problem is one of hitting before we are hit.” As Commander Patrol Wings Hawaiian Area, Bellinger’s job was not merely to state the problem but to find the solution. This is it:

“To deny the enemy surprise, our search must insure discovery of his carriers before they launch their first attack. Assuming that he will not use more than 27 knots for his run-in [to the launching point], nor launch from farther out than two hundred miles, Catalinas taking off at dawn and flying seven hundred miles at one hundred knots will guarantee effective coverage. With normal visibility of twenty-five miles, each Catalina can scan an eight-degree sector. It is desirable to scan 180 degrees [the western semi-circle], so twenty-three planes will be needed.”

Nimitz gave them to him. Not all twenty-three were Catalinas. To share the patrol, the Army sent some Flying Fortresses, Lt. Col. Walter C. Sweeney, Jr., commanding, from the 431^st Bombardment Squadron; eight arrived on 30 May and more later. Simard assigned them to the southwest sector—the least likely source of attack—because their crews were comparatively unskilled in recognition of ships, and much depended on clear, accurate reports of the enemy’s power. Besides, the heavily armed and armored Fortresses had little to fear from a brush with an overlapping Japanese patrol from Wake.

Meanwhile, one Catalina had met a direr threat than any enemy plane—a weather front, deep and wide, which developed three hundred miles to the northwest and hung there, mocking Bellinger’s calculations. Such a front would let the enemy creep up to its edge unseen and launch a night attack impossible to intercept. Midway’s only comfort was the probability that the weather screening the enemy from observation would also screen the skies from the enemy, preventing accurate navigation and forcing postponement of his attack until dawn allowed him a position-fix.

But even though—if this guess was good—bombs would not fall until 6:00 a.m. or perhaps 6:30, Simard could not risk an earlier attack catching him with sitting ducks. Accordingly, as soon as the search planes were airborne, the remaining Catalinas and Fortresses also took off, to cruise at economical speed until the search had vouch-safed the first four hundred miles, by which time these heavy planes—including such of the Catalinas as were amphibious—would have consumed enough gas to permit their landing on the cramped, five-thousand-foot strip without jettisoning their bombs or burning out their brakes. The smaller planes—fighters, dive bombers and torpedo planes—did not take off, but they were manned and warmed up, ready to go.

The patrol crews’ schedule was brutal. Midway had enough food, water and sleeping space for essential personnel only. Since maintenance crews were luxuries, the patrol crews were topping their fifteen-hour searches with hours more of repairing and refueling. Worse, a few days before, a blundering sailor had tripped the demolition charges under the aviation fuel tanks—“They were foolproof,” a Marine officer said, “but not sailor-proof”—and from then on, all planes had to be refueled by hand from unwieldy fifty-five-gallon drums.

The hard grind was forgotten, however, when Ensign Reid reported, “Two cargo vessels—” and twenty-one minutes later, “Main body bearing 261, distance seven hundred miles. Six large ships in column.” Reid was wrong. This was not Yamamoto’s main body; it was only a small part of one task group in his occupation force. His main body had not been sighted yet, nor had his striking force.

The occupation force, approaching from the southwest, consisted of two battleships, one seaplane carrier, six heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, twenty-nine destroyers and four assorted ships, escorting sixteen transports. The invasion troops aboard them were 1,500 marines for Sand Island; 1,000 soldiers for Eastern; fifty marines for little Kure, sixty miles west of Midway; two construction battalions and various small special units. Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo commanded, from the battleship Kongo.

The striking force, hidden by the weather front in the northwest, consisted of two battleships, four carriers, two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, sixteen destroyers and eight supply ships. Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, who had commanded the striking force at Pearl, commanded again, from the same flagship, the carrier Akagi.

The main body, far to the west, consisted of seven battleships, one light carrier, three light cruisers, thirteen destroyers and four supply ships. Yamamoto commanded from the new battleship Yamato. She and her sister ship, the Musashi, were the most formidable in the world—63,700 tons and mounting nine 18.11-inch rifles.

Plan MI was an exact plagiarism of Simard’s and Shannon’s fears. It called for the striking force to crush Midway’s defenses with a three-day air attack, the main body to follow up with a big-gun bombardment, and the occupation force to put its troops ashore on beaches where only maggots moved.

All morning, radio reports crackled through Midway’s earphones, as search pilots spotted the converging elements of the occupation force. Simard wanted to hit them with the Fortresses, but Nimitz had ordered “early damage to Jap carrier flight decks,” and no carriers had been sighted. Then, at eleven o’clock, Ensign Reid sent a correction: there were eleven ships, not six. By now the Fortresses were back and refueled. Simard decided to attack.

Nine Fortresses, Sweeney leading, took off at 12:30, and four hours later sighted a force of “five battleships or heavy cruisers and about forty others.” Sweeney broke his flight into three Vs and stepped them down at 12,000, 10,000 and 8,000 feet. Extra fuel tanks in their bomb-bays left room for only half a bomb load, four 600-pounders apiece, but the bombardiers thought they hit a heavy cruiser and a transport. The Fortresses had not yet landed when four Catalinas with volunteer crews took off to make—it is still almost inconceivable—a night torpedo attack. Catalinas are not built to lug torpedoes, and their crews are not trained to drop them. Still, three pilots managed to find the enemy force—the one the Fortresses had annoyed that afternoon. They approached from down-moon, to silhouette the ships, and Lt. William L. Richards’ torpedo blew a hole in the tanker Akebono Maru. The attack would have been no more bizarre if the tanker had torpedoed the Catalina.

The weary crews turned their planes back toward the dawn. They were almost home when Midway radioed them that it was under air attack.

Reveille had sounded at three o’clock as usual, and at 4:15 as usual the dawn search took off—eleven Catalinas, scouting for Nagumo’s carriers. As soon as they were clear, the Fortresses—there were now fifteen—flew out to re-establish contact with the occupation force. The planes left behind were motley. Four were Army—Marauders, normally a medium bomber, but here jury-rigged to carry torpedoes. Six more were Navy—Avengers, torpedo planes of a brand-new type. The rest were Marine, belonging to the two squadrons of Marine Air Group 22, Lt. Col. Ira L. Kimes commanding. The fighter squadron, VMF-221, had some stubby little Buffaloes, so slow and vulnerable that they were known as “Flying Coffins,” and a few Wildcats, new and tough and fairly fast. The scout bombing squadron, VMSB-241, also was mongrel, with new Dauntlesses and old Vindicators—so old that the Marines called them “Vibrators” and “Wind Indicators.”

All had been manned since 3:15. Their crews watched the sunrise, grumbling that battle would be better than this everlasting waiting around. Even then battle was approaching, at two hundred miles an hour. For more than half the men it would be the last battle—and the last sunrise—they would ever see.

The Japanese striking force had run from under its sheltering weather front shortly after midnight. Dawn gave Nagumo his position, two hundred miles northwest of his target and just astride the International Date Line. At 4:30 be turned his four carriers into the southeasterly breeze and began to launch “Organization No. 5”—thirty-six fighters (Zeros) and seventy-two bombers (Vals).

Midway received its first warning at 5:25, when a Catalina reported “in clear,” uncoded, “Unidentified planes sighted on bearing 320, distance 100 miles.” The same Catalina reported again at 5:34: “Enemy aircraft carriers sighted 150 miles, 330 degrees.” At 5:52, another Catalina corrected and elaborated this sighting: “Two carriers and battleships bearing 320, distance 180, course 135 [toward Midway], speed 25.” The fourth report was from the Marine radar station on Sand: “Many planes, 89 miles, 320 degrees.”

Midway sounded the alarm, and even as its planes were taking the air, Simard radioed his flight leaders: Fighters to intercept, dive bombers and torpedo planes to hit the carriers, Fortresses to forget the occupation force and head north—“your primary target is the carriers!” By a few minutes past six every plane was airborne that could leave the ground, except one non-combat utility plane. Visibility was excellent, the sea calm.

Fighting 221’s twenty-five operational planes were organized into five irregular divisions. The squadron’s skipper, Major Floyd B. Parks, led a group of three divisions, consisting of eight Buffalos and four Wildcats. The executive officer, Captain Kirk Armistead, led the other two, of twelve Buffalos and one Wildcat. Parks’ group made the first contact. They had climbed to 14,000 feet and had left Midway thirty miles astern when one of his pilots called, “Tally-ho! Hawks at angels 12 [bombers at 12,000 feet], supported by fighters!” Parks pushed over. The time was 6:16.

The Vals were flying in two Vs, one far behind the other with the Zeros below both. Parks’ group, then Armistead’s, fell on the Vals like sheep-killing dogs, but the Zeros fell on the Marines like wolves, slashing and springing back for another slash. Outnumbered as the Marines were and—they immediately realized—hopelessly outclassed, their only chance of escape was to dive at full throttle for the cover of ground fire. Few reached it. Zeros set ablaze one plane after another, then whirled and machine-gunned two of the pilots in their chutes.

The Vals closed their ragged ranks and pressed on. Midway was waiting. All guns were manned, and radar had tracked the flight steadily since 5:55, when it had been picked up. At 6:22, D Battery reported, “On target, 50,000 yards, 320.” And at 6:30, Colonel Shannon ordered, “Open fire when targets are within range.” One minute later, every anti-aircraft battery was firing. The first wave had arrived exactly on the schedule that Shannon and Simard had hypothesized.

These were horizontal bombers, at 10,000 feet. Of the original thirty-six, ground observers now counted only twenty-two. The opening bursts of anti-aircraft were short, but the next scored direct hits on the leading plane and one other. The rest dropped their 533-pound bombs on Eastern and the northeast shore of Sand and were gone before the two broken planes had crashed to earth. Simard and his operations officer, Commander Logan C. Ramsey, were watching the plunge, from the entrance to their underground command post on Sand. When the Vals struck nearby, Simard shouted to the gunners, “Damn good shooting, boys!”

A Negro steward’s mate ran to the wreck of the leader’s plane and heaved his body from the cockpit. Ramsey was searching the pockets when the guns opened up again. He and Simard ducked below.

The second wave was dive bombers, the eighteen—half of them—that Fighting 221 had left. The flight leader dropped his huge 1,770-pounder, followed it down, rolled onto his back, and flew across Eastern at fifty feet, thumbing his nose. The anti-aircraft crews were too astonished to draw beads, until a storm of bombs woke them to his purpose—to distract their attention. Even so, they shot him down almost regretfully. The other Vals pulled out over the lagoon, into the torpedo boats’ fire. When they crashed, they threw up white plumes instead of black. Zeros circled and strafed both islands, then followed the bombers home. Midway’s only air attack of the war had lasted seventeen minutes.

The anti-aircraft gunners had shot down ten Japanese planes and they swore that if their visibility hadn’t been cut by smoke from a burning oil tank, they’d have shot down ten more.

Lieutenant Tomonaga, commanding the strike, radioed Nagumo at 7:00: “There is need for a second attack,” but at 7:07 another report assured him, “Sand Island bombed and great results obtained.”

Simard and Shannon had assayed them by then. Casualties were few—ten dead, eighteen wounded; and ground defense equipment had suffered only slightly—one height finder had been damaged; but many of the less important installations were either flat or sieved or in flames. On Sand, in addition to the oil tank, which burned for two days, the seaplane hangars were afire. The dispensary was a shambles—a section of its roof had been hurled high into the air and the sight of its red cross spinning would not be forgotten.

The laundry was also gone. When Commander Ramsey reported back to Pearl on 12 June, still in his uniform of that morning, Nimitz told him, “I understand you’re crawling with—er—‘eagles,’ so maybe you’d like these silver ones,” and showed him a dispatch recommending his promotion to captain.

Eastern lost its powerhouse, mess hall, galley and post exchange, but the airstrips, a dump of gasoline drums and all radio and radar facilities were untouched—the Japanese presumably intended using them. One freakish bomb had opened the door of the brig. Another—a direct hit on the post exchange—had scattered cigarettes and beer cans like shrapnel. One can plugged a machine gunner in the solar plexus. When his wind came back, he gasped, “I never could take beer on an empty stomach!”

As soon as “all clear” sounded, Colonel Kimes broadcast the order: “Fighters land, refuel by divisions, fifth division first.” No one landed. He broadcast again. Still no one landed. He changed the order to “All fighters land and re-service.” Ten of the original twenty-five touched down, several blowing their tires on the jagged bomb fragments that littered the runway. Of the pilots, six were wounded. Of the planes, only two were fit for further combat.

Fighting 221 would not fight the Zeros again for nine months. How much it had inflicted was uncertain. Since there was no way to reckon the missing pilots’ scores, Intelligence accepted only the claims of the ten survivors.

Fighting 221 had taken fearful punishment, but how—its ordeal was suspended until Guadalcanal; but the other squadrons’ ordeals were just beginning—the ordeals by fire that too often ended in ordeals by water.

When Simard radioed his flight leaders the bearing and distance of the enemy fleet, his intention was a simultaneous strike by all squadrons—by such a swarm of planes attacking from so many directions and elevations that, although they would neither be coordinated nor have fighter cover, the enemy could not protect all his carriers against them. The plan was excellent in theory, disastrous in practice. The attacks were made separately, not simultaneously. As a result, the enemy could focus his deadly attention on one group at a time.

First to fly the gantlet were the six Navy Avengers. The rest of their squadron, Torpedo 8, was aboard the Hornet. These six crews had been detached for a special mission—to battle-test the new Avenger against the fleet’s only other torpedo plane, the obsolescent Devastator. Their flight leader was Lieutenant Langdon K. Feiberling, USN. Four of the other pilots were reserve ensigns, and the fifth was an enlisted man. Their crews included two more ensigns, Catalina pilots, who had volunteered as navigators, doubling at the tunnel guns, and a Catalina gunner, who had begged to man the turret for the enlisted pilot, a friend of his.

Before Midway faded astern, they saw the smoke of the first bombs. Then the enemy screen loomed ahead, with two big carriers in the distance. Zeros jumped them at once. Nagumo wrote in his log at 7:10, “Enemy torpedo planes divide into two groups,” and at 7:12 “Akagi [his flagship] notes that enemy planes loosed torpedoes [and] makes full turn to evade, successfully. Three planes brought down by anti-aircraft fire.” Zeros continued to hammer the remaining three. Two wavered, then splashed in. The last, riddled and broken, and its pilot, Ensign Albert K. Earnest, bleeding from a shrapnel wound, somehow lurched on.

Earnest could not defend himself. His own guns were jammed; his turret was shattered, the gunner killed; and his tunnel gun, served by a wounded radioman, was blanked by the dangling tail wheel. Nor could he even dodge. His elevator control was cut and his hydraulic system smashed; the bomb-bay doors hung open, damping speed, and one landing wheel hung down, dragging the plane askew. The Zeros chased him for fifteen miles and turned back then only because their ammunition belts were empty. Earnest wiped the blood from his eyes, guessed his homeward course—his compass was splintered—and staggered in. The Avenger crashed when it landed, but Earnest crawled out alive, to make his report.

Nagumo’s respite was brief. He had hardly shaken off the Avengers when he was under torpedo attack again, by the four Marauders of the Army’s 69th Medium Bombardment Squadron, Captain James F. Collins, Jr., commanding. They had been the last to leave Midway, beating the bombs by mere minutes, but their speed had overtaken the Dauntlesses and Vindicators, now trudging astern. Even as Collins sighted the enemy force, a line of Zeros swung toward him. He led his flight straight at them, then ducked toward the water. One pilot yelled, “Boy, if mother could see me now!” A black wall of anti-aircraft solidified ahead. Two Marauders crashed into it and fell, but Collins and Lieutenant James P. Muri broke through. Again the Akagi was the target. Collins dropped his torpedo at eight hundred yards; Muri closed to 450 and barely cleared her flight deck on his pull-up. Each thought he had scored, but Nagumo recorded at 7:15, “No hit sustained.”

Zeros chased them out to the screen, wrecking Muri’s turret and killing his tail gunner. Collins’ turret could fire only in jerks, and his tail gun was jammed. Yet their two crews shot down three Zeros, maybe four, and the crippled Marauders—one’s landing gear had been shot away, and the other, burning, had more than five hundred holes—held together just long enough. When they touched down at Eastern, they were junk.

Meanwhile, Sweeney’s fifteen Fortresses, heading westward since before dawn in search of the occupation force, had turned north as soon as they picked up Simard’s six o’clock relay of the position report on the striking force. They sighted it at 7:32, but Sweeney held his bombs. His primary target was the two carriers, and both were hidden by clouds. He began to orbit at 20,000 feet, hoping that they would venture out.

Actually, four of them were down there, all veterans of the attack on Pearl: the Kaga (“Increased Joy”) and Akagi (“Red Castle”), slightly smaller than our big Essexes; and the sisters Soryu (“Blue Dragon”) and Hiryu (“Flying Dragon”), slightly smaller than our light Independence class. The Akagi and Hiryu were unique among the type; their superstructures—“is­lands”—rose from their port sides.

In twenty minutes Sweeney had his hope. The Soryu reported, “Fourteen [sic] enemy twin-engine [sic] planes over us at 30,000 meters [sic].”

Nagumo logged at 7:55: “Enemy bombs Soryu (nine or ten bombs). No hits.” And a minute later: “Noted that the Akagi and Hiryu were being subjected to bombings.”

The carriers fired a few bursts of anti-aircraft, then ran back under the clouds, leaving further defense to their CAP—combat air patrol. The Zeros had no stomach for the stalwart Fortresses; their passes were cautiously wide.

Sweeney was surprised: “Hell, I thought this was their varsity!”

As he resumed his watchful orbit, the Marines poured in—Scout Bombing 241’s first attack group, sixteen Dauntlesses, Major Lofton R. Henderson commanding. Ten of the pilots had not joined the squadron until the week before, and thirteen were totally inexperienced in Dauntlesses, so Henderson decided not to dive-bomb, but to glide-bomb, a shallower, easier maneuver. He was spiraling down from nine thousand feet to his attack point at four thousand when the Japanese fighters caught them. The Marine rear seat men splashed four, but the Japanese pilots and their ships’ anti-aircraft splashed six Dauntlesses, two in flames. One was Henderson’s. Seeing him burn, Captain Elmer C. Glidden, Jr., second in command, moved into the lead. Below him was a cloud bank. He dived for it to lose his pursuit and broke through dead above the Akagi. Three fighters had just left her deck. She had gone to battle speed when she first spotted the Dauntlesses, and now she was writhing in her course.

Glidden pushed over and dropped his bomb from five hundred feet, with the nine other pilots strung out astern. All managed to get clear of the Japanese force, but on their way home, damage dragged two more planes into the sea, and of those that landed, another two would never fly again. The pilot of one, First Lieutenant Daniel Iverson, Jr., mentioned that his throat microphone had been shot away, and added that his plane had been hit “several times.” His rear seat man later counted 259 holes.

Henderson’s group reported that their 500-pounders scored two hits and a near miss, and Captain Aoki of the Akagi has testified that this is the exact tally of her injuries, which proved fatal. However, there is also evidence that she suffered them in a subsequent attack.

Parks, Feiberling, Henderson: three American flight leaders had been killed, and the battle was not yet two hours old.

Meanwhile, the carriers’ evasive tactics were intermittently taking them under open sky. So the Fortresses, still at 20,000 feet, began to pot-shoot, then turned homeward, their bombs exhausted.

That was at 8:24. Three minutes later, Nagumo wrote: “Enemy planes dive on the [battleship] Haruna.” The Marines were striking again. These were VMSB-241’s second attack group, eleven lumbering Vindicators, led by Major Benjamin W. Norris. The pilots were as green as Henderson’s—nine of them had never flown a “Vibrator” before 28 May. They approached the enemy force at 13,000 feet and had just sighted it, twenty miles off, when three Zeros, doing graceful vertical rolls, ripped through their formation. One amazed Marine said, “Those Japs put on a good show—very good for us, since more attention to business might easily have wiped out eleven of the slowest and most obsolete planes ever to be used in the war.”

The concentrated .30-caliber fire of four rear seat men knocked one Zero down. More Zeros joined in, and another went down. Norris headed for the clouds at top speed. When he burst out, at two thousand feet, he expected to find the carriers below. Instead, he was short, and directly above the Haruna, zig-zagging in the van of the formation near her sister, the Kirishima.

Norris now faced a split-second decision. The carriers were his target, but his low altitude would make it suicidal to attempt taking these vulnerable planes—their skin was partly fabric—through the intense anti-aircraft of the whole force. On the other hand, the Haruna not only was close below but might not be alert against attack, as the carriers certainly were. He chose the Haruna. The air was so rough with shell blasts that the Marines could hardly hold their planes in a true dive. Geysers rose near the Haruna, and one splashed on the Kirishima’s fantail, but Nagumo wrote: “No hits.”

The Zeros were waiting at the screen. They shot down two Vindicators and shot away another’s instruments and elevator control; the pilot limped as far as possible, then ditched in the sea near Kure. The scattered rest made it back as best they could. Even in his harried dive, Norris had radioed them: “Your course is one-four-zero,” but there were only four plotting boards among the group, and most of the pilots navigated by thumb until they could home on the black pillar from the burning oil. The last of them touched down at ten o’clock.

They had left Midway neat and taut. Now it was debris. The spring morning stank of ruin. Buildings were a jackstraw pile of charred timbers. The upheaved sand, littered with thousands of dead birds, was still cold under foot. Silence lay on the once-buzzing airstrips. Two thirds of the combat planes were smashed or lost; half the aircrewmen were killed or missing. And the enemy’s four deadly carriers were still intact.

Ashore, the situation seemed grave. But afloat, our own carriers had joined the battle.

Dawn on 4 June found the American forces about 220 miles northeast of Midway. A four-knot breeze blew from the southeast. Clouds were low and broken, with visibility twelve miles. Admiral Fletcher’s Task Force 17, built around the Yorktown, was steaming ten miles to the north of Admiral Spruance’s Task Force 16, built around the Hornet and Enterprise. Fletcher, the Senior Officer Present Afloat and Officer in Tactical Command, knew that the enemy’s occupation force had been sighted west of Midway, but he did not close its position. His target was the striking force, which was expected to approach from the northwest. The Yorktown’s scouts had searched that sector on the third; half an hour before sunrise next morning, Fletcher sent them out again. An hour later, at 5:34, he intercepted the first of the reports that the Catalinas were flashing back to Midway, but not until 6:03 did they give him what he wanted: “Two carriers and battleships,” with their bearing, distance, course and speed.

His staff laid out the data on a plotting board. The carriers were too far to be reached with an immediate strike. However, if the Japanese commander held his course—and likely he would, to take advantage of the head wind in landing his first attack wave and launching a second—an intercepting course would soon bring him within range. At 6:07 Fletcher ordered Spruance: “Proceed southwesterly and attack enemy carriers when definitely located. I will follow as soon as my planes are recovered.”

Spruance headed out at twenty-five knots. The range had closed sufficiently by seven o’clock. His task force swung into the wind, and the first plane roared down the Enterprise’s flight deck. Her Air Group 6 launched fifty-seven in all: ten fighters (Wildcats), thirty-three dive bombers (Dauntlesses), and fourteen torpedo planes (Deva­stators). Nearby the Hornet’s Air Group 8 was launching almost identically: ten Wildcats, thirty-five Dauntlesses and fifteen Devastators. Each group was ordered to attack one of the carriers, now an estimated 155 miles southwest. The launch was completed by 8:06. The task force swung out of the wind and the six squadrons sped away.

But if Fletcher blessed the scout who found Nagumo, Nagumo had one of his own to bless. At 7:28, halfway through Spruance’s launch, Nagumo’s scout sent back this message: “Sight what appears to be ten enemy surface ships in position bearing 10 degrees, 240 miles from Midway. Course 150, speed over 20 knots.”

Nagumo at once ordered his force, “Prepare to carry out attacks on enemy fleet units!”; then told the scout, “Ascertain ship types and maintain contact.”

“Enemy is composed of five cruisers and five destroyers,” the scout replied. Presently he added, “Enemy is accompanied by what appears to be a carrier.”

By now the Enterprise had picked him up on her radar and had sent her combat air patrol to make the kill. He was still there, still transmitting—“Sight two additional enemy cruisers in position bearing 8 degrees, distance 250 miles from Midway. Course 150 degrees, speed 20 knots”—but the CAP (combat air patrol) pilots could not find him. It made little difference; the damage was already done. A few minutes later he signed off: “I am now homeward bound.” The time was 8:34; he had been in the air since five o’clock, and the needles of his fuel gauges were drifting toward “empty.”

Major Norris’ old Vindicators were swarming over the Haruna and Kirishima just then, and Nagumo had no leisure until 8:55, when he curtly ordered the scout: “Postpone your homing. Maintain contact with the enemy until arrival of four relief planes. Go on the air with your long-wave transmitter” [to give them a radio bearing].

Nagumo then told his captains, “After completing homing operations [recovering the planes that had struck Midway], proceed northward. We plan to contact and destroy the enemy task force.” They had built up speed to thirty knots when, at 9:18, a lookout sighted fifteen American planes, close to the water. They were the Hornet’s Torpedo 8, Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron commanding—the rest of the squadron whose six Avengers had already flown from Midway to enduring glory.

It will never be known how, of the six squadrons launched, Waldron’s plodding, 120-knot Devastators were the first by half an hour to find the enemy. It is known only that they did not rendezvous with the rest of the Hornet’s strike, as they should have; said a fighter pilot who saw them, “They just lit a shuck for the horizon, all alone.”

Although the Japanese carrier force was now far from its predicted position—it had maneuvered radically to dodge Midway’s planes, then had turned northeast to attack Spruance—Waldron flew a confident course, straight into its guns. He had lost his own fighters, and Zeros were ahead, astern and around him. The anti-aircraft was almost thick enough to screen the twisting ships; it gored huge holes in wings and fuselages, cut cables, smashed instruments, killed pilots and gunners. Plane after torn plane—fourteen of them—plunged into the sea, burned briefly and sank. A rear seat man in another squadron, miles away, overheard Waldron’s last words: “Watch those fighters! … How’m I doing? … Splash! … I’d give a million to know who did that! … My two wingmen are going in the water…”

The rest of Torpedo 8 is silence, except for the voice of its sole survivor, Ensign George H. Gay. He heard Waldron and he heard his own gunner cry, “They got me!” Then he was hit himself, twice, in the left hand and arm. He squeezed the bullet from his arm and popped it into his mouth. His target was the Kaga. He dropped his torpedo and flew down her flank, close to the bridge—“I could see the little Jap captain jumping up and down and raising hell.”

A 20-mm shell exploded on his left rudder pedal, ripping his foot and cutting his controls, and his plane crashed between the Kaga and the Akagi. He swam back to get his gunner, but strafing Zeros made him dive and dive again; the gunner sank with the plane. A black cushion and a rubber raft floated to the surface. Gay was afraid to inflate the raft; it might draw the Zeros. He put the cushion over his head and hid under it until twilight, peeking out to watch the battle. Tossed by the wash of Japanese warships, wounded, alone, the only man alive of thirty who had been vigorous a few moments before, Gay remembered their training at Norfolk, and how a farmer had complained that their practice runs were souring his cows’ milk.

When Winston Churchill was told about Torpedo 8, he wept.

Gay was shot down at about 9:40. At 9:58, Nagumo wrote: “Fourteen enemy planes are heading for us.” They were the Enterprise’s Torpedo 6, Lieutenant Commander Eugene E. Lindsey commanding. Not only had they, too, lost their fighter cover, but they were attacking an enemy alerted by the previous attack. Before a torpedo pilot can drop with any hope of a hit, he must maintain a steady course and altitude for at least two minutes. A full squadron of Zeros pounced on Torpedo 6 at this vulnerable time. Ten of the Devastators, including Lindsey’s, were shot down at once, most with their torpedoes still in the slings. The other four escaped only because the Zeros were called away to meet a new threat, the Yorktown’s Torpedo 3.

The principal contact report had mentioned only two enemy carriers, but Intelligence had warned Fletcher that two more would be present. Rather than risk their planes’ catching the Yorktown with hers on deck, he decided to send about half of them to reinforce the Hornet’s and Enterprise’s and to hold the rest until the two missing carriers were reported.

The Yorktown group—twelve Devastators, seventeen Dauntlesses and six Wildcats—was in the air by 9:30. This once the torpedo planes had the cover they needed so desperately; their fighters clung to them the whole way. Better yet, the Enterprise’s fighters, which had become separated from their own torpedo squadron, joined up in support. They sighted the enemy at ten o’clock, but they still had fourteen miles to go when Zeros caught them. The sixteen Wildcats were outnumbered two to one. The fast Zeros splashed three, then sped after the Devastators. By now their commander, Lieutenant Commander Lance E. Massey, had worked his way within a mile of the Akagi. As he turned to make his run, a Zero shot him down in flames. Six more of his squadron fell. The remaining five made their drops, then the Zeros shot down another three. The last two escaped.

Of the forty-one torpedo planes which the American carriers had sent into battle, thirty-five had now been lost. Of the eighty-two men who flew them, sixty-nine had been killed, including the three squadron commanders. And of the torpedoes they dropped, not one had scored a hit. Yet these men did not die in vain. The valor that drew the world’s admiration also drew the enemy’s attention. His dodging carriers could not launch a new strike. And while every gun in his force trained on the torpedo planes, and every Zero in the sky fell on them, our dive bombers—unopposed, almost unnoticed—struck the Kaga, the Akagi and the Soryu their death blows.

The thirty-three Dauntlesses of Scout Bombing 6, led by Lieutenant Commander Clarence Wade McClusky, Jr., commanding the Enterprise’s air group, had climbed up the estimated bearing of the enemy force until they should have been on top of it. McClusky cocked his wing and looked down. Visibility was perfect, except for a few small clouds. From his altitude of 20,000 feet, he could see more than 95,000 square miles of ocean. A hundred miles southeast of him was a tiny blur—Midway. But Midway was all he saw; the rest of the ocean was empty. He held on for another seventy-five miles. Still nothing, and time was running out. Merely finding the enemy carriers would not be enough. McClusky had to find them before they could launch a strike against our own carriers. Where were they? He had to guess fast and guess right.

When the Hornet’s group reached the estimated position and faced the same guess, their leader sent twenty-two of his bombers home and pressed forward with the rest—thirteen Dauntlesses and ten Wildcats. Like McClusky, he held southwest for half an hour, but then—with emptiness still ahead—he turned southeast, toward Midway, and then northeast. His determination to attack ignored the insistencies of his fuel tanks, and when he finally abandoned the search, it was too late for most of his planes to make even Midway. The Wildcats gasped and ditched, one after another, all out of fuel; only eight of the pilots were rescued. Two of the Dauntlesses died over the Midway lagoon; their crews waded mere yards to the beach. The other eleven landed with their last pints, at 11:20. Their welcome was something less than effusive. Not expecting the Dauntlesses, and seeing them jettison their bombs offshore, the Marine lookouts mistook them for enemy planes, blew the air raid siren and even scrambled one of Fighting 221’s riddled fighters to intercept them.

But McClusky decided that the enemy had reversed his southeast course—Captain George D. Murray, of the Enterprise, called it “the most important decision of the entire action”—so he headed his bombers northwest. They had already burned up nearly half their fuel; if he didn’t find his target soon, our task forces would lose his planes as well as their ships. Fifteen minutes passed, twenty, twenty-five, before his eye caught a faint white streak below—the wake of a lone Japanese destroyer; and presently, far to the north, three carriers, veering and twisting among their escorts, slid out from the broken overcast—the Soryu in the lead, with the Kaga to the west and the Akagi to the east. The Hiryu, bringing up the rear, stayed under the clouds and was never seen.

McClusky split his attack: half for the Kaga, half for the Soryu. He took a last look around—still no Zeros—and pushed over. The enormous red “meat balls” on the yellow flight decks became as sharply defined as bull’s-eyes.

Nagumo’s strike against the American carriers was just about to take off. The Kaga had thirty planes on her flight deck and thirty more on her hangar deck, all armed and fueled. They were awaiting the signal when four bombs struck her, shattering her bridge and killing every man on it, including Captain Okada. Explosions leaped from plane to plane, from deck to deck. A solid pillar of fire shot 1600 feet into the air. Smoke shrouded her, a black pall slashed with scarlet, and the blinded helmsman let her run wild.

The Soryu also had sixty planes aboard. Three bombs spattered blazing gasoline fore and aft on her hangar deck. A magazine exploded; both engines stopped; she lost steerageway. Captain Yanagimoto shouted from the bridge, “Abandon ship! Every man to safety! Let no man approach me! Banzai! Banzai!” He was still shouting banzais when flames rose around him. Most of the company struggled to the forward end of the flight deck, out of the fire and smoke, and huddled there until a violent explosion blew them into the sea.

The Enterprise’s Bombing 6 struck the Kaga and the Soryu at 10:23. At the same minute, unknown to them, the Yorktown’s Bombing 3 was plunging on the Akagi, Nagumo’s flagship. Some of her Midway group had not yet returned, so she had only forty planes aboard. Her fighters tried to get clear. As the first of them gathered speed, the first bomb smashed among them, near the midships elevator, and another hit the portside aft. Damage did not seem severe, but when Captain Aoki ordered the magazines flooded, the after pumps would not function. The bridge took fire from a burning fighter below and the fire spread. Nagumo summoned a destroyer to transfer himself and his staff to the light cruiser Nagara. Within an hour, the Akagi’s flight deck flamed from end to end. Suddenly her engines stopped. An officer investigated. Her whole engine room staff was dead.

The torpedo attacks had drawn the Zeros to water level, so they needed only a short sprint to catch Bombing 6 after the pull-out. Eighteen of McClusky’s thirty-three Dauntlesses splashed in—he himself was wounded in the shoulder—but fuel exhaustion was to blame for some of them. Bombing 3 returned intact to the Yorktown’s landing circle, only to have her warn them away. Before the Enterprise could take them aboard, two of the seventeen ran dry and ditched. Worse, a Yorktown fighter pilot, shot in the foot, crash-landed on the Hornet without cutting his gun switches. His six .50’s jarred off, and the burst killed five men and wounded twenty.

The Yorktown warned away her planes because her radar had picked up an incoming strike. Two hours before, at ten o’clock, Nagumo had reported Task Force 17’s position to Yamamoto: “After destroying this, we plan to resume our AF attack.” At 10:50 he admitted, “Fires are raging aboard the Kaga, Soryu and Akagi,” but added firmly, “We plan to have the Hiryu engage the enemy carriers.” And at 10:54 the Hiryu’s blinker boasted: “All my planes are taking off now for the purpose of destroying the enemy carriers.”

“All” was an exaggeration; the strike consisted of only nine fighters and eighteen bombers. As soon as they appeared on the Yorktown’s radar screen, at 11:50, her combat air patrol dashed to intercept them. Ten bombers went down at once and anti-aircraft knocked down five more, but three bombs struck the ship, and one of them hurt her. It tore through to her third deck and exploded in the uptakes, blasting out the fires in two boilers and flooding the boiler rooms with fumes. It also set the paint on her stack ablaze and ruptured the main radio and radar cables. Steam pressure fell; she lost way and went dead in the water.

Fletcher took a quick turn around the flight and hangar decks. When he climbed back to flag bridge, he found it wreathed in smoke so dense that his blinkers and flag hoists were blanketed. With all communications gone, he and the key men of his staff slid down a line and transferred to the heavy cruiser Astoria. Meanwhile, the Yorktown’s repair gangs patched her decks, and the engineering force coaxed her up to twenty knots. By two o’clock she was shipshape again—she even hoisted a bright new ensign to replace one stained by battle smoke. It had scarcely shaken out its folds when another ship’s radar picked up a second attack group, thirty miles to the west—six fighters and ten torpedo planes, from the Hiryu as before. Fletcher’s task force was now alone, Spruance was thirty miles eastward, farther from the enemy, since launching and landing had kept the Hornet and Enterprise on an easterly course. However, Spruance had sent Fletcher two heavy cruisers, and two destroyers as anti-aircraft reinforcements. The Yorktown’s CAP and the combined anti-aircraft splashed six of the torpedo planes, but four broke through and made their drops at her. The heavy cruiser Portland tried in vain to interpose herself. Two torpedoes struck the Yorktown’s port flank, almost in the same midships spot. A witness said, “She seemed to leap out of the water, then sank back, all life gone.” The time was 2:45.

Dead, dark, gushing steam, she drifted in a slowing circle to port. Her list increased to twenty-six degrees; her port scuppers were awash, and she seemed about to capsize. Stretcher bearers threaded her steep passageways, collecting the wounded. At 2:55, Captain Elliott Buckmaster ordered, “Aban­don ship!” Destroyers stood in. Swimmers climbed aboard and clotted their decks in a whispering deathwatch, but the Yorktown floated on. The late afternoon was beautiful, with a calm sea and a flamboyant sunset. A CAP pilot above Spruance’s force, still steaming eastward, looked back at the stricken ship, deserted except by a destroyer. He thought of her as a dying queen, and his eyes were hot with sudden tears.

So far, no American had seen more than three Japanese carriers at one time, and three were known to have been crippled at 10:23. However, this torpedo plane attack, nearly four and a half hours later, strongly supported the prediction of a fourth carrier. Fletcher had not long to wait for positive corroboration. Even as the Yorktown still reeled, one of her scouts reported, “one CV [carrier], two BB [bat­tleships], three CA [heavy cruisers], four DD [destroyers], lat 31-15 N, long 179-05 W [about 160 miles west of Spruance’s task force], course 000 [due north], speed 15.”

Fletcher ordered the Enterprise and Hornet to strike immediately. The Enterprise completed her launch first. By 3:41, she had twenty-four Dauntlesses in the air, including fourteen refugees from the Yorktown. They had flown about an hour when they saw three large columns of smoke from the burning Kaga, Akagi and Soryu. A few destroyers were standing by them; the rest of the force was some miles to the north, fleeing with the surviving carrier, the Hiryu. The bombers swung westward in order to dive out of the blinding afternoon sun, and pushed over from 19,000 feet. They lost three planes to Zeros, but they laid four heavy bombs on the Hiryu’s deck and three more just astern, starting such enormous fires that the last pilots in line saw that she was already doomed and kicked over to bomb a battleship near by. When the second half of the strike—sixteen more Dauntlesses, from the Hornet—arrived a half hour later, they ignored the Hiryu completely and dropped on a battleship and cruiser. All the Hornet’s planes returned.

The Hiryu’s forward elevator was blasted out of its well and hurled against the bridge, screening it and preventing navigation. She had only twenty planes aboard, but they were enough to feed the fires, which quickly spread to the engine room. Her list reached fifteen degrees. She began to ship water.

Of the four carriers, the Soryu was the first to sink. A picket submarine, the USS Nautilus, spied her smoke, crept within range, and shot three torpedoes into her at 1:59. Her fires blazed up, but died by twilight, and boarding parties were attempting to salvage her when she plunged, at 7:13. Fifty miles away, Ensign Gay, under his black cushion, had been watching the burning Kaga. Several hundred of her crew were still huddled on her flight deck when a heavy cruiser—Japanese—began firing point-blank into her water line. Two explosions tore her apart. She sank twelve minutes after the Soryu.

The Akagi and the Hiryu also sank within minutes of each other, but not until next morning, 5 June. The Akagi was stout. Her dead engines, staffed by dead men, suddenly came to life and turned her in a circle for nearly two hours, until they stopped forever. Still she would not sink. One of her destroyers torpedoed her charred hulk at dawn.

The Hiryu was the flagship of Commander Carrier Division 2, Rear Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi, an officer so brilliant that he was expected to succeed Yamamoto as commander in chief. Burly, with a face like a copper disk, he was an alumnus of the Princeton Graduate College and had been the chief of Japanese Naval Intelligence in the United States. When he and Captain Kaki, of the Hiryu, saw that she could not be saved, they delivered a farewell address to the crew, which was followed “by expressions of reverence and respect to the Emperor, the shouting of banzais, the lowering of the battle flag and command flag. At 0315 [3:15 a.m.], all hands were ordered to abandon ship, His Imperial Highness’ portrait removed, and the transfer of personnel to destroyers put underway…The Division Commander and Captain remained aboard. They waved their caps to their men and with complete composure joined their fate with that of their ship.” The destroyer Makigumo scuttled her with a torpedo at 5:10.

All four carriers were gone. With them went more than two thousand men. Spruance reported that we now had “incontestable mastery of the air.”

To the top commanders at Midway, meanwhile, 4 June had been a day of deep anxiety. The meager reports that reached them during the morning—only one enemy carrier damaged—made the ruins around them prophetic of worse. Incredibly—but for the confusion of battle—Lieutenant Colonel Sweeney, commanding the Fortresses, had not yet been told of the two United States Navy task forces offshore. Believing that Midway was fighting alone and hopelessly, he sent seven of his planes—all that were ready for instant flight—back to Oahu, both to save them from destruction and to help defend the Hawaiian Islands against the invasion which he assumed would follow Midway’s imminent fall. Although Commander Ramsey, the Air Operations Officer, was better informed, even he thought it “quite possible that we would be under heavy bombardment from surface vessels before sunset.”

Midway’s air strength was now reduced to two fighters, eleven dive bombers, eighteen patrol planes and four Fortresses, plus aircraft under repair. Sweeney led the four Fortresses in the first strike of the afternoon, against the scattered carrier force. Two more, patched up, took off an hour later for the same target. At 6:30, as the pilots made their bombing runs, they sighted another six Fortresses a mile below—a squadron which had flown from Molokai, southeast of Oahu, straight into the battle. All three formations reported bomb hits, but Nagumo’s log acknowledges none.

The Marines tried next. Their eleven dive bombers, Major Norris commanding, went out at dusk, but squalls thickened the moonless sky, and they had to abandon their search. Only the blue glare from their exhausts kept them together until Midway’s oil fires guided them home. Ten returned safely; Major Norris did not return. Midway mounted one more strike that evening. Eleven torpedo boats dashed out at 7:30, hoping to cut down a straggling ship, but they, too, found nothing.

As the torpedo boats left, the Molokai Fortresses landed, with alarming news: Zeros had jumped them during their attack. Midway had learned by now that the enemy’s fourth—and presumably last—carrier had been crippled at 4:30, so Zeros aloft two hours later implied that a fifth carrier was present. Actually the Zeros were orphans from the burning Hiryu, but Midway could not know this. Nor did it know that a patrol craft’s report, at nine o’clock, of a landing on Kure, sixty miles west, derived from simple hysteria. On the contrary, each report strengthened the other. The possibility of invasion became a probability.

Midway radioed its picket submarines to tighten the line against the approaching enemy, and launched two Catalinas with torpedoes to support the interception. The Catalinas took off at midnight. At 1:20, an enemy submarine suddenly fired eight rounds into the lagoon, then submerged. Midway’s belief that this was a diversion to cover a landing party seemed confirmed within an hour, when one of its own submarines, the USS Tambor, reported “many unidentified ships” only ninety miles westward.

The garrison already had done its utmost. There was nothing left now but the ceaseless service of the planes—eighty-five 500-pound bombs to be hung by hand, 45,000 gallons of fuel to be pumped by hand—and waiting out the direly pregnant night.

Far northeast of Midway, the American warships were also waiting. Fletcher’s task force, maimed by the loss of the Yorktown, now merely sheltered behind Spruance’s. The Hornet and Enterprise were unimpaired, but Spruance was wary of the fast Japanese battleships and “did not feel justified in risking a night encounter… On the other hand, I did not wish to be too far from Midway next morning. I wished to have a position from which either to follow up retreating enemy forces or to break up a landing attack on Midway. At this time the possibility of the enemy having a fifth CV [carrier] somewhere in the area… still existed.”

Spruance had cruised slowly east, then a few miles north, east again and a few miles south, when the Tambor’s sighting ended his aimlessness. He headed toward Midway at twenty-five knots.

There, as the morning of the fifth dawned, the Catalinas were off at 4:15, followed by the Fortresses, and at 6:30 the first report came in: “Two battleships streaming oil,” with the bearing, distance, course and speed. They were not battleships but heavy cruisers, the Mogami and Mikuma. The Catalina pilot’s mistake in identification was excusable. These sister ships and their other two, the Kumano and Suzuya, were Japan’s notorious “gyp cruisers”—professedly built to the conditions of the London Naval Conference, but really far larger and more powerful. They were longer, indeed, than any battleship at Pearl Harbor.

The four, a vanguard for the occupation force, had been given a screen of destroyers and sent ahead to bombard Midway in preparation for the landing. They were steaming at full speed when a lookout spotted the Tambor even as she spotted them. An emergency turn was ordered, but the Mogami missed the signal. She knifed into the Mikuma’s port quarter, ripping it open and wrenching her own bow askew, so that neither ship could make more than fifteen knots. The collision occurred soon after 2:00 a.m. At 2:55, Yamamoto’s subordinate commanders received an astonishing dispatch: “Occu­pa­tion of AF is canceled… Retire…”

Thus far, the enemy’s motives and maneuvers at Midway have been reconstructed from official documents; but on this critical point—why Yamamoto decided to break off the battle—the files are silent. He himself is dead, so only conjectures are left. The most obvious, suggested by chronology, is that he was influenced by the collision of the cruisers, but this was, after all, only a minor mishap to his powerful fleet.

Likelier, the true factors were older than the collision, but new to Yamamoto, owing to faulty fleet communications. At 6:30 the evening before, a scout pilot from one of Nagumo’s ships had reported sighting “four enemy carriers, six cruisers and fifteen destroyers… 30 miles east of the burning and listing carrier… This enemy force was westward bound.” The pilot was myopic. The American force had only two operational carriers by then, and was bound eastward. Still, Nagumo had no reason to doubt the sighting, and although his log does not say so, presumably he informed Yamamoto at once. Yamamoto seems not to have received the message, for at 7:15 he was broadcasting:

The enemy task force has retired to the east. Its carrier strength has practically been destroyed.

The Combined Fleet units in that area plan to overtake and destroy this enemy, and, at the same time, occupy AF.

The Mobile Force [Nagumo], Occupation Force… and Advance Force [submarines] will contact and destroy the enemy as soon as possible.

Nagumo has written: “It was evident that the above message was sent as a result of an erroneous estimate of the enemy, for he still had four carriers in operational condition and his shore-based air on Midway was active.” Accordingly, at 9:30 p.m. he repeated the pilot’s sighting, and again at 10:50. One of these messages must have reached Yamamoto. When it did, the shock of learning that the American force, which he believed crippled and quailing, was both on the offensive—which it wasn’t—and stronger by two unsuspected carriers—which it wasn’t—may have jolted him into ordering the retirement.

All this, it should be emphasized, is conjecture. But it is a fact that the Battle of Midway was over, except for skirmishes.

The first of them was touched off by Catalina’s 6:30 report of “two battleships streaming oil.” The Marine dive bombers jumped to the attack. Two Vindicators had been repaired overnight, so there were six now, led by Captain Richard E. Fleming, and six Dauntlesses, led by Captain Marshall A. Tyler. As the Mogami and Mikuma, accompanied by two destroyers and trailing the Kumano and Suzuya, limped westward, their torn tanks left an unmistakable spoor, and the Marines followed it to their quarry. Through a storm of anti-aircraft, the Dauntlesses dived on the Mogami at 8:05 and bracketed her with near misses that riddled her topsides. Then the Vindicators glided down at the Mikuma. Smoke gushed from a hit on Fleming’s engine, but he held his course. The men behind him saw his bomb drop, saw his whole plane burst into flames, and saw him crash it into the Mikuma’s after turret. Captain Akira Soji, of the Mogami, said, “He was very brave.” The Marine Corps agreed; Fleming was the first Marine aviator of the war to receive the Medal of Honor.

This was Midway’s last successful action. The Fortresses made three more strikes that day, against the two cruisers and other units, but none was effective and one was tragic. Two planes, out of fuel, had to ditch, with the loss of ten men—the Fortresses’ only casualties in the air battle.

The 6:30 report of “two battleships” reached Spruance too, but the weather was foul in his area, so he kept his planes on deck, hoping for better flying and a fatter target. Presently he had both. At eight o’clock, with the skies clearing, another Catalina reported: “two battleships, one carrier afire [imaginary: the last enemy carrier had sunk three hours before] and three heavy cruisers, speed 12.” Their position, far to the northwest, was beyond Spruance’s range, but he headed out and waited for his superior speed to narrow the gap. No further reports came in, however, and as the day wore on, Spruance felt that the morning position was growing “rather cold.” It was the best target offered, though; and at 3:00 p.m., when he had closed to an estimated 230 miles, he began to launch.

A group of Enterprise dive bombers searched for 265 miles while a Hornet group searched 315 miles on a slightly different bearing. By now the weather had worsened. Each group found one small ship—the same one, a straggling destroyer; each attacked it unsuccessfully; and each lost a plane—the Enterprise to anti-aircraft, the Hornet to fuel exhaustion. The weary rest landed in darkness. Disheartened, Spruance set a westward course, although the empty ocean ahead promised little for next day, especially since he had to slack off his full-speed pursuit—his destroyers were low on fuel—and there was always the possibility of a night ambush by fast battleships. Still, luck might bring him across those two lame cruisers. He ordered the Enterprise to send a dawn search over the whole western semicircle.

The Kumano and Suzuya had taken no part in defending their sister against the Marines; they merely stood by a few miles away, and when Fleming’s crash further reduced the Mikuma’s speed, they increased their own and fled. Through the fifth and the early hours of the sixth, the cripples limped on with their two loyal destroyers. Their plight was desperate; they knew it, and Spruance soon learned it. The Enterprise’s scouts spotted them at 7:30 and shouted their position. The Hornet began to launch her dive bombers and fighters at 7:57. They struck at 9:50, and as they returned, the Enterprise launched. They, too, struck and returned, and the Hornet launched again.

In all, the Dauntlesses dropped eighty-one bombs. Five hit the Mogami, killing more than one hundred men. Ten gutted the Mikuma. Her survivors climbed aboard the destroyer Arashio, where a direct hit killed nearly all of them. Another bomb burst open the second destroyer’s stern. Between bombings, the Wildcats spattered the burning bulks with .50-caliber bullets. The last planes, racks empty, headed home at 3 p.m. The Mikuma sank about two hours later. The Mogami and the two destroyers, all afire, their broken decks littered with dead men, made their painful way back to Japan.

Spruance’s fuel was almost gone; enemy submarines were prowling the area, and further pursuit would take him within range of Wake, which was packed with Japanese planes once expected to base at Midway. He reversed course and withdrew toward his tankers. As his pilots stripped off their flight gear and relaxed, the Fortresses made their final attack—and Midway’s. Flying at 10,000 feet, they dropped their bombs on a vessel which they reported as “a cruiser that sank in fifteen seconds.” The “cruiser” proved to be the USS Grayling, a submarine. Happily, her sinking was only a crash dive.

Midway’s fighting was done, but its work was not—the work that had begun early on 4 June, when the first American pilot parachuted from his flaming plane. All that day, the next, and for weeks afterward, Catalinas searched the ocean for rafts and life jackets. They found Ensign Gay on the afternoon of the fifth. A medical officer asked what treatment he had given his wounds.

Gay said, “Soaked ’em in salt water for ten hours.”

On the sixth, they picked up another pilot, a lieutenant (jg) who had been clutching the bullet holes in his belly for two days. The Japanese had strafed him in his raft—to prove it, he brought in his splintered paddle. The Catalinas rescued more than fifty men. Thirty-five were Japanese, from the Hiryu’s engine room. They had drifted thirteen days and some 110 miles.

The biggest aftermath job was salvaging the Yorktown. It started auspiciously. The destroyer Hughes, standing by her on the night of the fourth, rescued two wounded men, who had been overlooked when she was abandoned, and one of her fighter pilots, who paddled up in his raft. Early next morning, Captain Buckmaster and a working party of 180 returned with three other destroyers, and that afternoon a mine sweeper took her in tow for Pearl Harbor. Repairs crept as slowly as the Yorktown herself, but by noon of the sixth, jettisoning and counterflooding had begun to reduce her list, and with the help of the destroyer Hammann, lashed to her starboard side and supplying power and water, her fires were being brought under control. Then, at 1:35, a lookout sighted four torpedo wakes to starboard. The Ham­mann’s gunners opened fire, hoping to detonate the war heads, and her captain tried to jerk her clear with his engines, but nothing availed. One torpedo passed astern. One hit the Hammann. The other two hit the Yorktown. They were death blows for both ships.

Geysers of oil, water and debris spouted high and crashed down. The convulsive heave of the decks snapped ankles and legs. Stunned men were hurled overboard, then sucked into flooding compartments. The Hammann’s back was broken; she settled fast and sank by the head. Almost at once, her grave exploded. The concussion killed some of the swimmers outright; others slowly bled to death from the eyes and mouth and nostrils.

The Yorktown’s huge bulk absorbed part of the two shocks, but her tall tripod foremast whipped like a sapling, and sheared rivets sang through the air. The rush of water into her starboard firerooms helped counter her port list at first, but Buckmaster knew that she was doomed. Too many safety doors had been sprung, too many bulkheads weakened. He mustered the working party to abandon ship. A few did not appear—the torpedoes had imprisoned them in compartments now inaccessibly submerged. An officer phoned one compartment after another. When a voice answered from the inaccessible fourth deck, he asked, “Do you know what kind of a fix you’re in?”

“Sure,” said the voice, “but we’ve got a hell of a good acey-deucey game down here. One thing, though—”

“Yes?”

“When you scuttle her, aim the torpedoes right where we are. We want it to be quick.”

They did not need to scuttle her. Early the next morning, “she turned over on her port side”—in Buckmaster’s words—“and sank in three thousand fathoms of water, with all her battle flags flying.” As her bow slid under, men on the destroyers saluted.

So ended the Battle of Midway. The United States had lost a carrier, a destroyer, 150 planes and 307 men. Japan had lost four carriers, a heavy cruiser, 253 planes and 3500 men. It was a decisive American victory. Exactly six months after Pearl Harbor, naval balance in the Pacific was restored. It was also Japan’s only naval defeat since 1592, when the Koreans under Yi Sunsin, in history’s first ironclad ships, drove Hideyoshi’s fleet from Chinhai Bay.

Tactically, Japan’s sunken carriers and dead combat pilots—some one hundred of her finest, plus another 120 wounded—caused drastic changes in her whole naval establishment. To replace the carriers, she had not only to convert seaplane tenders, thereby curtailing long-range reconnaissance, but to rig flight decks on two battleships. The pilots could never be replaced.

Said Captain Hiroaki Tsuda, “The loss affected us throughout the war.”

Strategically, Midway canceled Japan’s threat to Hawaii and the West Coast, arrested her eastward advance and forced her to confine her major efforts to New Guinea and the Solomons. Moreover, her efforts were no longer directed toward expansion, but toward mere holding.

The initiative that Japan dropped, the United States picked up. We moved forward from the “defensive-offensive,” in Admiral Ernest J. King’s phrases, “to the offensive-defensive,” and thence to Tokyo Bay. What ended there had begun at Midway. Said Rear Admiral Toshitane Takata, “Failure of the Midway campaign was the beginning of total failure.”

Our commanders may have recognized it at the time, but they restrained their optimism. Immediately after the battle, Admiral Nimitz announced only that “Pearl Harbor has now been partially avenged. Vengeance will not be complete until Japanese sea power is reduced to impotence. We have made substantial progress in that direction.” Then his jubilation broke out in a pun: “Perhaps we will be forgiven if we claim that we are about midway to that objective.”

An artist rendering of Midway Island as related to its location to the continental United States, as part of the Hawaiian Island chain and a detailed image of the island itself. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

 

A month after striking in the Coral Sea, the Japanese launched an all-out assault against Midway Island in what was obviously intended as the first step of a grand attack upon Hawaii and continental United States. The Navy was ready, and the heroic pilots from naval aircraft carriers inflicted a major sea defeat upon two great converging forces northwest of Midway. The enemy lost four aircraft carriers, at least two heavy cruisers, and a number of light cruisers, destroyers and transport - all by aerial attack. The artist here depicts a withering attack upon a Japanese cruiser by Navy dive-bombers with a fighter escort. Painting, oil on canvas, by Robert Benny, 1943.

US Navy aircraft carrier USS Yorktown and its escorts defend themselves from incoming Japanese aircraft, one of which has splashed down into the ocean. Painting, oil on canvas, by Rodolfo Claudus, 1950.

Sand Fort Island, Midway. Coral sand, bright against the deep backdrop of the Pacific sky and sea. The entrance to a mounded shelter is in the foreground. At the left just out of the picture is the big sand covered pier. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

Battle of Midway, US Dauntless Aircraft Dive On Japanese Carriers. The American dive bombers were about ready to return to their carriers, until the enemy was spotted.  The air combat patrol for the Japanese fleet should have been above, but they were at sea level destroying the American torpedo bomber airplanes.  This allowed the SBD Dauntless dive bombers to attack from 15,000 feet just as the carriers were turning into the wind to launch their most experienced pilots.  The attack left IJN Akagi, Kaga and Soryu engulfed in flames and ultimately were destroyed.  This turned the tide, not just for the Battle of Midway, but the entire war in the Pacific. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, 1975.

Air Combat over Midway June 4-6, 1942. In an attempt to destroy the air base, together with the defenses and installations located on Midway, 108 Japanese aircraft attacked at 0600 on 4 June.  Considerable damage was done, but a second strike was called for to complete the mission. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, 1975.

Sent out from the Japanese fleet, a floatplane searches in vain for the American aircraft carriers, destroyer and cruisers located near Midway Islands. Painting, Oil on wood, by John Hamilton, 1975

This Midway Island based PBY discovered part of the Japanese Fleet on 3 June 1942 setting the course of the battle. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, c. 1975.

The operations island a grim gray redoubt against the sky, this aircraft carrier steams behind her task force screen with a swarm of fighters at ready on the flight deck.  To be first off, planes of a fighter squadron stand at Fly One, the take-off spot.  Behind them, in order, will be the dive bombers and the torpedo bombers.  Meanwhile, as signal pennants snap from the truck, handling crews and pilots await the orders which will send these Grumman fighters snarling into the air. Painting, Oil on board, by Lawrence Beall Smith, 1943.

On the brightly colored waters of the lagoon, the PT's are skimming about, darting here dodging there, maneuvering between the rows of machine gun splashes, incessantly firing their twin pairs 50 caliber guns. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

Navy Gunners firing their .50 caliber guns, send their bright stream of tracers aloft at a Zero as another Zero dives in flames into the lagoon. Drawing, charcoal on board, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

Unable to recover from the Japanese Zeros on patrol, this torpedo bomber from USS Hornet is about to be consumed by fire and the sea. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, c. 1975.

In the foreground the Kaga passes across the picture with the planes she sought so hard to launch caught on her deck like birds in a nest, helpless against the swooping eagles. At the extreme left the carrier Akagi is sending up billowing smoke, as towering columns of water geyser up around her. The carrier Soryu is burning fiercely from stem to stern under a cloud of mushrooming smoke. In the center a light cruiser's stern rises up as she makes her final plunge. On the horizon 1000-pound bombs have hit two battleships and both are beginning to burn. A zero trailing smoke dives into the sea. This painting is based on the recollections of Ensign George Gay of Torpedo 8, who watched the battle from the ocean after his plane was shot down in the first wave against the Japanese. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

The Japanese aircraft carrier Kaga lays helpless in the foreground with the planes she sought so hard to launch caught on the deck while the other aircraft carrier Akagi burns. Drawing, charcoal and pastel, by Griffith Baily Coale, c. 1942.

On the last day of the battle the two heavy cruisers the Mogami and Mikuma were attacked by American forces. The Mogami was heavily damaged and escaped, but the Mikuma was not so lucky. Drawing, charcoal on paper, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

As fires rage on board USS Yorktown, the ship, with its escort USS Hammonn is viewed through the periscope of a Japanese submarine.  The underwater enemy is able to launch several torpedoes hitting both ships.  The destroyer sank in four minutes while the aircraft went to its watery grave the following day. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, c. 1975.

Singled out for attack by aircraft from the Japanese carrier Hiryu, USS Yorktown underwent a severe attack. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, c. 1975.

With his .30-caliber machine gun jammed, Aviation Radioman Third Class Lloyd Childers resorts to firing his pistol at Zero fighters swarming after his lumbering TBD Devastator torpedo bomber during the Battle of Midway. Painting by John Greaves.

After a successful attack on the Japanese Fleet, a Dauntless dive bomber returns to the fleet defending Midway Island. Painting, oil on canvas, by Sam Massette, c. 2000.

During the night of 5 June 1942, the Japanese cruiser Mogami and Mikuma collided with each other while withdrawing from the Battle of Midway.  One day later they were noticed and attacked by American aircraft.  Also visible is the destroyer Arashi near the damaged cruiser.  While Mogami and 2 other screening destroyers were able to escape, IJN Mikuma sank. Painting, oil on wood, by John Hamilton, c. 1975.

Deserted and gaunt, the sea around her stained with her thick black blood, the Mikuma capsizes to port and sinks as the setting sun disappears in the west. Drawing, charcoal on paper, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

The tanks filled with useless sludge burst into flames and send their black smoke rolling up like a smaller Pear Harbor during the attack on Midway Islands on June 4th. When the fire had ceased and the smoke had blown away, there remained burnt trees naked against the colorful sea, with a white sand dike surrounding the distorted shapes - the one at the right like a dead sperm whale in a dry pond. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

Marine stands at parade rest on the bow of a PT boat as she moves slowly out to sea from Midway to give decent burial to Japanese fliers shot down on the islands during the battle. The red ball of the rising sun is prophetically repeated by the round disc and spreading rays of the sinking sun. Painting, oil on canvas, by Griffith Baily Coale, 1942.

Battle of Midway.

Movements during the battle, according to William Koenig in Epic Sea Battles.

The aircraft that participated in the Battle of Midway.

Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) pilots photographed on board USS Hornet (CV-8), circa mid-May 1942, shortly before the Battle of Midway. They are:

Front row, kneeling, left to right: Ensign Harold J. Ellison; Ensign Henry R. Kenyon; Ensign John P. Gray; Ensign George H. Gay, Jr.; Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Jeff D. Woodson; Ensign William W. Creamer; Aviation Pilot First Class Robert B. Miles.

Back row, standing, left to right: Lieutenant James C. Owens, Jr.; Ensign E.L. Fayle; Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron, Squadron Commanding Officer; Lieutenant Raymond A. Moore; Ensign Ulvert M. Moore; Ensign William R. Evans; Ensign Grant W. Teats; Lieutenant (Junior Grade) George M. Campbell.

Torpedo Squadron Three (VT-3) squadron pilots, photographed Naval Air Station, Kaneohe, Hawaii, in late May 1942, just before the Battle of Midway. Most of these men lost their lives in that action. Those present include:

In front, seated, left to right: Ensign Carl A. Osberg, USNR; Machinist John R. Baker, USN; Ensign Oswald A. Powers, USNR; Ensign David J. Roche, USNR; Ensign Donald E. Weissenborn, USNR; Radio Electrician Werner I. Weis, USN.

Second row, seated, left to right: Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Richard W. Suesens, USNR; Lieutenant Patrick H. Hart, USN, Executive Officer; Lieutenant Commander Lance E. Massey, USN, Commanding Officer; Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Curtis W. Howard, USN; Lieutenant (Junior Grade) John N. Myers, USN; Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Fred C. Herriman, USNR.

Third row, standing, left to right: Machinist Harry L. Corl, USN; Ensign Wesley F. Osmus, USNR; Ensign Otho W. Schneider, USNR; Ensign John M. Armitage, USNR; Ensign Gerald R. Stablein, USNR; Ensign Leonard L. Smith, USNR; Chief Machinist's Mate John W. Haas, USN; Chief Aviation Pilot Wilhelm G. Esders, USN.

The pilots of the U.S. Marine Corps scout bomber squadron VMSB-241 on Midway between 17 April (when Henderson took command) and 28 May 1942 (when Frazer and Smith were detached). Those marked with an “X” were killed during the upcoming Battle of Midway, June 4-6, 1942 (left to right, all USMCR(V) unless otherwise noted):

Front row, seated: 2nd Lt. Albert W. Tweedy; 1st Lt. Bruce Posser (wearing sandals); Maj. Lofton R. Henderson, USMC (CO); Capt. Leo R. Smith, USMC (XO); 1st Lt. Elmer G. Gidden, Jr.

Middle row, kneeling: 2nd Lt. Thomas J. Gratzek; 2nd Lt. Robert W. Vaupell; 1st Lt. Daniel Iverson, Jr.; 2nd Lt. Jese D. Rollow, Jr.; 2nd Lt. Harold G. Schlendering; Tech. Sgt. (NAP) Clyde H. Stamps, USMC;

Rear row, standing: 2nd Lt. Maurice A. Ward; 1st Lt. Richard L Blain; 2nd Lt. Sumner H. Whitten; 2nd Lt. Thomas F. Moore, Jr.; 1st Lt. Armond M. DeLalio; 2nd Lt. Bruce Ek; 1st lt Leon M. Williamson; 1st Lt. Richard E. Fleming; 2nd Lt. Robert J. Bear; MARGUN (NAP) Howard C. Fraser, USMC; 2nd Lt. Bruno P. Hagedorn.

Aerial photograph of Midway Atoll, looking just south of west across the southern side of the atoll, 24 November 1941. Eastern Island, then the site of Midway's airfield, is in the foreground. Sand Island, location of most other base facilities, is across the entrance channel.

Second Lieutenant Francis P. McCarthy, USMCR of Marine Fighting Squadron 221 (VMF-221), at left, is congratulated by Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander-in-Chief, Pacific, after he was presented with the Distinguished Flying Cross for his part in shooting down a Japanese Kawanishi Type 2 (H8K) flying boat near Midway on 10 March 1942. The ceremonies took place on Midway on 2 May 1942. Among the others present are Lieutenant Colonel Ira Kimes, Commanding Officer, Marine Air Group 22 (in center), Lieutenant Colonel Omar Pfeiffer, USMC (3rd from right, holding citations), and Commander Cyril T. Simard, USN, Commanding Officer, Naval Air Station, Midway (2nd from right, wearing helmet and black tie). McCarthy was killed in action on 4 June 1942, while defending Midway from the Japanese air attack.

U.S. Army Air Force Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress bombers of the 431st Bombardment Squadron take off from the airfield on Eastern Island, Midway Atoll, on the afternoon of 31 May 1942. The plane in the center is an early-model B-17E-BO (s/n 41-2397), with a Bendix remotely controlled belly turret, flown by 1st Lt. Kinney.

A U.S. Army Air Force Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress being serviced on Eastern Island, Midway Islands, in late May or early June 1942.

A U.S. Army Air Force Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress on Eastern Island, Midway Islands, in late May or early June 1942.

A U.S. Army Air Force Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress taking off from Eastern Island, Midway Islands, in late May or early June 1942.

USS Vincennes (CA-44) at Pearl Harbor, circa 26-28 May 1942, prior to departing to take part in the Battle of Midway. A Curtiss SOC floatplane is in the left foreground.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) arrives at Pearl Harbor after the Battle of Coral Sea, 27 May 1942, with her crew paraded in whites on the flight deck. After repairs, she departed on 30 May to take part in the Battle of Midway. The tug Hoga (YT-146) is in the center foreground. The mainmast of the sunken USS Arizona (BB-39) is visible in the distance, just right of Yorktown's stern.

USS Astoria (CA-34) arriving at Pearl Harbor with Task Force 17, 27 May 1942, following the Battle of Coral Sea and shortly before the Battle of Midway. Her crew is in whites, paraded at quarters on the forecastle, and a motor launch is being lowered by her port boat crane.

The U.S. Navy aircraft carrier USS Yorktown (CV-5) in Dry Dock No. 1 at the Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard, 29 May 1942, receiving urgent repairs for damage received in the Battle of Coral Sea. She left Pearl Harbor the next day to participate in the Battle of Midway. USS West Virginia (BB-48), sunk in the 7 December 1941 Japanese air attack, is being salvaged in the left distance.

Grumman F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighters of Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3) receiving maintenance in a revetment at Naval Air Station, Kaneohe, Oahu, 29 May 1942, shortly before VF-3 joined USS Yorktown (CV-5) to participate in the Battle of Midway. The plane on the left is Bureau # 5167. That on the right is Bureau # 5149. Note camouflage netting covering the open top of this revetment.

Grumman F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighter (BuNo. 5171), of Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3) at Naval Air Station, Kaneohe, Oahu, on 29 May 1942, with ground crewmen folding the starboard wing. On 4 June 1942, in the Battle of Midway, this plane was flown by Lieutenant Commander John S. Thach, VF-3's Commanding Officer, during the afternoon combat air patrol defending USS Yorktown (CV-5), wherein Thach probably shot down Lieutenant Joichi Tomonaga, leader of the attacking Japanese torpedo planes.

USS Enterprise (CV-6). Lieutenant Commander Eugene E. Lindsey's Douglas TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo bomber (BuNo. 0370) sinking astern of the carrier after a deck landing accident on 28 May 1942. Plane guard destroyer, USS Monaghan (DD-354) is in the left background. Enterprise was then en route to the Midway area. LCdr. Lindsey, Commanding Officer of Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6), was flying out with the rest of the air group to join the ship when the crash took place. He, and the other members of the plane's crew, were rescued by Monaghan.

Lieutenant Commander Eugene E. Lindsey, USN, Commanding Officer of Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6)is assisted into a breeches bouy for transfer from USS Monaghan (DD-354) to USS Enterprise (CV-6) on 31 May 1942, while the ships were en route to the Midway area. He had been picked up by the destroyer on 28 May, after his TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo bomber had crashed attempting to land on the carrier. Aviation Radioman First Class Charles T. Granat is partially visible behind Lindsey, waiting his turn on the "high line". The other member of the plane's crew, Chief Aviation Pilot Thomas E. Schaeffer is standing with hands in pockets, just to left of the transfer group. Lindsey and Granat were killed in action attacking the Japanese fleet on 4 June 1942.

Aviation Radioman First Class Charles T. Granat, USN, Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) aircrewman prepares to ride a breeches bouy from USS Monaghan (DD-354) to USS Enterprise (CV-6) on 31 May 1942, while the ships were en route to the Midway area. He had been picked up by the destroyer on 28 May, after the TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo bomber in which he was a passenger crashed attempting to land on the carrier. Granat was killed in action attacking the Japanese fleet on 4 June 1942.

Aviation Radioman First Class Charles T. Granat, USN, Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) aircrewman rides a breeches bouy from USS Monaghan (DD-354) to USS Enterprise (CV-6) on 31 May 1942, while the ships were en route to the Midway area. He had been picked up by the destroyer on 28 May, after the TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo bomber in which he was a passenger crashed attempting to land on the carrier. Granat was killed in action attacking the Japanese fleet on 4 June 1942. Note fully-equipped life rafts and canvas-covered 5"/38 loading practice machine on Monaghan.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the sighting of the Japanese minesweepers Tama Maru No. 3 and Tama Maru No. 5 by a Midway-based PBY flown by Ensign James P.O. Lyle, at 0904 on 3 June 1942. These ships had left Wake on 31 May, and were the first units of the Japanese invasion force to be spotted en route to Midway.

Crew of the Patrol Squadron 44 (VP-44) PBY-5A "Catalina" patrol bomber that found the approaching Japanese fleet's Midway Occupation Force on the morning of 3 June 1942. Those present are (standing, left to right):

Aviation Machinist's Mate 2nd Class R.J. Derouin; Chief Aviation Radioman Francis Musser; Ensign Hardeman (Copilot); Ensign J. H. Reid (Pilot)--on wheel — and Ensign R.A. Swan (Navigator).

Kneeling are (left to right): Aviation Machinist's Mate 1st Class J.F. Gammell (Naval Aviation Pilot); Aviation Machinist's Mate 3rd Class J. Goovers and Aviation Machinist's Mate 3rd Class P.A. Fitzpatrick.

A U.S. Navy Consolidated PBY-5 Catalina off Sand Island, Midway Islands, after having returned from a patrol in late May or early June 1942.

An injured or exhausted rescued U.S. Navy flight crew man is taken on a stretcher out of a Consolidated PBY-5 Catalina on Midway Islands, after the Battle of Midway in June 1942.

A U.S. Navy PT boat off Sand Island, Midway Islands, in May or June 1942.

A U.S. Marine Corps Vought SB2U-3 Vindicator dive bomber of Marine scout bombing squadron VMSB-241 taking off from Eastern Island, Midway Atoll, during the Battle of Midway, June 4, 1942. This aircraft was flown on June 4 by 2nd Lt. George T. Lumpkin (pilot) and Pfc. George A. Toms (gunner) in an attack on the Japanese battleship Haruna.

U.S. Marine Corps Vought SB2U-3 Vindicator dive bombers of Marine scout bombing squadron VMSB-241 taking off from Eastern Island, Midway Atoll, during the Battle of Midway, 4-6 June 1942.

U.S. Marine Corps Vought SB2U-3 Vindicator dive bombers of Marine scout bombing squadron VMSB-241 taking off from Eastern Island, Midway Atoll, during the Battle of Midway, June 4, 1942. Note the USAAF B-17E in the background.

U.S. Marines of the 6th Defense Battalion on Sand Island, Midway Islands, in May 1942.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the lead elements of Marine Fighting Squadron 221 (VMF-221) intercepting the Japanese air strike formation headed toward Midway in the morning of 4 June 1942. Planes in the foreground are F4F-3 Wildcat fighters.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the air battle between Marine Fighting Squadron 221 (VMF-221) F2A-3 Buffalo and F4F-3 Wildcat fighters and Japanese Navy Type 00 carrier fighters, as the Marines attempted to intercept the Japanese bomber formation en route to attack Midway in the morning of 4 June 1942.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the Japanese carrier air attack on Midway in the morning of 4 June 1942. Two Type 00 carrier fighters are at left. Eastern Island airfield is under attack in lower center. Sand Island is in the upper left center, with hits visible in the vicinity of the seaplane hangar.

Eastern Island, Midway Islands, under attack from Japanese aircraft on June 4, 1942.

A machine gun firing on Sand Island, Midway Islands, during Japanese air raid on June 4, 1942.

Flak bursts around a Japanese plane attacking Midway Islands on June 4, 1942.

Three U.S. Marine Corps Brewster F2A-3 Buffalo fighters from Marine Fighting Squadron VMF-221 over Midway, in May/June 1942.

A U.S. Marine Corps Brewster F2A-3 Buffalo (BuNo 01552) from Marine Fighting Squadron VMF-221 flown by 2nd Lt. Hank Ellis over Naval Air Station North Island, California, in November 1941. This aircraft was flown by 2nd Lt. Charles M. Hughes during the Battle of Midway and later crashed in a swamp near NAS Miami, Florida, after the pilot bailed out after an engine failure on November 13, 1942.

Burning oil tanks on Sand Island, Midway, following the Japanese air attack delivered on the morning of 4 June 1942. These tanks were located near what was then the southern shore of Sand Island. This view looks inland from the vicinity of the beach. Three Laysan Albatross ("Gooney Bird") chicks are visible in the foreground.

Shell damage to the laundry building (foreground), following the raid carried out by Japanese destroyers Ushio and Sazanami on 7 December 1941. View looks about southwest, along Sand Island's southern side. This building was hit again, by Japanese air attack on 4 June 1942, during the Battle of Midway, as seen in the next photo.

Damage on Sand Island, Midway, following the Japanese air attack delivered on the morning of 4 June 1942. This view, probably photographed from the powerplant roof, looks roughly southwest, along what was then Sand Island's southern shore. Building in the foreground is the laundry, which was badly damaged by a bomb. Oil tanks are burning in the distance. Note pilings and surf in the left distance.

A burning oil tank on Sand Island, Midway Islands, after the Japanese air raid on June 4, 1942.

A burning oil tank on Sand Island, Midway Atoll, after the Japanese air raid on June 4, 1942.

The U.S. flag in front of burning oil tanks after the Japanese air raid on Sand Island, Midway Atoll, on June 4, 1942.

A burning building on Sand Island, Midway Islands, after the Japanese air raid on June 4, 1942.

Firefighting crews at work in the burned-out seaplane hangar on Sand Island, Midway, following the 4 June 1942 Japanese air attack. What appear to be Packard PT Boat engines are in the rubble in the left background.

Oil tanks burning on Sand Island, Midway, during the night of 4-5 June 1942. They had been set afire by Japanese air attack on morning of 4 June. Light from this fire guided at least one Marine aviator back to Midway after an attempted night attack mission against Japanese ships on 4-5 June. This view looks roughly southwest along what was then Sand Island's southern shore.

Damage to the radio transmission building on Sand Island, Midway Atoll, following Japanese raid on 4 June 1942.

The burning seaplane hangar on Sand Island, Midway Islands, June 4, 1942.

Interior of the burning seaplane hangar after the Japanese attack on Sand Island, Midway Atoll, on June 4, 1942.

Damage at Midway Island following Japanese air raid, June 4, 1942. Shown is the roof of a hangar.

Damage at Midway Island following Japanese air raid, June 4, 1942. Shell hole in the roof of the laundry.

Damage at Midway Island following Japanese air raid on June 4, 1942. Shown is a Consolidated PBY Catalina burning in a hangar.

Servicemen standing in  a row behind line of flag-draped bodies from the battle during memorial services for those killed, June 4-7, 1942.

Damaged and partially disassembled Grumman F4F-3 Wildcat fighter (Bureau # 4006) on Sand Island, Midway, circa 24-25 June 1942. This plane, a unit of Marine Fighting Squadron 221 (VMF-221), was flown by Captain John F. Carey, USMC, during the squadron's attack on incoming Japanese planes on the morning of 4 June. Carey was wounded in this action. Several other planes are visible right background, including F2A-3 Buffalo fighters. This view looks roughly southwest from near the foot of the Sand Island pier. The seaplane hangar, which was heavily damaged by Japanese bombs on 4 June, is in the left background. Note truck in the middle distance, following a Marine sentry through a gap in the barbed wire defenses.

The crew or a U.S. Army Air Forces Martin B-26 Marauder (s/n 40-1391, "Susie-Q") from the 18th Reconnaissance Squadron (Medium), 22nd Bomb Group, which made torpedo-attack on the Japanese carriers in the early morning of 4 June 1942 during the Battle of Midway: Pilot Lt. James P. Muri (second from left, front row), co-pilot Lt. Pren L. Moore, navigator Lt. William W. Moore, bombardier Lt. Russell Johnson, gunners S/Sgt. John J. Gogoj, Cpl. Frank L. Melo Jr, and Pfc. Earl D. Ashley 1st. The plane had more than 500 bullet holes when it landed at Midway and was written off. The crew was allowed to cut out the nose-art "Susie-Q" before the plane was dumped at sea.

A U.S. Navy Grumman TBF-1 Avenger of Torpedo Squadron VT-8 sitting on the flight line at Naval Air Station Norfolk, Virginia, early 1942. This plane was the sole surviving VT-8 plane during the Battle of Midway.

A Grumman TBF-1 Avenger (BuNo 00380, coded 8-T-1) from Torpedo Squadron 8 (VT-8), soon after returning to Naval Air Station Midway from the morning strike against the Japanese fleet in the Battle of Midway on June 4, 1942. The TBF flown by Ensign Bert Earnest was the sole surviving plane of 21 aircraft of VT-8 on that day. Earnest landed the damaged plane on one wheel at Eastern Island, Midway Atoll.

The sole surviving U.S. Navy Grumman TBF-1 Avenger (BuNo 00380, side number 8-T-1) of Torpedo Squadron 8 (VT-8) on Midway's Eastern island, shortly after the Battle of Midway, on 4 June 1942.

Picture of the only survivor of six Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) Grumman TBF Avengers that had attacked the Japanese carrier force in the morning of 4 June 1942. Seaman 1st Class Jay D. Manning, who was operating the .50 caliber machinegun turret, was killed in action with Japanese fighters during the attack. The plane's pilot was Ensign Albert K. Earnest and the other crewman was Radioman 3rd Class Harry H. Ferrier. Both survived the action. The plane (TBF-1, BuNo 00380) was photographed near the foot of the Sand Island pier, Midway, on 24 June 1942, prior to shipment to the United States for evaluation.

Rear cockpit and .50 caliber machinegun turret of the only survivor of six Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) Grumman TBF Avengers that had attacked the Japanese carrier force in the morning of 4 June 1942. Seaman 1st Class Jay D. Manning, who was operating the .50 caliber machinegun turret, was killed in action with Japanese fighters during the attack. Damage to the turret can be seen in this view. The plane's pilot was Ensign Albert K. Earnest and the other crewman was Radioman 3rd Class Harry H. Ferrier. Both survived the action. Ship in the left background is probably USS Ballard (AVD-10).

USS Enterprise (CV-6) entering Pearl Harbor on 26 May 1942, following the Battle of Coral Sea and shortly before the Battle of Midway.

Douglas TBD-1 torpedo plane, of Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) in flight, circa late 1941. Note the black marking "6-T-13" on the plane's fuselage side.

Douglas TBD-1 Devastator torpedo plane, of Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) approaches USS Enterprise (CV-6) to land, 4 May 1942. Note Landing Signal Officer at left.

USS Enterprise (CV-6) steaming at high speed at about 0725 hrs, 4 June 1942, seen from USS Pensacola (CA-24). The carrier has launched Scouting Squadron Six (VS-6) and Bombing Squadron Six (VB-6) and is striking unlaunched SBD aircraft below in preparation for respotting the flight deck with torpedo planes and escorting fighters. USS Northampton (CA-26) is in the right distance, with SBDs orbiting overhead, awaiting the launch of the rest of the attack group. Three hours later, VS-6 and VB-6 fatally bombed the Japanese carriers Akagi and Kaga.

Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) TBD-1 aircraft are prepared for launching on USS Enterprise (CV-6) at about 0730-0740 hrs, 4 June 1942. Eleven of the fourteen TBDs launched from Enterprise are visible. Three more TBDs and ten F4F fighters must still be pushed into position before launching can begin. The TBD in the left front is Number Two (Bureau # 1512), flown by Ensign Severin L. Rombach and Aviation Radioman 2nd Class W.F. Glenn. Along with eight other VT-6 aircraft, this plane and its crew were lost attacking Japanese aircraft carriers somewhat more than two hours later. USS Pensacola (CA-24) is in the right distance and a destroyer is in plane guard position at left.

An SBD Dauntless scout-bomber and five TBD-1 Devastator torpedo planes prepare to take-off from the carrier Enterprise during operations in the south Pacific area, 4 May 1942. Note launching officer making arm signals in the lower left-center. Take-offs averaged one every thirty seconds.

Aviation Ordnanceman Second Class Clifton R. Bassett, of Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3), is carried down the flight deck of USS Enterprise (CV-6), 4 June 1942. He was wounded by Japanese aircraft gunfire while VB-3 was attacking Hiryu. Bassett was radioman/gunner of the SBD Dauntless scout-bomber flown by Ensign Bunyan R. Cooner, USNR, seen here walking to the right of the stretcher party. Photographed looking forward from the carrier's island. Note flight deck distance markings and aircraft tie-down strips.

Aviation Ordnanceman Second Class Clifton R. Bassett, of Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3), is carried from the flight deck of USS Enterprise (CV-6), 4 June 1942. He had been wounded by Japanese aircraft while VB-3 was attacking Hiryu. Bassett was radioman/gunner of the SBD Dauntless scout-bomber flown by Ensign Bunyan R. Cooner, USNR, seen here at top center wearing an inflatable life jacket. Photographed looking forward from the carrier's island. Note flight deck details, including wooden decking, metal tie-down strips, palisade and flight deck distance markings. Aircraft wheel chocks are piled at the right.

USS Hornet (CV-8) underway in the Southern Pacific, 15 May 1942, a week after the Battle of Coral Sea and the day before she was recalled to Pearl Harbor to prepare for the Battle of Midway.

USS Hornet (CV-8) enters Pearl Harbor, 26 May 1942. She left two days later to take part in the Battle of Midway. Photographed from Ford Island Naval Air Station, with two aircraft towing tractors parked in the center foreground.

USS Hornet (CV-8) at Pearl Harbor, 26 May 1942, just after the Battle of Coral Sea, and just before the Battle of Midway. Harbor tug Nokomis (YT-142) is underway alongside her. Note paint chipped off Hornet's waterline area by wave action while at sea.

Ensign George Gay (right), sole survivor of VT-8 at Midway, standing beside his TBD Devastator on June 4, 1942 before the Battle of Midway. The other crewman pictured is his rear gunner.

June 4, 1942, 0900 hrs., F4Fs and SBDs on the Hornet prepare to take off for the Battle of Midway.

A U.S. Navy Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless of bombing squadron VB-8 on deck of the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) during the Battle of Midway, June 4, 1942.

The last Douglas TBD-1 Devastator of U.S. torpedo squadron VT-8, T-16 (BuNo 1506), flown by Lt. Cmdr. John C. Waldron with Horace Franklin Dobbs, CRMP, in the rear seat, taking off from the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) on June 4, 1942, during the Battle of Midway. This still was taken from a film made by John D. Ford after the battle.

A Douglas TBD-1 Devastator (BuNo 0308) from U.S. torpedo squadron VT-8, No. T-5, taxiing up the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV 8), circa May 15, 1942. This aircraft has already been equipped with twin .30 caliber rear mount and is carrying a live torpedo. It was lost on June 4, 1942 with its crew LT(jg) Jeff Davis Woodson and ARM2c Otway David Creasy, Jr.

A VB-8 SBD lands far off center, flying right over the head of the Landing Signal Officer aboard USS Hornet during the Battle of Midway, on June 4, 1942.

A U.S. Navy Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless of Bombing Squadron VB-8 or Scouting Squadron VS-8 landing on the aircraft carrier USS Hornet (CV-8) during the Battle of Midway, 4 June 1942. Note the personnel wearing battle gear and the pilot in full flight gear, including leather helmet, Mae West, and flight suit. VB-8 and VS-8 did not locate the Japanese fleet during operations on 4 June 1942, losing six aircraft between them. However, on 6 June the squadrons participated in attacks against the Japanese cruisers Mogami and Mikuma.

As Aviation Radioman Second Class Oral "Slim" Moore looks on, Ensign William Carter points to friendly fire damage their Dauntless suffered over Midway on 4 June 1942. Low on fuel, the pair were forced to land on the atoll's Eastern Island after a fruitless search for the Japanese task force that day.

Lieutenant Commander John S. Thach, USN photographed in the cockpit of an F4F Wildcat fighter, 10 April 1942, while commanding Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3). Japanese flags on the plane commemorate "kills" Thach made while flying from USS Lexington (CV-2) on 20 February 1942.

Lieutenant Commander John S. Thach, USN, Commanding Officer, Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3) photographed on 5 May 1942, in the cockpit of a Grumman F4F Wildcat fighter plane. Note "victory" markings painted below the cockpit.

Lieutenant Edward H. ("Butch") O'Hare, USN, (left) and Lieutenant Commander John S. Thach, USN shaking hands in front of a Grumman F4F Wildcat fighter plane at an Oahu air base, circa April-May 1942. Both men were assigned to Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3), of which Thach was Commanding Officer.

Lieutenant Commander Lance E. Massey, USN, Commanding Officer, Torpedo Squadron Three (VT-3) seated in his Douglas TBD-1 Devastator torpedo plane, at Naval Air Station Ford Island, Pearl Harbor, 24 May 1942. Massey was killed in action on 4 June 1942, while leading VT-3 in an attack on the Japanese carrier force during the Battle of Midway. Note "Victory" flag marking on the plane, representing the sinking of a Japanese ship during the Marshall Islands Raid, 1 February 1942, when he was Executive Officer of Torpedo Squadron Six (VT-6) on USS Enterprise (CV-6).

A Douglas SBD-3 "Dauntless" scout bomber warming up on USS Yorktown, in the late morning of 4 June 1942. It is Number 17 of "Scouting" Squadron Five (the temporarily redesignated Bombing Squadron Five), piloted by Ensign Leif Larsen, but was apparently not one of ten "VS"-5 planes launched on a scouting mission shortly before noon on 4 June. Another of the squadron's SBDs succeeded in locating Hiryu, the only Japanese aircraft carrier of the Midway striking force that was still operational. The next plane, at right, is "VS"-5's Number 4, which did fly the scouting mission, piloted by Lieutenant John Nielsen.

A Grumman F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighter (Bureau # 5244) takes off from USS Yorktown (CV-5) on combat air patrol, during the morning of 4 June 1942. This plane is Number 13 of Fighting Squadron Three (VF-3), flown by the squadron Executive Officer, Lieutenant (Junior Grade) William N. Leonard. Photographed by Photographer Second Class William G. Roy, from the ship's forecastle. Note .50 caliber machinegun at right and mattresses hung on the lifeline for splinter-protection.

A U.S. Navy Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless scout bomber, of Bombing Squadron Six (VB-6) from the USS Enterprise (CV 6), after landing on the USS Yorktown (CV 5) at about 1140 hrs on June 4, 1942, during the Battle of Midway. This plane, damaged during the attack on the Japanese aircraft carrier Kaga that morning, landed on the Yorktown as it was low on fuel. It was later lost with the carrier. Its crew, Ensign George H. Goldsmith, pilot, and Radioman 1st Class James W. Patterson, Jr., are still in the cockpit. The damage to the horizontal tail attests to the fact that the SBDs attack was no cakewalk.

A U.S. Navy Douglas SBD-3 "Dauntless" scout bomber (BuNo 4542), of Bombing Squadron Six (VB-6) from USS Enterprise (CV-6), after landing on USS Yorktown (CV-5) at about 1140 hrs on 4 June 1942, during the Battle of Midway. This plane, damaged during the attack on the Japanese aircraft carrier Kaga that morning, landed on Yorktown as it was low on fuel. It was later lost with the carrier. Its crew, Ensign George H. Goldsmith, pilot, and Radioman 1st Class James W. Patterson, Jr., are still in the cockpit. Note damage to the horizontal tail.

An junior officer poses with a 20mm gun on USS Yorktown (CV-5), during the morning of 4 June 1942. This gun is one of five in Yorktown's after port 20mm battery. Several SBD-3 "Dauntless" scout bombers are parked on the flight deck alongside these guns. Note the officer's leather jacket, goggles and barely visible rank bar on his collar. Also note the white rubber eye cup on the gun's open sight. These eye cups were still present on some of Yorktown's 20mm guns when she was examined in May 1998.

Two crewmen pass the time with a game of "acey-deucey" on board USS Yorktown (CV-5), during the morning of 4 June 1942. They are playing on the working platform of one of the ship's eight 5"/38 dual-purpose guns. Note rubber mat on the deck below this gun mount.

View of the upper after end of USS Yorktown's island, taken on 4 June 1942, during the battle.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) underway with her air group on the flight deck, 4 June 1942, probably about 0630-0730 hrs, following recovery of her morning search and respotting the flight deck with her strike group. Several SBD scout bombers are on deck alongside and forward of the island, with many other planes densely parked aft. TBD torpedo bombers are at the flight deck's rear.

An SBD "Dauntless" scout bomber passes low over USS Yorktown (CV-5), possibly to drop a message, 4 June 1942. Planes parked aft appear to be TBD torpedo planes, indicating that the photo was taken sometime before 0840 hrs, when Yorktown launched her aircraft to attack the Japanese aircraft carrier force.

A U.S. Navy Douglas TBD-1 Devastator torpedo plane, carrying a Mk. XIII torpedo, en route to attack the Japanese carrier force during the morning of 4 June 1942. This plane is probably from Torpedo Squadron 3 (VT-3), launched from USS Yorktown (CV-5) at about 0840 hrs. VT-3 lost ten out of its twelve Devastators that day.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting combat air patrol intercepting the incoming Japanese dive bomber raid on USS Yorktown (CV-5), at about noon on 4 June 1942. Most of the Japanese planes were shot down by F4F-4 fighters, but several survived to drop bombs on or near Yorktown. Markings on the F4Fs are not accurate for this time period, as the fuselage stars are too small.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) under attack by Japanese dive bombers from the carrier Hiryu, shortly after noon on 4 June 1942, as seen from USS Astoria (CA-34). One Aichi Type 99 carrier bomber is falling ahead of the ship, with its tail shot off. A bomb has just hit a few hundred feet astern.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) under attack by Japanese dive bombers, shortly after noon on 4 June 1942, as seen from USS Portland (CA-35). She has been hit just aft of the midships elevator, with white smoke visible streaming from that area. This bomb exploded on the flight deck, causing many casualties in the vicinity. It also started fires in the hangar below, but these were quickly extinguished. Foreground objects are the wing and tail of two of Portland's SOC floatplanes.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) after being hit by Japanese bombs shortly after noon on 4 June 1942, as seen from USS Astoria (CA-34). This view was taken fairly soon after the ship lost power and stopped, as F4F-4 fighters are still spotted forward, where they were during the attack. Fires are burning in her uptakes. Men are working on the flight deck to cover bomb entry holes in the forward elevator and alongside the island and a large bomb hole just aft of the midships elevator. Note SOC floatplane on Astoria's starboard catapult, at left, with a crane in the foreground.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) after being hit by Japanese bombs shortly after noon on 4 June 1942. This view was taken shortly after the ship lost power and stopped, while F4F-4 fighters were still spotted forward, their location during the attack. Fires are burning in Yorktown's uptakes.

View looking astern on USS Pensacola (CA-24) as she steams to the aid of USS Yorktown (CV-5) during the early afternoon of 4 June 1942. Ships following are probably USS Benham (DD-397), at left, and USS Vincennes (CA-44). Wake at far right is probably that of USS Balch (DD-363). These four ships were detached from Task Force 16 to augment the screen of the nearby Task Force 17 after Yorktown was hit and temporarily stopped by Japanese dive bombers.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) afire, stopped and surrounded by her escorts, after being hit by Japanese bombs shortly after noon on 4 June 1942. This view was taken after flight deck repairs had progressed far enough to allow respotting aircraft. The planes, F4F-4 fighters that were parked forward during the attack, are in the process of being moved aft, to takeoff position. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24).

USS Yorktown (CV-5) afire and dead in the water, with several of her escorts steaming nearby. She had been hit by Japanese dive bombers shortly after noon on 4 June 1942. This view was taken about an hour after she was hit, once F4F-4 fighters, which were parked forward during the attack, had been moved to the after end of her flight deck. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). The larger ship to the left of Yorktown is USS Portland (CA-35).

USS Yorktown (CV-5) dead in the water after being hit by Japanese bombs on 4 June 1942. The ship was hit shortly after noon. This view was taken about an hour later, with fires still burning in her uptakes but other immediate repairs well advanced. F4F-4 fighters that had been parked at the forward end of the flight deck during the attack have been respotted aft, in take off position. Two SBD-3 scout bombers can be seen through the open sides of her after hangar bay.

Two SBD-3 scout bombers fly near USS Yorktown (CV-5) at about 1330 hrs on 4 June. The carrier is still dead in the water and unable to recover aircraft. These two planes are probably those piloted by Bombing Squadron Three's Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Commander Maxwell F. Leslie, and Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Paul A. Holmberg, who were returning from attacking the Japanese carrier Soryu. Low on fuel, both ditched nearby and their crews were recovered safely. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). The destroyer steaming by at left is probably USS Russell (DD-414).

Scene on board USS Yorktown (CV-5), shortly after she was hit by three Japanese bombs on 4 June 1942. Dense smoke is from fires in her uptakes, caused by a bomb that punctured them and knocked out her boilers. Taken by Photographer 2nd Class William G. Roy from the starboard side of the flight deck, just in front of the forward 5"/38 gun gallery. Man with hammer at right is probably covering a bomb entry hole in the forward elevator. Note arresting gear cables and forward palisade elements on the flight deck; CXAM radar antenna, large national ensign and YE homing beacon antenna atop the foremast; 5"/38, .50 caliber and 1.1" guns manned and ready at left.

USS Astoria (CA-34) steams by USS Yorktown (CV-5), shortly after the carrier had been hit by three Japanese bombs on 4 June 1942. Dense smoke is from fires in Yorktown's uptakes. Taken by Photographer 2nd Class William G. Roy from the starboard side of the flight deck, just in front of the forward 5"/38 gun gallery. Both guns are manned and ready. Projecting bars beyond the gun barrels are aircraft parking outriggers. Note open sights on the guns and splinter shield plates, fastened together with bolts.

Corpsmen treating casualties on board USS Yorktown (CV-5), shortly after the carrier had been hit by Japanese bombs on 4 June 1942. The dead and wounded were members of the crew of 1.1" machine gun mount # 4, in the center background. They were struck by fragments from a bomb that exploded on the flight deck just aft of the midships elevator. This view looks directly to starboard from the front of the midships elevator. The aircraft crane is at left, with 1.1" gun mount # 3 visible in the upper left corner. Note bearded Chief Petty Officer walking by, flight deck clothing worn by some of those present and fire extinguisher in the lower left.

Repairing bomb damage on board USS Yorktown (CV-5), shortly after the carrier was hit by Japanese bombs on 4 June 1942. This hole, about twelve feet in diameter, was caused by a 250 Kilogram bomb that exploded on contact with the flight deck. Its explosion killed and injured many men on nearby guns and set fires on the hangar deck. Two of the dead are under a cover in the top center, by a battery of .50 caliber machine guns. Photograph looks aft and slightly to starboard from the rear edge of the midships aircraft elevator. The hole was quickly repaired with a timber and steel plate cover, allowing resumption of flight deck activities. This hole, minus the repair, was clearly visible when Yorktown's wreck was examined in May 1998, and looked much as it does in this view.

Scene in the hangar of USS Yorktown (CV-5), 4 June 1942, shortly after fires there from Japanese bomb hits had been extinguished. This rather fuzzy time exposure looks directly aft, with the sloping inner uptake sides at left. One bomb, which detonated on the flight deck just aft of the midships aircraft elevator, set fires in the area seen in the left distance. Note fire hoses on deck, and spare TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo plane (with obsolete markings) hung under the hangar overhead.

Firefighters at work on board USS Yorktown (CV-5), after the ship was hit by three Japanese bombs shortly after noon on 4 June 1942. This view was probably taken in the hangar as crewmen were extinguishing fires set by a bomb that detonated on the flight deck just aft of the midships elevator.

Bomb fragment damage in the hangar of USS Yorktown (CV-5), 4 June 1942. This damage was caused by a bomb that detonated on the flight deck just aft of the midships elevator, sending fragments into the hangar and setting fires that were quickly extinguished. Note water on the deck; also ordnance carts and chain fall mechanism stowed in the area.

Rear Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher, Commander Task Force 17, alongside USS Astoria (CA-34) in the cruiser's Number Two Motor Whaleboat, at about 1300 hrs, 4 June 1942. Fletcher was transferring his flag from the bombed and immobilized USS Yorktown (CV-5). Captain Spencer S. Lewis, CTF-17 Chief of Staff, is just starting up the ladder to board Astoria. Fletcher is behind him, just to the right of the boat's centerline, wearing binoculars with white straps. Commander Chauncey Crutcher, Astoria's Executive Officer, is watching in the upper left. Note letters "AST" on the boat's bow.

USS Astoria (CA-34) stops to pick up the crew of a ditched Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3) SBD-3 scout bomber at about 1342 hrs on 4 June 1942. The downed plane, sinking just astern of the cruiser, was piloted by Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Paul A. Holmberg. A second SBD, flown by VB-3's Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Commander Maxwell F. Leslie, is low in the center, preparing to ditch. A PBY is also nearby, visible just to the left of Leslie's SBD. The two VB-3 planes were returning from attacking the Japanese aircraft carrier Soryu and were unable to land on USS Yorktown (CV-5) after she was hit and temporarily stopped by Japanese dive bombers. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24).

A Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3) SBD-3 scout bomber about to ditch alongside USS Astoria (CA-34) at about 1342-1348 hrs on 4 June 1942. The plane was one of two, flown by Lieutenant Commander Maxwell F. Leslie, the VB-3 Commanding Officer, and Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Paul A. Holmberg, that were returning from attacking the Japanese aircraft carrier Soryu and were unable to land on USS Yorktown (CV-5) after she was hit and temporarily stopped by Japanese dive bombers. Nearly out of fuel, both ditched successfully near Astoria. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24).

An SBD-3 scout bomber, probably flown by the Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3) Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Commander Maxwell F. Leslie, ditches alongside USS Astoria (CA-34) at about 1348 hrs on 4 June 1942. This was one of two VB-3 planes that ditched near Astoria after they were unable to land on the damaged USS Yorktown (CV-5). Photographed from atop Astoria's after superstructure. Note her port aircraft crane, and an SOC floatplane on her port catapult.

A Bombing Squadron Three (VB-3) SBD-3 scout bomber, probably flown by Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Paul A. Holmberg, ditches near USS Astoria (CA-34) at about 1342 hrs on 4 June 1942. This was one of two VB-3 planes that ditched near Astoria after they were unable to land on the damaged USS Yorktown (CV-5). A PBY is flying nearby, in right center.

Japanese Nakajima Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft from the carrier Hiryu fly through anti-aircraft shell bursts while approaching USS Yorktown (CV-5) to deliver a torpedo attack, during the mid-afternoon of 4 June 1942. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). At least five Japanese aircraft are visible in this image, three in a "V" directly below the camera aiming cross, one somewhat further left and one low at the extreme left, next to the "H"-shaped A.A. burst.

The Japanese carrier Hiryu's Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft fly through anti-aircraft shell bursts while closing on USS Yorktown (CV-5) to deliver a torpedo attack, during the mid-afternoon of 4 June 1942. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). At least three Japanese aircraft are visible in this image, in a shallow arc from near the left side to below and right of the camera aiming cross.

A Japanese Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft is shot down while attempting to deliver a torpedo attack on USS Yorktown (CV-5), during the mid-afternoon of 4 June 1942. For another view of this crash, seen from a different ship, see the next photo.

A Japanese Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft crashes, while attempting to deliver a torpedo attack on USS Yorktown (CV-5), during the mid-afternoon of 4 June 1942. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). Small object just to left of the camera aiming cross appears to be a Grumman F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighter banking away. For another view of this crash, seen from a different ship, see the previous photo.

Two of the Japanese carrier Hiryu's Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft (far right) approach the drop point, during the torpedo attack on USS Yorktown (CV-5) in the mid-afternoon of 4 June 1942. The lower plane's Type 91 torpedo is clearly visible below the fuselage. Note heavy anti-aircraft fire, with shell fragments splashing in the water below the bursts. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24).

Two Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft from the Japanese carrier Hiryu fly past USS Yorktown (CV-5), after dropping their torpedoes during the mid-afternoon attack, 4 June 1942. Note heavy anti-aircraft fire. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). The destroyer at left, just beyond Yorktown's bow, is probably USS Morris (DD-417).

Two Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft from the Japanese carrier Hiryu fly past USS Yorktown (CV-5), amid heavy anti-aircraft fire, after dropping their torpedoes during the mid-afternoon attack, 4 June 1942. Yorktown appears to be heeling slightly to port, and may have already been hit by one torpedo. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). The destroyer at left, just beyond Yorktown's bow, is probably USS Morris (DD-417).

Japanese Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft from the carrier Hiryu amid heavy anti-aircraft fire, during the torpedo attack on USS Yorktown (CV-5) in the mid-afternoon, 4 June 1942. At least three planes are visible, the nearest clearly having already dropped its torpedo. The other two are lower and closer to the center, apparently withdrawing. Smoke on the horizon in right center is from a crashed plane. It is possible that the object very close to the horizon, in center, is another attacking aircraft.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) is hit on the port side, amidships, by a Japanese Type 91 aerial torpedo during the mid-afternoon attack by planes from the carrier Hiryu, 4 June 1942. Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24). Yorktown is heeling to port and is seen at a different aspect than in other views taken by Pensacola, indicating that this is the second of the two torpedo hits she received. Note very heavy anti-aircraft fire.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) burning, photographed during the Battle of Midway, June 1942.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) dead in the water and listing heavily, shortly after being hit by two Japanese Type 91 aerial torpedoes during the afternoon of 4 June 1942. This view was taken prior to the ship's abandonment. Section of catwalk jutting above the flight deck, port side amidships, is directly above the place where the torpedoes struck the ship's hull.

View from above the signal station of USS Yorktown (CV-5), 4 June 1942, during the mid-afternoon Japanese aerial torpedo attack. This view looks forward and to port, with the port leg of the tripod foremast at right. Barrels and gun training limit rails of the .50 caliber machine gun battery atop the island are in center, with the flight deck beyond. At the flight deck edge are the port forward 20mm and 5"/38 gun galleries, with gun smoke visible outboard of them.

A Japanese Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft (upper right) approaches USS Yorktown (CV-5) during the mid-afternoon torpedo attack by planes from the carrier Hiryu, 4 June 1942. Photographed from above Yorktown's signal station, immediately aft of her tripod foremast, looking forward and to starboard. Note mast leg with radar wave guide at left and signal halyards across the field of view. A .50 caliber machine gun, one of several mounted atop the island, is at bottom, with gun training limit rails above it.

A Japanese Type 97 shipboard attack aircraft flies near USS Yorktown (CV-5) during the mid-afternoon torpedo attack by planes from the carrier Hiryu, 4 June 1942. This plane, which has already dropped its torpedo, is trailing a thin stream of grey smoke from its port wing. Photographed from one of Yorktown's gun positions, with the shield and barrel of a 20mm gun visible at right.

Scene on the flight deck of USS Yorktown (CV-5) shortly after she was hit by two Japanese aerial torpedoes, 4 June 1942. Men are balancing themselves on the listing deck as they prepare to abandon ship. This view looks aft from alongside the island. F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighter visible in the background is Fighting Squadron Three's Plane # 6 (Bureau # 5165), which had been flown by Ensign Brainard T. Macomber during the morning attacks on the Japanese carrier fleet. Insufficient fuel prevented it from being launched to defend Yorktown from the afternoon torpedo plane attack. Note life jacket worn by man at right.

Looking forward on the flight deck of USS Yorktown (CV-5) shortly after she was hit by two Japanese aerial torpedoes, 4 June 1942. Men are preparing to abandon ship. Island's port side is at right, with the curved supporting structure for the Primary Flight Control booth at top. Knotted lines in the foreground were apparently used to evacuate the island's upper platforms.

Looking to port, amidships, on the flight deck of USS Yorktown (CV-5) shortly after she was hit by two Japanese aerial torpedoes, 4 June 1942. View shows the damaged port side catwalk at between about Frames 83 and 90, which was broken and bent upwards by the explosion of an aerial torpedo on the hull below. Arresting gear wire visible is that located at about Frame 91.5. This appears to be a partial double-exposure, with the second image, at bottom, showing the tail of an F4F aircraft.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) being abandoned by her crew after she was hit by two Japanese Type 91 aerial torpedoes, 4 June 1942. USS Balch (DD-363) is standing by at right. Note oil slick surrounding the damaged carrier, and inflatable life raft being deployed off her stern.

USS Yorktown (CV-5), in the distant left center, being abandoned after suffering torpedo damage, 4 June 1942. A destroyer is standing by off the listing carrier's stern, and USS Vincennes (CA-44) is steaming by in the middle distance.

Destroyers stand by to pick up survivors as USS Yorktown (CV-5) is abandoned during the afternoon of 4 June 1942, following Japanese torpedo plane attacks. Destroyers at left are (left to right): Benham (DD-397), Russell (DD-414), and Balch (DD-363). Destroyer at right is Anderson (DD-411). Photographed from USS Pensacola (CA-24).

USS Yorktown (CV-5) is abandoned after receiving damage from two Japanese aerial torpedoes, 4 June 1942. Destroyers at right are picking up survivors. The most distant of the two destroyers is USS Balch (DD-363).

USS Benham (DD-397), with 720 survivors of USS Yorktown on board, closes USS Portland (CA-33) at about 1900 hrs, 4 June 1942. A report of unidentified aircraft caused Benham to break away before transferring any of the survivors to the cruiser and they remained on board her until the following morning. Note Benham's oil-stained sides. The abandoned Yorktown is in the right distance.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) lists heavily after she was abandoned during the afternoon of 4 June 1942. Note that two F4F-4 "Wildcat" fighters are still parked on her flight deck, aft of the island.

Scene in the hangar of USS Yorktown (CV-5) during salvage operations on 6 June 1942. A Douglas TBD-1 "Devastator" torpedo plane is being prepared for jettisoning, as part of efforts to lighten the listing ship. Photographed by Photographer 2nd Class William G. Roy. This view looks to port, out the forward hangar bay opening, with the sea visible beyond.

USS Hammann (DD-412) at the Charleston Navy Yard, South Carolina, in January 1942, just before she transferred to the Pacific. She is painted in Measure 12 (modified) camouflage.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting USS Hammann (DD-412) alongside USS Yorktown (CV-5) assisting her salvage team, immediately before both ships were torpedoed by Japanese submarine I-168, on 6 June 1942.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the torpedoing of USS Hammann (DD-412) and USS Yorktown (CV-5) by Japanese submarine I-168, during the afternoon of 6 June 1942.

USS Hammann (DD-412) sinking with stern high, after being torpedoed by Japanese submarine I-168 during the Battle of Midway. Photographed from the starboard forecastle deck of USS Yorktown (CV-5) by Photographer 2nd Class William G. Roy. Angular structure in right foreground is the front of Yorktown's forward starboard 5-inch gun gallery. Note knotted lines hanging down from the carrier's flight deck, remaining from her initial abandonment on 4 June.

USS Hammann (DD-412) disappears beneath the waves, after being torpedoed by Japanese submarine I-168 in the afternoon of 6 June 1942. Photographed from the starboard forecastle deck of USS Yorktown (CV-5) by Photographer 2nd Class William G. Roy.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the explosion of depth charges from USS Hammann (DD-412) as she sank alongside USS Yorktown (CV-5) during the afternoon of 6 June 1942. Both ships were torpedoed by Japanese submarine I-168 while Hammann was assisting with the salvage of Yorktown. USS Vireo (AT-144) is shown at left, coming back to pick up survivors, as destroyers head off to search for the submarine.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks forward, with Yorktown's forefoot in the right center. The large hole made by one or two submarine torpedoes is in the center of the photo. Yorktown's starboard forward 5-inch gun gallery is in the left center, with two 5"/38 gun barrels sticking out over its edge. The two larger thin objects sticking up, just aft of the 5-inch guns, are aircraft parking outriggers. When the ship's wreck was examined in May 1998, both guns were still in position, but the outriggers were gone.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks toward the ship's bottom, with Yorktown's bow off camera to the right. The large hole made by one or two submarine torpedoes is in the center of the photo, severing the ship's forward bilge keel. Note the strip of debris sticking up from the hole's lower rear. The stern of one of the ship's accompanying destroyers is in the extreme right distance.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge, with a large torpedo hole amidships severing the forward bilge keel. Yorktown's forefoot is at the extreme right. Her starboard forward 5-inch gun gallery can be seen further up her hull, with two 5"/38 gun barrels sticking out over its edge. The two larger thin objects sticking up, just aft of the 5-inch guns, are aircraft parking outriggers. When the ship's wreck was examined in May 1998, both guns were still in position, but the outriggers were gone.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks toward the ship's bottom, with Yorktown's starboard forward five-inch gun gallery at the right. Her bow is off-camera, further to the right. The large hole, made by one or two submarine torpedoes and severing the ship's forward bilge keel, is in the left center. Note the strip of debris sticking up from the hole's lower rear.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks toward the ship's bottom from off her bow, with Yorktown's forefoot in the right foreground and her starboard forward five-inch gun gallery beyond. The large hole made by one or two submarine torpedoes, severing the ship's forward bilge keel, is toward the left. USS Monaghan (DD-354) is in the left center distance.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) capsized and sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has rolled over to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge, with a large torpedo hole amidships severing the forward bilge keel. Yorktown's forefoot is in the center foreground. The forward starboard corner of her flight deck is near the sea surface at extreme right, with the bow Landing Signal Officer platform extending upward from it.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks aft, with Yorktown's forefoot in the center foreground and the forward end of her flight deck in the right center.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized over to port, with her bow nearest to the camera. Her forefoot is at left, and her forward 1.1" machine gun positions, located just in front of the island, are very near the sea surface at right. Note froth on the water from escaping air.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks aft from off the forward end of Yorktown's flight deck. Her forefoot is at the left. In the center, severing the ship's forward bilge keel, is the large hole made by one or more submarine torpedoes.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge. This view looks toward the ship's starboard flight deck gallery, with her forefoot at the left. The front edge of the flight deck is slightly to the right of the forefoot, with a .50 caliber machine gun tub and the bow Landing Signal Officer platform sticking up. Further aft is her starboard forward five-inch gun gallery, with two 5"/38 guns pointing upwards. Behind them are two aircraft parking outriggers and the front of her forward 1.1-inch machine gun position, located just in front of the island. Beyond that, in the right center, is the large hole made by one or more submarine torpedoes. Note the strip of debris sticking up from the hole's rear end.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge, and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her bilge beyond. Yorktown's forefoot and front edge of her flight deck are toward the left. In the right center is the large hole made by one or more submarine torpedoes. Note the oil slick surrounding the ship.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge, and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her forefoot and front edge of the flight deck in the left center. Note froth at right from escaping air.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port, exposing the turn of her starboard bilge, and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her forefoot and front edge of the flight deck in the left center. Note froth at right from escaping air.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her forefoot and front edge of the flight deck in the left center.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her forefoot and front edge of the flight deck in the center. A .50 caliber machine gun tub is on the front corner of the flight deck, with the ship's bow and its 20mm gun tub visible beyond the flight deck's front.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port and is settling rapidly by the stern. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with her forefoot and front edge of the flight deck in the center.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship has capsized to port and is settling rapidly by the stern, with the speed of her motion perhaps causing the moderate fuzziness of this image. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with the front edge of the flight deck in the center and her forefoot visible beyond.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship, capsized to port, is settling rapidly by the stern, with the speed of her motion perhaps causing the extreme fuzziness of this image. This view looks over the ship's upper starboard structure, with the front edge of the flight deck and her bow in the center.

USS Yorktown (CV-5) sinking, just after dawn on 7 June 1942, as seen from an accompanying destroyer. The ship, capsized to port, is settling rapidly by the stern and has nearly disappeared. The speed of her motion has perhaps caused the extreme fuzziness of this image. The last visible feature appears to be the .50 caliber machine gun tub located on the starboard forward corner of Yorktown's flight deck.

Akagi, Japanese aircraft carrier, 1925-1942, at sea during the Summer of 1941, with three Mitsubishi A6M Zero fighters parked forward.

Japanese aircraft carrier Akagi in April 1942 during the Indian Ocean Raid as seen from an aircraft that has just taken off from her deck. The aircraft on the flight deck preparing for takeoff are Aichi D3A Type 99 dive bombers. Akagi, the flagship of the Japanese carrier striking force which attacked Pearl Harbor, as well as Darwin, Rabaul, and Colombo, in April 1942 prior to the battle.

The Japanese aircraft carrier Akagi and a destroyer (probably Nowaki) maneuvering below thin clouds while under high-level bombing attack by U.S. Army Air Forces Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress bombers, shortly after 0800 hrs, 4 June 1942. No aircraft are visible on her flight deck and her forward elevator is in the down position. Akagi launched fighters at 0808 hrs and 0832 hrs. The photo was probably shortly taken after the 0808 hrs launch.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the attack by USS Nautilus (SS-168) on a burning Japanese aircraft carrier during the early afternoon of 4 June 1942, as seen through the submarine's periscope. Nautilus thought she had attacked Soryu, and that her torpedoes had exploded when they hit the target. Most evidence, however, is that the ship attacked was Kaga, and that the torpedoes failed to detonate. The ship shown in this wartime diorama does not closely resemble either of those carriers.

Hiryu, Japanese Aircraft Carrier, 1937-1942. Running speed trials on 28 April 1939.

Lieutenant Joichi Tomonaga, Imperial Japanese Navy portrait photograph, taken circa the early 1940s. Lt. Tomonaga was Hiryu Air Group Commander during the Battle of Midway and was killed in action leading the torpedo attack on USS Yorktown (CV-5) on 4 June 1942.

Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu maneuvers to avoid three sticks of bombs dropped during a high-level attack by USAAF B-17 bombers, shortly after 8 AM, 4 June 1942.

Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu maneuvering during a high-level bombing attack by USAAF B-17 bombers, shortly after 8AM, 4 June 1942. Note ship's flight deck markings, including Katakana identification character "hi" on her after flight deck. This image is cropped from the previous photo.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting attacks by U.S. Navy carrier dive bombers on the Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu during the afternoon of 4 June 1942. The diorama also shows some of Hiryu's accompanying ships under bombing attack.

"Last Moments of Admiral Yamaguchi". Japanese war art painting by Kita Renzo, 1942. Rear Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi, commander of the Japanese Carrier Striking Force's Carrier Division Two, elected to remain aboard his flagship Hiryu when she was abandoned during the early morning of 5 June 1942. He is depicted here in the middle of the scene as he bids farewell to his staff. Hiryu was the fourth Japanese aircraft carrier to be lost during the Battle of Midway.

The burning Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu, photographed by a Yokosuka B4Y aircraft from the carrier Hosho shortly after sunrise on 5 June 1942. Hiryu sank a few hours later. Flight deck torn out by the bomb dropped during a dive-bombing attack performed by Norman Kleiss.

The burning Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu, photographed by a Yokosuka B4Y aircraft from the carrier Hosho shortly after sunrise on 5 June 1942. Hiryu sank a few hours later. Note collapsed flight deck at right. Part of the forward elevator is standing upright just in front of the island, where it had been thrown by an explosion in the hangar.

Kaga, Japanese aircraft carrier, 1921-1942, at sea following her 1934-36 modernization.

Mikuma, Japanese cruiser, 1934-1942, in Sukumo Bay, southern Shikoku, April 1939, with a small boat passing by in the foreground.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the attack by SBD dive bombers from USS Hornet (CV-8) and USS Enterprise (CV-6) on the Japanese cruisers Mogami and Mikuma and two destroyers, on 6 June 1942. Mikuma, the ship shown trailing oil at the right, was sunk as a result of these attacks.

The Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma afire and dead in the water on 6 June 1942, as seen from a SBD dive bomber, probably from USS Hornet (CV-8) during the day's third attack by planes from Hornet and USS Enterprise (CV-6). A destroyer (either Asashio or Arashio) is nearby, attempting to remove Mikuma's crew. Photo was taken from the gunner's seat, looking aft, with the barrel of a .30 caliber machine gun in the right foreground and the plane's vertical tail at the extreme right.

Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma dead in the water and burning, following attacks by planes from USS Enterprise (CV-6) and USS Hornet (CV-8), 6 June 1942.

SBD Dauntless' (8-S-9 and 8-S-13) from VS-8 fly over the burning Japanese cruiser Mikuma, 6 June 1942. A combined effort from aircraft from Hornet and Enterprise landed at least five direct hits on the cruiser causing her torpedoes to explode. The ship sank sometime later in the day with the loss of 650 of her crew, 240 survivors were picked up by the Japanese cruisers Mogami, Asashio and Arashio. Two more survivors were picked up by the USS Trout (SS-202) three days later. Mogami, Asashio and Arashio were all damaged by the same aircraft with Mogami taking six direct hits.

The Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma, photographed from a USS Enterprise (CV-6) Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless during the afternoon of 6 June 1942, after she had been bombed by planes from Enterprise and USS Hornet (CV-8). Nos. 1 and 2 turrets have been trained hard abaft to port, the roof of turret No. 2 was blown off by an internal explosion. The No. 3 turret was heavily damaged by a bomb hit. The upper works aft of the stack and the mainmast were completely destroyed by the explosion of Mikuma's torpedoes.

The Japanese heavy cruiser Mikuma, photographed from a USS Enterprise (CV-6) Douglas SBD-3 Dauntless during the afternoon of 6 June 1942, after she had been bombed by planes from Enterprise and USS Hornet (CV-8). Note her shattered midships structure, torpedo dangling from the after port side tubes and wreckage atop her number four 203 mm gun turret. The photo flight was led by Lt(jg) E.J. Kroeger, A-V(N), USNR, of Bombing Squadron 6 (VB-6) with photographer Mr. A.D. Brick of Fox Movietone News in a SBD-3 of VB-3 ("3-B-10"). Kroeger was accompanied by Lt.(jg) C.J. Dobson of Scouting Squadron 6 (VS-6) and photographer CP(PA) J.S. Mihalovitch in SBD "6-S-18".

Capt. Richard E. Fleming, posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for diving his obsolescent bomber onto the after turret of the enemy cruiser, Mikuma, after he had been wounded by enemy flak. Fleming's glide-bombing run had taken the Japanese by surprise, although their antiaircraft fire was prompt and heavy once they attack was disclosed. As Fleming dove, his airplane was hit forward and smoke began pouring out of his engine. Notwithstanding this, he continued the run without faltering, retaining the lead in his division, and dropped his bomb. Just at the moment of pull-out, his plane burst into flames, and, in the words of Admiral Soji: "I saw a dive bomber dive in to the last turret (of the Mikuma) and start fires. He was very brave." In this manner, Captain Fleming insured, at the cost of his life, that VMSB-241's final attack on the Japanese fleet achieved its utmost.

Soryu, Japanese aircraft carrier, 1935-1942, running trials in January 1938.

Aerial photograph of the Japanese aircraft carrier Sōryū and its circular wake during the Battle of Midway. The ship was circling as an evasion maneuver while under attack from United States Army Air Forces Boeing B-17E Flying Fortress bombers from Midway Island, shortly after 08:00h, 4 June 1942. This attack resulted in near misses, but no hits. The circular wake is approximately 1,160 meters (0.72 miles) in diameter.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the attack by USS Enterprise (CV-6) and USS Yorktown (CV-5) dive bombers on the Japanese aircraft carriers Akagi, Kaga and Soryu in the morning of 4 June 1942. The diorama was created during World War II on the basis of information then available. It is therefore somewhat inaccurate in scope and detail. This angle of view depicts Soryu (attacked by Yorktown aircraft) in the middle distance, with Kaga and Akagi (both attacked by Enterprise aircraft) as the closer two burning ships.

Diorama by Norman Bel Geddes, depicting the attack by USS Yorktown (CV-5) and USS Enterprise (CV-6) dive bombers on the Japanese aircraft carriers Soryu, Akagi and Kaga in the morning of 4 June 1942. The diorama was created during World War II on the basis of information then available. It is therefore somewhat inaccurate in scope and detail. It depicts Soryu (attacked by Yorktown aircraft) in the center foreground, with Kaga and Akagi (both attacked by Enterprise aircraft) as the two most distant burning ships. The burning ship at far right is a light cruiser, which had been erroneously reported to have been hit.

USS Trout (SS-202) returns to Pearl Harbor on 14 June 1942, after the Battle of Midway. She is carrying two Japanese prisoners of war, Chief Radioman Hatsuichi Yoshida and Fireman 3rd Class Kenichi Ishikawa, survivors of the sunken cruiser Mikuma who had been rescued on 9 June. Among those waiting on the pier are Rear Admiral Robert H. English and Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. The district ferry Nihoa (YFB-19) is in the left background, just to the right of Trout's jack. Two .30 caliber Lewis machineguns are mounted on Trout's sail, flanking the periscope shears.

Cutter from the sunken Japanese aircraft carrier Hiryu, suspended from the starboard boat davits of USS Ballard (AVD-10), at Midway circa late June 1942. This boat had been picked up on 19 June, along with its occupants, who became prisoners of war. USS PT-25 and PT-30 are among the 77-foot ELCO-type PT boats visible in the right and left background. Note Ballard's motor whaleboat, cane fender, dark-colored awnings and smokestack details.

Japanese prisoners of war on board USS Ballard (AVD-10) after being rescued from a lifeboat two weeks after the Battle of Midway. They were members of the aircraft carrier Hiryu´s engineering force, left behind when she was abandoned on 5 June 1942, and had escaped in one of her boats just as she sank.

Japanese prisoners of war, survivors of the aircraft carrier Hiryu, are prepared for transportation from Midway to Hawaii in USS Sirius (AK-15), 23 June 1942. They had been rescued by USS Ballard (AVD-10) a few days earlier. Note armed guards nearby, crowd of onlookers, and widespread use of the old-style "tin hat" battle helmets.

Japanese prisoners of war, survivors of the aircraft carrier Hiryu, are brought ashore at Midway following their rescue from an open lifeboat by USS Ballard (AVD-10) on 19 June 1942. After being held for a few days on Midway, they were sent on to Pearl Harbor on 23 June. Note Marine guards at left and in the center background, armed with M1903 "Springfield" rifles.

Japanese prisoners of war under guard on Midway, following their rescue from an open lifeboat by USS Ballard (AVD-10) on 19 June 1942. They were survivors of the sunken aircraft carrier Hiryu. After being held for a few days on Midway, they were sent on to Pearl Harbor on 23 June aboard USS Sirius (AK-15), arriving there on 1 July. Note Marine guard in the center background, armed with a M1903 "Springfield" rifle.

Japanese prisoner of war, one of the survivors of the aircraft carrier Hiryu that had been rescued by USS Ballard (AVD-10), reading the 24 November 1941 issue of Life magazine while being held on Midway pending transfer to Hawaii, circa 20-23 June 1942.

The U.S. Navy heavy cruiser USS Portland (CA-33), right, transfers survivors of the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown (CV-5) to the submarine tender USS Fulton (AS-11), left, on 7 June 1942, following the Battle of Midway. Fulton transported the men to Pearl Harbor.

USS Yorktown survivors are checked in on board USS Fulton (AS-11), after being transferred from USS Portland (CA-33) for transportation to Pearl Harbor, 6 June 1942. Note life jackets, which appear to be oil-stained.

The U.S. Navy submarine tender USS Fulton (AS-11) unloading survivors of the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown (CV-5) and the destroyer USS Hammann (DD-412) after the Battle of Midway at Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii (USA), on 8 June 1942.

USS Fulton (AS-11) docks at Pearl Harbor on 8 June 1942 with USS Yorktown (CV-5) survivors on board, after the Battle of Midway. Among the tugs assisting Fulton are Hoga (YT-146) and Nokomis (YT-142).

Admiral Chester W. Nimitz (2nd from left) on the dock at Pearl harbor, 8 June 1942, watching USS Fulton (AS-11) arrive. She was carrying survivors of USS Yorktown (CV-5), sunk in the Battle of Midway. Rear Admiral William L. Calhoun is in the right front. Rear Admiral Lloyd J. Wiltse, of Nimitz' staff, is in the center background.

USS Yorktown survivors board trucks for transportation to Camp Catlin, Oahu, soon after their arrival at Pearl Harbor on board USS Fulton (AS-11), 8 June 1942. Note Marine directing traffic in lower right and U.S. Navy bus in the background.

U.S. Navy Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet (CINCPAC), in the doorway of a bunker on Midway Atoll while on an inspection trip after the Battle of Midway, circa June 1942.

Admiral Chester W. Nimitz inspects Midway Island after the victorious Battle of Midway, and presents awards to Marine Corps and Navy personnel, June 1942.

Pacific Fleet Flag Officers at a shipboard awards ceremony, held at Pearl Harbor on 17 June 1942. The officers are (left to right): Vice Admiral William L. Calhoun, Commander, Service Force Pacific Fleet; Rear Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher, Commander, Task Force 17; Rear Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid, Commander, Cruiser Division 6; Rear Admiral William Ward Smith, Commander, Task Group 17.2; Rear Admiral Marc A. Mitscher; Rear Admiral Robert H. English, Commander, Submarines Pacific Fleet.

Lieutenant Commander William H. Brockman, Jr., USN after being presented with the Navy Cross for his performance while in command of USS Nautilus (SS-168) during the Battle of Midway in June 1942. Photographed during the awards ceremony at the Pearl Harbor submarine base, 7 November 1942.

Commander Arnold E. True, USN receives the Navy Cross and Distinguished Service Medal for his performance while in command of USS Hammann (DD-412) during the May-June 1942 Battles of Coral Sea and Midway. Hammann was lost on 6 June 1942, during the Midway action. Presenting the awards is Admiral William F. Halsey. Photograph was taken circa October 1942.

Ensign George H. Gay at Pearl Harbor Naval Hospital, with a nurse and a copy of the "Honolulu Star-Bulletin" newspaper featuring accounts of the battle. He was the only survivor of the 4 June 1942 Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) TBD torpedo plane attack on the Japanese carrier force. Gay's book "Sole Survivor" indicates that the date of this photograph is probably 7 June 1942, following an operation to repair his injured left hand and a meeting with Admiral Chester W. Nimitz.

Survivors of USS Hammann (DD-412) are brought ashore at Pearl Harbor from USS Benham (DD-397), a few days after their ship was sunk on 6 June 1942. Note Navy ambulance in left foreground, many onlookers, depth charge racks on Benham's stern and open sights on her after 5"/38 gun mount.

Standing in front of a VMJ-252 R4D-1 (Bureau # 3143) at Ewa Mooring Mast Field, Oahu, 22 June 1942. All but one are members of Marine Fighting Squadron 221 (VMF-221). They are (from left to right): Captain Marion E. Carl; Captain Kirk Armistead; Major Raymond Scollin, of Marine Air Group 22; Captain Herbert T. Merrill; Second Lieutenant Charles M. Kunz; Second Lieutenant Charles S. Hughes; Second Lieutenant Hyde Phillips; Captain Philip R. White and Second Lieutenant Roy A. Corry, Jr.

Posed in front of a camouflaged building at Ewa Mooring Mast Field, Oahu, 14 July 1942. Most are survivors of Battle of Midway air action. They are (Seated in front, left to right): Second Lieutenant William V. Brooks; Second Lieutenant John C. Musselman, Jr., Captain Phillip R. White; Captain William C. Humberd; Captain Kirk Armistead; Captain Herbert T. Merrill; Captain Marion E. Carl and
Second Lieutenant Clayton M. Canfield. Those standing in back include (with one unidentified): Second Lieutenant Darrell D. Irwin; Second Lieutenant Hyde Phillips; Second Lieutenant Roy A. Corry, Jr. and Second Lieutenant Charles M. Kunz.

Aviation Radioman 3rd Class Douglas M. Cossitt (right) and Aviation Radioman 1st Class W.A. Miller. At Naval Air Station, Alameda, California, 4 September 1942. ARM3c Cossitt, then assigned to Torpedo Squadron Six from USS Enterprise (CV-6), spent seventeen days in a life raft after his TBD-1 torpedo plane ditched on 4 June 1942. The plane's pilot was Machinist Albert W. Winchell. Recovered by a Patrol Squadron 24 PBY on 21 June, some 360 miles northward of Midway, they were the last of the downed Battle of Midway aviators to be rescued. ARM1c Miller was a survivor of the Battle of Coral Sea.

USS Saratoga (CV-3) arrives at Pearl Harbor from the U.S. West Coast, 6 June 1942. She departed the following day to join USS Enterprise (CV-6) and USS Hornet (CV-8) near Midway, bringing replacement aircraft for those two ships, whose air groups had been depleted during the Battle of Midway.

USS Pensacola (CA-24) alongside the Sand Island pier, Midway, disembarking Marine reinforcements, 25 June 1942. Aircraft in the foreground, with damaged tail, is a TBF-1 "Avenger" (Bureau # 00380), the only survivor of six Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) TBFs that attacked the Japanese fleet on 4 June 1942. Ship in the right distance is probably USS Ballard (AVD-10).

USS Pensacola (CA-24) disembarks Marine reinforcements at the Sand Island pier, Midway, on 25 June 1942. Note m1903 "Springfield" rifles and other gear along the pier edge. The Sand Island seaplane hangar, badly damaged by Japanese air attack on 4 June 1942, is in the left distance, with a water tower beside it. The surviving Torpedo Squadron Eight (VT-8) TBF-1 "Avenger" (Bureau # 00380) can be seen on the beach, in line with the water tower.

President Franklin D. Roosevelt shakes hands with a Navy Chief Petty Officer, during a visit to the San Diego Naval Hospital in 1942. Men in wheelchairs (background) are recovering from injuries received during the Battles of Coral Sea and Midway, in May and June 1942.

Cartoon by an artist of the Sixth Marine Defense Battalion at Midway, after the Battle. The original was sent to Admiral Nimitz by Colonel Harold D. Shannon, commanding officer of the unit. Its frame was made from the wing of a Japanese plane shot down near the command post on Midway.