© 2010 General Dynamics. All rights reserved. Image courtesy U. S. Navy.

February 2011 I Volume 25 I Number 1

U.S. Naval Institute I www.usni.org

18 Hellcat Ace in a Day—Twice!

Interview by Paul Stillwell
The late David McCampbell remains the Navy’s top
fighter ace. Here’s an account of World War II aerial
action in the Medal of Honor recipient’s own words.

24 America’s First Strike Against Terrorism

By Lieutenant Commander Joseph T. Stanik,
U.S. Navy (Retired)
A quarter-century ago, Moammar Gadhafi tested
American resolve. Navy Task Force 60 was a key part

18
of the robust response.

32 ‘Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight’

By Lieutenant Commander Thomas J. Cutler,
U.S. Navy (Retired)
The historic Olympia faces an uncertain future, but in
DEPARTMENTS 1898 she led the way to victory in the Battle of Manila
Bay and became the toast of the nation.
4 On Our Scope
6 Looking Back 38 The Washington Wins the Draw
By James D. Hornfischer
8 In Contact In an exclusive excerpt from the new book Neptune’s
Inferno, Rear Admiral Willis Lee coolly directs the big
10 Naval History News
guns in a nighttime showdown at Guadalcanal.
12 Flight Line
14 Historic Fleets 48 What Goes Up. . .
By Daniel J. Demers
16 Historic Aircraft In 1911 pioneering pilot Eugene Ely advanced the
68 Book Reviews nascent art of naval aviation with a historic first:
actually landing a plane on a ship.
72 Museum Report
52 When Frank Jack Met Maggie
By Stephen D. Regan
Fame and glory lay ahead for him, but first, a young
officer named Frank Jack Fletcher had to command a
wheezing gut-bucket in World War I.

58 Fire Down Below!

By Christopher Edwards
It was one of the worst peacetime disasters in
U.S. Navy history: the 1954 conflagration on the
aircraft carrier Bennington.

COVER: Diving into the thick of it in Minsi III, his F6F-5

Hellcat fighter, David McCampbell finishes off the last
of seven Japanese aircraft he shot down during the
Marianas Turkey Shoot, 19 June 1944, in this image

32
adapted for our cover by artist Roy Grinnell from his
painting “Unlucky Seven.” (www.roygrinnell.com)

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 1
Contributors
Thomas J. Cutler is a retired U.S.
Navy lieutenant commander and
former gunner’s mate second class
who served in patrol craft, destroyers,
cruisers, and aircraft carriers. His
many works on naval history include
one of the primary books in the Chief
of Naval Operations’ reading program,
A Sailor’s History of the U.S. Navy
(Naval Institute Press, 2004), from
which his article is derived. Currently
he is Fleet Professor of Strategy and
War with the Naval War College and is
the director of professional publishing
at the U.S. Naval Institute.
Christopher Edwards is a ranger for
the National Park Service at the San
Francisco Maritime National Historical
Park. Currently he is working on a
collection of historic museum ships
there. Earlier he worked at Boston
National Historical Park at the
Charlestown Navy Yard and on board
the museum ship USS Cassin Young
(ex-DD-793).
Stephen D. Regan, the biographer of
Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher, is retired
from a career in education. He earned
a bachelor’s degree in history at Upper
Iowa University and subsequently
earned an M.S. and doctorate before
being invited back to Upper Iowa as
academic dean. Besides his biography
of Fletcher, In Bitter Tempest (Iowa
State Press, 1994), Dr. Regan has also
written Pioneering Spirit (WDG Pub,
2008) and numerous nautical articles.
Paul Stillwell is a longtime oral
historian and former editor-in-chief
of Naval History. He’s the coauthor of
the newly published Naval Institute
Press book Trailblazer: The U.S. Navy’s
First Black Admiral. His many other
books include Submarine Stories:
Recollections from the Diesel Boats
(Naval Institute Press, 2007) and
Carrier War: Aviation Art of World War II
(Barnes & Noble, 2007).
2 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Daniel J. Demers is a semi-retired
businessman whose hobby is
researching and writing about 19th-
and 20th-century historical events
and personalities. He holds a degree
in history from George Washington
University.   He and his wife live in
Guerneville, California.
James D. Hornfischer is the author
of Neptune’s Inferno: The U.S. Navy at
Guadalcanal (Bantam, February 2011),
from which his article is excerpted.
His previous books are Ship of Ghosts:
The Story of the USS Houston, FDR’s
Legendary Lost Cruiser, and the
Epic Saga of Her Survivors (Bantam,
2006) and The Last Stand of the Tin
Can Sailors: The Extraordinary World
War II Story of the U.S. Navy’s Finest
Hour (Bantam, 2004), which Naval
History named one of a dozen all-time
naval history classics.
Lieutenant Commander Joseph T.
Stanik, a retired U.S. Navy surface
warfare officer and former history
instructor at the U.S. Naval Academy,
is the author of El Dorado Canyon:
Reagan’s Undeclared War with Qaddafi
(Naval Institute Press, 2003) and “Swift
and Effective Retribution”: The U.S.
Sixth Fleet and the Confrontation with
Qaddafi (Naval Historical Center, 1996).
www.USNI.org Naval History (ISSN 1042-1920) is published bi-
monthly by the U.S. Naval Institute, 291 Wood
Road, Annapolis, MD 21402. To order subscrip-
tions, memberships, books, or selected photographs: 800-233-8764, 410-268-6110; fax 410-571-
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 On Our Scope
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291 Wood Rd.
Annapolis, MD 21402-5034
Tel: (410) 268-6110 • Fax: (410) 295-1049

I
Editor-in-ChiEf
f you’re like me, out-of-town travel often includes a trip back in time. There’s usually Richard G. Latture
a historic ship, battlefield, or history museum to explore. That’s certainly what I rlatture@usni.org
found when I made a quick trip to the Florida Panhandle in October and was able to AssoCiAtE Editors
fit in a tour of the fabulous National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola. Walking Robin Bisland
among its scores of flying machines was aeronautical inspiration for working on this issue, rbisland@usni.org
which kicks off Naval History’s coverage of the centennial of naval aviation. Eric Mills
Throughout 2011 we’ll be celebrating the anniversary with exclusive features emills@usni.org
and a special department debuting in this issue that traces the history of U.S. Sea Donald Ross
Service aviation: “Flight Line,” written by National Naval Aviation Museum dross@usni.org
historian Hill Goodspeed. Editor-in-ChiEf Proceedings
This issue’s features include “Hellcat Ace in a Day—Twice!” excerpts Paul Merzlak
from Captain David McCampbell’s U.S. Naval Institute oral history, pmerzlak@usni.org
which will be released in early 2011. Paul Stillwell conducted the EditoriAl ProjECt CoordinAtor
interviews with the Navy’s all-time leading fighter ace. Liese Doherty
Daniel J. Demers recounts the first airplane landing on a ship and ldoherty@usni.org
the hoopla that surrounded the historic 1911 event, in “What Goes dirECtor of dEsign And ProduCtion
Up. . .” And Christopher Edwards’ article, “Fire Down Below!” about Kelly Erlinger
a 1954 catapult disaster on board an aircraft carrier, is a reminder that kerlinger@usni.org
tragedy has accompanied the Navy’s quest to sail skyward. For more naval
sEnior dEsignEr
flight articles, photographs, and special features throughout the year, be sure to follow
Jen Mabe
the Naval Aviation Centennial links at www.usni.org. jmabe@usni.org
Elsewhere in this issue, Retired Navy Lieutenant Commander Thomas Cutler tells
Photo Editor
the story of a Navy icon at her finest moment—the cruiser Olympia at the Battle
Amy Voight
of Manila Bay—in “‘Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.’” Presently owned by
avoight@usni.org
Philadelphia’s Independence Seaport Museum, the Olympia faces a bleak future. She’s
Contributing Editors
in immediate need of millions of dollars’ worth of restoration. Without the work, the
Robert J. Cressman, Norman Polmar,
world’s oldest floating steel warship could be scrapped or sunk to create an artificial reef. Fred Schultz, Paul Stillwell
As Naval History reader Kelley L. Ross recently lamented in an email: “Apparently,
PublishEr
nobody cares. . . . This is something that should alarm and energize anyone who (1)
William Miller
cares about naval history, (2) cares about the history of the United States Navy, and (3)
wmiller@usni.org
cares about any history.”
AdvErtising sAlEs
Mr. Ross went on to make an apt comparison between the cruiser, the U.S. flagship
Director - William K. Hughes
at Manila Bay, and the Japanese flagship at the 1905 Battle of Tsushima Strait: “A
wmkhughes@comcast.net
year ago I walked the decks on
Manager - David Sheehan
the battleship Mikasa. . . . The
dsheehan@usni.org
Japanese will never sink the Advertising Assistant - Michelle Mullen
Mikasa. Are we really going to be mmullen@usni.org
so careless with our past?”
CEo
The Friends of the Cruiser
MGEN Thomas L. Wilkerson, USMC (Ret.)
Olympia, a Philadelphia-based
twilkerson@usni.org
501(c)(3) charity, however, is
working to save the famous ship. EditoriAl boArd
According to Friends executive Chairman—CAPT Douglas M. Fears, USCG
director Bruce Harris, the group’s Vice Chairman—CAPT Mark L. Stevens, USN
LCDR Claude G. Berube, USNR
goal is to be an acceptable
SGTMAG David K. Devaney, USMC
“candidate for ownership and
CMDCM Jacqueline L. DiRosa, USN
stewardship of the vessel. . . .
LT Bradley D. Harrison, USNR
BEVERLEy R. ROBINSON COLLECTION, U.S. NAVAL ACADEMy MUSEUM To cast her aside is virtually BMCM Kevin P. Leask, USCG
The Olympia’s past is glorious but her future uncertain. criminal, and that’s what we MAJ Marcus J. Mainz, USMC
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
want to prevent from happening.” CAPT David M. McFarland, USN
Besides stabilizing her hull LCDR Jeffrey W. Novak, USCG
and replacing her concrete decks with wood, the group aims to upgrade historical CDR John P. Patch, USN (Ret.)
interpretation on board the Olympia. “The ship needs to become a viable tourist LTC Kendric H. Robbins, USA
attraction,” says Harris. To find out more about the Friends of the Cruiser Olympia, visit COL Philip C. Skuta, USMC
its Web site at http://cruiserolympia.org.
Richard G. Latture Printed in the USA
Editor-in-Chief

4 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
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Looking Back
A Night at the Ballpark
M
any of the enjoyable days
and nights of my life have
been spent in baseball
parks, past and present.
Images of those days were rekindled in
early November, the weekend before
Veterans Day, when I attended a pro-
gram at Nationals Park in Washington.
The panel discussion on baseball was
part of a conference put on by the
American Veterans Center. Included
in the excellent three-day event were
dozens of firsthand accounts from vet-
erans whose experiences
spanned the period from
World War II to Iraq and
Afghanistan. It was a
smorgasbord of memories
and had the benefit of
expanding the mind but
not the waistline.
Patriotism was a recur-
rent theme throughout
the baseball discussion.
Honored in absentia
was 92-year-old former
Cleveland Indian Bob DOD/JIAN DELEON
Feller, who was once the Left to right: Pitcher Lou Brissie, catcher Yogi Berra, second baseman Jerry Coleman,
most dominating pitcher American Veterans Center President James Roberts, and outfielder John Miles pose dur-
in the major leagues. ing events honoring the baseball players for serving their country during World War II.
Illness prevented him from • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
taking part in the confer-
ence. The players who did attend spoke
of his enlisting in the Navy right after
the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in
December 1941. He served as head of a
24-man 40-mm antiaircraft gun crew on
board the battleship Alabama (BB-60)
during operations in both the Atlantic
and Pacific. Those who analyze baseball
statistics often wonder what his final
numbers would have been if he hadn’t
ungrudgingly given up nearly four seasons
during the prime of his career.
One of Feller’s teammates on the
Indians in the early 1950s was left-handed
pitcher Lou Brissie. Like Feller, he had
experienced a great deal of combat during
the war. Unlike Feller’s case, the damage
was to much more than his place in base-
ball records. He was severely wounded in
December 1944, when he was an Army
infantryman in northern Italy. An explod-
ing German artillery shell ravaged his feet,
shattered one leg, and hit his shoulder
as well. He successfully argued against
6 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
amputation. Being restored to health
was not so easy; the process required 23
operations and dozens of blood transfu-
sions. Supported by crutches that night
in Washington, he told his listeners that
a big factor in keeping him going dur-
ing the medical procedures was a letter
from Philadelphia Athletics owner-man-
ager Connie Mack, who promised him an
opportunity to pitch if he could get his
mobility back. Opportunity can be a pre-
cious thing, and Brissie made the most of
it. He became an All Star with the A’s.
Opportunity came in a different form
for another member of the panel, John
“Mule” Miles. He got the nickname from
a manager who said he could hit as hard
as a mule could kick. During World War II
he was an aircraft mechanic who serviced
AT-6 trainers and P-51 fighters flown by
the black pilots known as the Tuskegee
Airmen. Because the major leagues were
only just beginning to integrate in the
postwar period, Miles’ chance to play was
for the Chicago American Giants in the
still-segregated Negro Leagues. As he
told the audience: “I didn’t make a lot of
money playing baseball, but I enjoyed it.
. . . I’m not complaining, just explaining.”
Jerry Coleman, who at 86 still keeps
his hand in baseball by broadcasting some
games each season for the San Diego
Padres, was a member of the New York
Yankees dynasty that ruled baseball in the
1940s and 1950s. His service as a Marine
Corps pilot earned him a unique distinc-
tion as the only major-league player who
By Paul Stillwell
fought in combat in both World War II
and the Korean War. He flew an SBD
Dauntless dive-bomber in the former
and an F4U Corsair fighter-bomber in
the latter. During one mission in Korea,
he saw his roommate’s plane shot down
and crash. After the war ended, Coleman
rejoined the Yankees. He said that he
never again played as well as he had before
he went to Korea, but harbored no bitter-
ness. As he put it, “Seeing friends die and
families cry is enough to remind me of the
proper place to put baseball.”
One of his Yankee
teammates is an American
institution. Lawrence
“Yogi” Berra earned ten
World Series rings during
his career. As he described
his service experiences,
Berra was unaffectedly
natural. In 1944 he was a
member of the crew of a
Navy landing craft modi-
fied to fire rockets in
support of troops ashore.
Berra’s boat did so during
the Normandy landings at
Omaha Beach in June and
the invasion of southern
France in August. When
he managed to sneak away
for liberty in Rome, he imagined what he
might say to the pontiff, Pius XII: “Hi,
Pope.” That drew a big laugh.
When he returned to the States, Berra
was assigned to the submarine base in
New London, Connecticut. Alarmed,
he said he hadn’t volunteered for sub-
marines, but then found out he would
instead play for the base’s team. The
coach was a former major-league player
named Jim Gleeson. That night at the
ballpark, the compact, solidly built Berra
gleefully told the audience of the skepti-
cal Gleeson’s initial assessment of him,
“You don’t look like a ballplayer.” He
credited the coach with improving his
baseball skills, looks notwithstanding.
During a question-and-answer session,
one member of the audience said that
he didn’t think baseball players should
be viewed as heroes. He did note that
he was making an exception for the four
men on stage. Clearly, they did much
more than just play baseball.
NEW RELEASE
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In Contact
Army’s Turn Flying CAP
John Pauly
I really enjoyed the December 2010 issue,
especially “The Kamikaze’s Wallet” (pp.
52–58). If the USS Manila Bay (CVE-61)
did indeed catapult P-47 fighters off to aug-
ment her combat air patrol, it might have
been the only time in World War II Army
fighters were catapulted into combat. Is
there any more information on this incident?
Where were the P-47s flown off? What unit
were they from? What were the results of the
flight? Where did they land, etc.?
Also, the article on the Kearsarge, “‘I
Didn’t Feel Excited a Mite’” (pp. 36–41),
was good. The use of the diagram to illus-
trate the position of the guns added to
it. I think that’s a great feature of Naval
History.
Editor’s Note: According to the Navy’s NATIONAL ArCHIVES
Dictionary of American Naval Fighting During the Japanese air attack on 23 June 1944, bombs splash “wide to port” of the
Ships: “After loading 37 Army P‑47 fight‑ Manila Bay, whose flight deck is crowded with U.S. Army Air Forces P‑47 fighters.
ers, Manila Bay sailed 5 June [1944] for the • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Marianas. Steaming via Eniwetok, she reached
the eastern approaches to Saipan 19 June. During the next 4 days she characterized as ‘commendable initiative,’ Manila Bay launched four
remained east of the embattled island as ships and planes of the Fast of the Army P‑47s she was ferrying to fly protective CAP until radar
Carrier Task Force repulsed the Japanese Fleet in the Battle of the screens were clear of contacts. The Army fighters then flew to Saipan,
Philippine Sea. . . . their intended destination. Manila Bay launched the remaining planes
“On 23 June Manila Bay came under enemy air attack during the next day and returned to Eniwetok, arriving 27 June.”
refueling operations east of Saipan. Two fighter bombers attacked Samuel Eliot Morison notes in his History of United States Naval
her from dead ahead, dropping four bombs which exploded wide to Operations in World War II that the P‑47s were of the 19th Fighter
port. Intense antiaircraft fire suppressed further attacks; and, as a Squadron, which was part of the 318th Fighter Group, U.S. Army Air
precautionary and rather unusual move which Admiral Spruance later Forces.

Cheek-Mounted Sidewinders
Dave Kisor
In reference to “The Flying SLUF”
(“Historic Aircraft,” December, pp.
14–15), I was in A-7s from the time I
transferred from CAG-21 and A-4s for
a number of years and never once did I
see or hear reference to stations 4 and
5 as “cheek mounts.” That’s the sort of
thing that would have inspired our ord-
nancemen to paint little Sidewinders on
their faces and puff up their cheeks. A-7s
Forever!
Mr. Polmar responds: I first heard the term
“cheek” pylons for the A‑7 Corsair when
I attended the rollout of the first aircraft in
Dallas, Texas,  in 1965. In the intervening
decades I have periodically read the term and
heard it when on board carriers—back in the
old days when A‑7s were still with us.

Greely’s Span-Am Contribution
Richard S. Greeley
In answer to Barrett Tillman’s question whether Adolphus
Greely merited the Medal of Honor (“In Contact,” October,
p. 9), one of his many accomplishments was, in effect, to allow
the Spanish-American War to be won amazingly quickly. As
recounted by General “Billy” Mitchell in his biography General
Greely: The Story of a Great American, as the chief of the Signal
Corps, Greely learned through telegraph cable intercepts that
the Spanish fleet had arrived surreptitiously at Santiago, Cuba.
President William McKinley immediately changed the orders
to General William Shafter in Tampa assembling the American
invasion force. Instead of landing near Havana, where the
bulk of the Spanish army in Cuba was located, he directed
them to land close to Santiago. At the same time he ordered
the Secretary of the Navy to have Admiral William Sampson’s
powerful U.S. fleet immediately blockade that port. The result
was an unopposed Army landing on 22–24 June 1898 and the
consequent destruction of the Spanish fleet on 3 July. Spain
sued for peace on 12 August—after a mere 50 days of conflict
in Cuba—thanks in great part to General Greely’s remarkable
contributions.
Editor’s note: Mr. Greeley is a distant relative of General Greely’s.

8 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Remembering an Army Adviser
Master Sergeant Mike R. Vining, U.S. Army (Retired)
Author Rolland Kidder’s
article, “backtracking in
brown Water” (December, pp.
44–50), was very inspiring. I
have wondered what it would
be like to go back to Vietnam
and visit the places where I
was stationed. It was also very
moving that Mr. Kidder still
remembered the Army adviser
whom he dropped off at the
old French church and whose
memorial service he later
attended. He was Captain
More Life Left in the Kearsarge
Captain Doug Ault, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
Robert Franklin Olson (the I enjoyed the latest issue of Naval History, especially the article
article had his name as Olsen). on the gunnery of the Kearsarge by Norman Delaney (“‘I Didn’t
Captain Olson was assigned to Feel excited a Mite,’” pp. 36–41). However, I was a little puzzled
Military Assistance Command, by the comment that she was decommissioned on 26 November
Vietnam, Advisory Team 68. 1864, since the ship was only three years old. I checked some
He and his wife, Lois, had a online sources and discovered that she was decommissioned for
daughter, Pamela. His home- repairs and was actually back in service by 1 April 1865. In fact,
town was britt, Iowa. He was the ship remained on active service, off and on, for another 29
born on 7 January 1936 and years, serving primarily in Caribbean and South American waters.
died on 7 August 1969, having Her demise came on 2 February 1894 when she struck a reef off
served ten years in the Army. Roncador Cay in the western Caribbean. Her crew all made it
Prior to his death he received safely off the ship, but despite efforts to salvage her, she could not
the Purple Heart for a punji be raised. The first Kearsarge was struck from the naval vessel regis-
stake wound he incurred. ter later that year.

Conflicting Facings
Roy Scrivener
I direct your attention to
the excellent article “Missouri
endgame” (August, pp. 32–40),
with reference to the photo-
graph on page 36 of Admirals
Halsey and Carney. The u.S.
Navy badges, shown very clear-
ly on each hat, intrigue me, as
a “foreigner.” The eagle’s head
on each badge is shown facing
the opposite way—one to the
left, one to the right. I would
welcome the reasoning, sir.
My Australian cruiser, the
Hobart, was reasonably close to
the uSS Missouri at the time u.S. NAVAL INSTITuTe PHOTO ARCHIVe

of the Japanese surrender in A sharp-eyed reader noted an incongruity in this photograph: The eagle-and-anchor devices on Admiral
Tokyo bay. everything is still William Halsey’s (left) and Rear Admiral Robert Carney’s caps are facing in opposite directions.
so clear in my mind. • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Editor’s Note: This ques-
tion also puzzled our staff, but a
solution was found on the Naval
History and Heritage Command’s
Web site (www.history.navy.
mil/library/online/uniform_hats.
htm). In general, from the 1860s
through 1940 the Navy eagle
faced left. A change in uniform
regulations in 1941 proscribed
that the eagle face right. “The
shift of the eagle’s aspect to right-
facing from left-facing is logical Therefore, in the photograph of
from the perspective of heraldic Admiral William Halsey and
tradition, since the right side (dex- Rear Admiral Robert Carney,
ter) is the honor side of the shield Halsey’s cap sports the old-style
and the left side (sinester)indi- eagle-and-anchor device and
cates dishonor or illegitimacy.” Carney’s the new.

The Battle “of” or “for”?
Merlin Dorfman
In barrett Tillman’s excellent article, “The
Carrier Comes of Age” (October, pp. 22–29),
the battles of 23–26 October 1944 are
referred to as the “battle of Leyte Gulf.” In
the years after World War II, “battle for Leyte
Gulf” seemed to be the standard terminol-
ogy, which I believe is a more accurate name
since no action took place in Leyte Gulf
itself. For example, C. Vann Woodward’s
1947 book was titled “The battle for Leyte
Gulf,” and “for” was used in Samuel eliot
Morison’s multivolume History of United
States Naval Operations in World War II and
one-volume The Two-Ocean War (1963), and
in e. b. Potter’s 1976 biography, Nimitz. A
1994 u.S. postage stamp celebrates the 50th
anniversary of the “battle for Leyte Gulf.”
However, Mr. Tillman is not alone.
Many recent references to the battle use
“of”; Thomas Cutler’s 1995 book and H. P.
Willmott’s 2005 book both use “of” in their
titles. Is there an authority for naming battles
and campaigns, for example the u.S. Navy’s
Naval History & Heritage Command, or is
evolving usage the determining factor?
Influence of Flower Corvettes
Captain C. J. Rabideau,
U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
I read with interest “Surprise Strike
for Israeli Independence” (October, pp.
54–55), and the photo of the Israeli flag-
ship K-18 Josiah Wedgwood—originally the
Flower-class corvette HMCS Beauharnois—
got me thinking. Having read Nicholas
Monsarrat’s novel The Cruel Sea on several
occasions over the years, I’m familiar with
In Contact continued on page 64

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 9
Naval History News
Discovery Stirs Echoes of Ancient Roman Naval Battle

A rchaeologists working in the Mediterranean Sea have found

the sunken remains of an ancient warship that is believed to
be from the Battle of the Aegates Islands, the decisive Roman naval
of the smartly handled Roman warships. In the crushing defeat
that ensued, Carthage had half its fleet destroyed or captured, and,
having lost control of the sea, was forced to sign a treaty, bringing
victory in 241 B.C. that brought an end to the First Punic War. the war to a successful conclusion for Rome.
The discovery, made off the island of Levanzo west of Sicily, The Carthaginians’ loss had come as a result of resting on
joins other recent finds in helping to confirm the location of the their naval laurels; they hadn’t expected Rome to make such a
major battle that heralded the rise of the Roman Republic and the comeback at sea, and therefore had let their own fleet strength
concomitant decline of the Carthaginian Empire. wither. The Carthaginians, according to Polybius, “owing to
their never having expected the
Romans to dispute the sea with
them again . . . had, in contempt
for them, neglected their naval
force. So that immediately on
engaging they had the worst
in many parts of the battle and
were soon routed, 50 ships being
sunk and 70 captured with their
crews.”
Time, tide, and underwater
microbes have left few remnants
of that epic sea-clash of the
ancient world. The most recent
discovery by archaeologists
at the supposed battle site is a
bronze ram, having survived
the ravages of millennia while
the rest of the vessel rotted
away. In fact, such rams (and
occasionally, some vestiges of
the bow structure) are all that
have been found of antiquity’s
warships. Discussing the latest
find, archaeologist Jeffrey G.
Royal of the Florida-based
RPM Nautical Foundation
told LiveScience.com, “There’s
RPM NAUTICAL FOUNDATION
never been an ancient warship
Archaeologist Jeffrey G. Royal measures and documents an ancient warship’s ram recently discovered on the found—that’s the Holy Grail of
floor of the Mediterranean Sea. The bronze ram has been delivered to the Soprintendenza Del Mare, Regiona maritime archaeology.”
Siciliana, for conservation. Royal and his team also
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
made a similar discovery near
the latest wreck site in 2008—
Rome, which had suffered a humiliating naval defeat at the another ram, this one with some wood still attached; carbon-dating
hands of the Carthaginian fleet seven years earlier at the Battle verified the mid- to late-3rd century B.C. time frame. In 2005,
of Drepana, resurfaced as a sea power in 242 B.C. with a fleet fishermen working the same waters also found a ram, and it bore an
of about 200 quinqueremes, built entirely with private money inscription dating it to the same period.
(from wealthy, patriotic Roman citizens) and crewed by sailors The inscription was in Latin, tagging it as a Roman artifact.
thoroughly trained through extensive practice drills. On 10 March The two more recently discovered rams bear no such obvious
241 B.C., the new Roman fleet engaged a Carthaginian fleet that clue; perfunctorily made with no adornments, they bespeak hasty
was numerically superior but less soundly built, less maneuverable, workmanship, and archaeologists are going on the hypothesis
and hastily crewed. Facing strong winds and rough seas, the that they are Carthaginian in origin. All other factors aside, more
Roman ships had been stripped of sails, masts, and all extraneous Carthaginian ships were sunk in the battle, making any remains
gear. Carthage’s ships, lugging more weight and manned by raw more likely to be Carthaginian.
recruits, fell prey to the adroit rowing skills and devastating rams —Eric Mills

10 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Historic Ship’s Flag Returns Home to Russia
The flag of the Russian
cruiser Varyag, a ship celebrated
in Russian song and story
since her defiant last stand in
the Russo-Japanese War, was
presented to Russian President
Dmitry Medvedev by a South
Korean delegation during a
ceremony at the 2010 G-20
Summit in Seoul in November.
The flag had been in the
possession of the Koreans since
1905, when it was raised from
the sea floor and subsequently
housed at a museum in the
nearby city of Inchon (then still
known as Chemulpo).
On 14 February 1904, in the
battle of Chemulpo bay, the
Varyag and the Russian gunboat
Korietz took on a 14-ship RIA NOVOSTI
Japanese squadron in a brief Russian President Dmitry Medvedev (far right) receives the flag of the legendary cruiser Varyag during a
but fierce firefight and incurred November ceremony at the Russian Embassy in Seoul, South Korea.
heavy casualties. The crew of the • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Korietz scuttled her and blew her
up, and the Varyag also chose scuttling over Varyag” appeared in the German magazine it is a symbol of the unbending Russian
inevitable capitulation. Jugend; once it was translated into Russian, character. The memory of the Varyag inspired
“The Varyag did not surrender, it was put to music and became a sort of Soviet sailors and officers when they fought
even though it was battered in combat unofficial national anthem. “even today against Nazi Germans in the baltic and the
and practically sinking,” said Vladimir every Russian knows the words of this black Sea during the Great Patriotic War of
Sotnikov of the Russian Academy of song,” said Sotnikov. 1941 to 1945.”
Sciences in an interview with The Voice The Varyag was successfully raised, In 2009 the flag made a temporary
of Russia. “The enemy suggested surrender repaired, and reincarnated as the Imperial visit back to Russia as part of a traveling
and offered to send boats to pick up the Japanese Navy training ship Soya. but her exhibit. The 2010 handover, marking
sailors and officers who were alive, but the fight at Chemulpo became the stuff of the 20th anniversary of the opening of
Russians proudly refused.” Russian legend—imbuing a relic such as her Russian–South Korean diplomatic
The surviving crewmen, rescued by flag with a totemic national resonance. “This relations, is in the form of a two-year
French and english ships observing the is indeed a symbol of Russia’s unbending renewable loan. During that time, the
battle, were hailed as heroes in Russia. willpower under any circumstances,” flag will be displayed at the Central Navy
Soon, a poem called “In Memory of the Sotnikov said. “And not only in the Navy, Museum in St. Petersburg.

Canadian Navy Centennial Celebrated

Canada’s navy—Canadian Forces Maritime Command, formerly
the Royal Canadian Navy—marked its 100th anniversary in 2010,
and to honor the occasion, the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa
has launched a new online exhibit, “Canada’s Naval History.”
The exhibit site is packed with hundreds of objects and images
from the collections of the Canadian War Museum and others.
Vintage photographs, uniforms and insignia, artwork, posters,
documents, letters, and more are all woven into a keyboard-
accessible tapestry of Canadian naval history.
“This online exhibition is both an innovative means to preserve
and share Canada’s naval history with all Canadians, and a
wonderful way to mark the Canadian navy’s centennial,” said Mark
O’Neill, director general of the museum.
The exhibit allows users to explore Canada’s naval history from
its origins to today. One particularly stirring part of that history
is World War II, when the Canadian naval contribution, “like
the country’s contribution in general, was indispensable to the
Allied victory,” notes Michael Whitby, senior naval historian for
the Canadian Department of National Defence, on the exhibit
site’s introductory page. While Canada’s role in the battle of the
Atlantic was particularly crucial, “No matter where or in which
nation’s ships they served, Canadian sailors made an essential
contribution to the final victory and added an important chapter
to Canada’s rich military heritage.”
That heritage extended past World War II to the Cold War and
beyond. “At various times during the first century of its existence,”
Whitby remarks, “the Canadian Navy has enhanced Canada’s
international reputation, helped to spark economic development,
fought with courage and tenacity, and reflected the qualities that
Canadians want to promote and see from their military. At 100
years of age, the Navy remains comparatively young, but it will
remain an important ingredient of our national fabric so long as
the seas meet our shores.”
To explore “Canada’s Naval History,” visit http://www.
warmuseum.ca/cwm/exhibitions/navy/home-e.aspx.
Naval History News continued on page 66

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 11
Flight Line
The First Tentative Steps
I
n an example of the ironies that
pervade history, the initial devel-
opment of naval aviation resulted
from the efforts of three unlikely
proponents: a civilian pilot not fond of
the water, an officer whose naval service
began just seven years after the Civil
War ended, and a motorcycle racer-
turned-airplane manufacturer. Yet
in Eugene Ely, Captain Washington
Irving Chambers, and Glenn Curtiss,
the Navy benefited from a daring avi-
ator at the controls, an administrative
champion within the naval bureau-
cracy, and an innovator developing
cutting-edge flying machines. Those
three ingredients have remained a
constant in naval aviation over the
course of its first century, a period
marked by brilliant technological
achievement, tactical evolution, an
adventurous spirit, and heroism of the
highest order.
Chambers, Curtiss, and Ely reached
the first milestone in the autumn of
1910. The site was Hampton Roads,
Virginia, location of a previous naval
revolution; during the Civil War, the
first battle between ironclad ships was
fought there. On 14 November, Ely
successfully flew a Curtiss pusher from a
makeshift wooden deck erected on the
scout cruiser Birmingham. Two months
later, Ely made the first landing on a
similar deck constructed on board the
armored cruiser Pennsylvania anchored
in San Francisco Bay (see story, page
48). With hooks on the underside of his
aircraft snagging a series of ropes that tra-
versed the deck and were weighted down
by sandbags, Ely performed a primitive
arrested landing that foreshadowed those
destined to occur on the decks of true
aircraft carriers.
Ely’s dramatic achievements, however,
did not assure a place for naval aviation
in the U.S. Fleet. Officers of the day did
not look favorably on diminishing the
firepower of their battleships and cruis-
ers by constructing wooden decks on
them. More far-reaching in the effort to
integrate aviation into Fleet operations
was another flight to the Pennsylvania
that occurred on 17 February 1911, when
Glenn Curtiss piloted a hydroaeroplane
out to the ship, landed alongside, and
12
By Hill Goodspeed, Historian,
National Naval Aviation Museum
was hoisted aboard. A short time later,
a crane lowered his flying machine onto
the water, from which he took off and
returned to shore (see story, page 16). It
would be on the wings of seaplanes, not
land planes, that the foundation of U.S.
naval aviation rested.
On 8 May 1911, the date the U.S.
Navy celebrates as the birthday of naval
aviation, Chambers prepared requisi-
tions for the purchase of the service’s first
two aircraft. During the ensuing years
preceding World War I, the Navy added
an array of airplanes to its inventory,
all either built to fly from the water or
converted to that configuration. Among
the more successful were flying boats, the
appearance of their hulls likened by some
to wooden shoes, and seaplanes with
floats. Others were unorthodox, notably
a design by the Gallaudet Engineering
Company of Connecticut in which the
engine and propeller were located in the
middle of the plane’s fuselage.
With the procurement of aircraft
came the assembly of personnel. The
first naval aviators were junior officers,
a number of whom were drawn to fly-
ing after witnessing European aircraft
during cruises overseas. They were men
willing to take a risk professionally, turn-
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
ing their backs on tried-and-true career
paths to participate in an endeavor
whose success was uncertain. Out of
necessity, given the primitive airplanes
of the day and the fact that aviation was
just beginning to be understood, they
were daring. Seven of the first 20 naval
Above: Eugene Ely made the first airplane
takeoff from a ship on 14 November 1910,
flying a Curtiss pusher from a wooden
platform on the scout cruiser Birmingham,
anchored in Hampton Roads, Virginia.
Left: Captain Washington Irving Chambers
provided the ship and the means for Ely’s
historic feat.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
aviators lost their lives in Navy aircraft
accidents, a testament to the hazards of
flying during that period.
Naval aviation did not have a perma-
nent base of operations until aircraft and
personnel arrived at Pensacola, Florida,
in January 1914 to establish an aeronau-
tic station. The first aviators and their
support personnel would make signifi-
cant strides in the years before America’s
entry into World War I. During exercises
with the Fleet, notably off Guantanamo
Bay, Cuba, they demonstrated the abil-
ity of aircraft to improve the accuracy of
warship gunfire by spotting its fall. Also
of significance to the future of aircraft in
the sea service, naval aviators conducted
successful catapult tests ashore and from
the decks of ships and experimented
with aerial bombing. When the Navy
was called into action to occupy Vera
Cruz, Mexico, in April 1914, naval
aircraft from Pensacola deployed to the
scene and flew observation and scouting
On 20 January 1914, the aviation unit from Annapolis,
Maryland, with 9 officers, 23 men, 7 aircraft, and support
equipment, arrived at Pensacola, Florida, to set up a flying
school. At right are the various aircraft, along with tent hangars,
arrayed on the Pensacola beach in 1914.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

missions that marked the first combat operations by u.S.

airplanes.
While such experiments and operations helped aviation
gain a foothold in the Navy, events across the Atlantic
pointed to the dawning of the air age in warfare. Despite
the fact that Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels had
proclaimed in 1914, the year World War I began, that “air-
craft must form a large part of
our naval force for offensive
and defensive operations,” by
April 1917 the Navy’s entire
aviation force consisted of
fewer than 300 personnel and
just 58 aircraft, none suit-
able for combat. That same
month, the united States
declared war on Germany.
The decisive test for fledgling
u.S. naval air power would
occur in europe during the
Great War.

Above: On 5 November 1915, Lieutenant Commander

Henry C. Mustin, in an AB-2 flying boat, made the first
catapult-launch takeoff from a ship, flying off the stern of
the armored cruiser North Carolina.

Above: Lieutenant Theodore Ellyson, Naval

Aviator No. 1 (foreground), and Glenn Curtiss
with the Navy’s first airplane, the A-1 Triad, on
Lake Keuka, New York, in July 1911.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

From the Naval Institute Photo Archive

During 2011 these and other photographs

tracing the history of U.S. naval flight
can be viewed at www.usni.org. Follow
the Naval Aviation Centennial links.
Slideshows change monthly. Lieutenant (junior grade) Patrick N. L. Bellinger (far right) poses with members of his
aviation detachment from Pensacola and their aircraft at Vera Cruz, Mexico, in 1914.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 13
Historic Fleets By Robert J. Cressman

‘A Mighty Important’ Makeshift Flagship

“O
ur ship was neither a Boston Navy Yard on 7 December 1941, poles, gasoline hoses, and the charts and
troopship nor a warship,” earmarked for the Support Force of the publications necessary for an embarked
the renowned war Atlantic Fleet. patrol-plane squadron. Flight clothing—
correspondent Ernie Pyle Plagued by unreliable diesel engines, including suits, boots, and flying helmets—
observed, “but it was a mighty important the Biscayne, like her sister ship the was removed the next day while the
ship. It was not huge; just big enough that Barnegat (AVP-10), required extensive ship began discharging aviation gas and
you could feel self-respecting and vital repairs and alterations before she could lubricating oil to tanks ashore. Ten desks
about your part in the invasion, yet small enter service. Once the work at Boston and five wardrobe-type lockers went to
enough that it was intimate and you could fit her out for extended service, she the Advanced Amphibious Training Base
get to be a part of the ship’s family.” operated off Greenland, Argentina, at Port Lyautey the next day, when she
Because of wartime security, when Sierra Leone, and in French Moroccan finished discharging her gas and oil stores.
some of Pyle’s dispatches were published waters in the wake of Operation Torch. Rear Admiral Richard L. Conolly, who
in book form—as Brave Men—the ship She performed her designed aviation- would command one of Husky’s three
about which he had written so fondly tender function into the spring of 1943. transport forces, visited the Biscayne for
had to remain anonymous. That “mighty But as plans proceeded for the several hours on 28 April, and on the
important ship” did, however, have a invasion of Sicily, Operation Husky, morning of 2 May she shifted her berth
name—the USS Biscayne (AVP-11). She changes lay ahead for the Biscayne. Those to one alongside the repair ship Delta
had begun life as a small seaplane tender, contemplating the operation decided to (AR-9) at a pier in Mers-El-Kebir Harbor.
the second of a new class of such vessels employ the vessel—for that evolution A little more than three hours later, the
whose development had been dictated by only—as a command ship. On 21 April Delta’s repair crew came aboard to begin
the increasingly important role played by 1943, she transferred torpedoes and transforming the Biscayne to a command
patrol planes in naval warfare. bombs with associated warheads, exercise ship. The artisans built a deckhouse aft,
In 1936, in view of contemplated heads, tail vanes, and fuses to the Naval one portion of which served as a code
operations in the Pacific, designers of the Air Station at Port Lyautey, Morocco, room and the other a war room that was
Biscayne and her Barnegat-class sisters unloading there, as well, her fending-off subdivided into three compartments. The
envisioned successive occupations of
advanced bases that would require the
employment of a small number of light
seaplane tenders at each island. Converted
Biscayne (AGC-18) – Class Amphibious Force Flagship
minesweepers of the Lapwing class had Displacement 2,800 tons
shown value as adjuncts, for training and Length 310 feet, 9 inches
for war, but had fallen short of fulfilling all Beam 41 feet, 1 inch
the characteristics needed in such vessels.
Laid down at Puget Sound Navy Draft 13 feet, 6 inches
Yard in Bremerton, Washington, Complement (July 1943, including embarked staff) 500
on 27 October 1939, a little less than Armament (July 1943) Two 5-inch
two months after war had begun to
One 1.1-inch quad
ravage the European landscape, the
Biscayne was launched on 23 May 1941 Ten 20-mm
and commissioned on 3 July Two depth-charge tracks
1941, Lieutenant Commander
Carleton C. Champion Jr. in
command. Proceeding down
the West Coast, then through
the Panama Canal, the
new tender reached

J.M. CAIELLA

The Biscayne in her original prewar configuration as a seaplane tender—a small vessel capable of deploying a reconnaissance aircraft as well as
serving as an aviation support ship. In the spring of 1943 she was outfitted to serve as an amphibious assault command ship for the invasion of Sicily.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

14 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E

latter spaces, containing heat-generating
equipment, would prove to be unbearably
hot and humid in warm weather.
On the afternoon of 24 May, workers
removed three SCR-188 radio sets, and
brought on board four 7CSs, one SCR-
284, and two receivers, a model bC-603
and a bC-683. During that time, Conolly
paid an unofficial visit—most likely to
see how things were progressing. Finally,
on 31 May, the Biscayne shifted her berth
and moored to the breakwater at 0903,
where she underwent a quick inclining
experiment to make sure the renovations
had not added too much topside weight.
Conolly broke his flag on board on 6 June.
A month later, before she had sailed to
take part in her initial operation, her guns
spoke for the first time in anger. During
an air raid at bizerte, her 5-inch bursts
helped destroy a Junkers Ju-88 bomber,
and she suffered her first casualties. Two of
her crew and one of the embarked Soldiers
suffered fragment wounds.
Over the next eight months, the
Biscayne, which had been converted only
for the invasion of Sicily, led formations
of assault craft in three major amphibious
operations: Sicily, Salerno, and Anzio.
“On each of these [operations] she has
proven an excellent navigation and
communication ship, her primary
mission,” noted Rear Admiral Frank
J. Lowry, commander of the eighth
Amphibious Force. Lowry, who flew
his flag in the ship during the assault
at Anzio, came to “regard this ship
with respect and pride for her versatile
seamanship, cooperative helpfulness to
the small craft, and courageous aggression
against the enemy.”
Particularly noteworthy, Lowry observed,
was how, as force flagship, the Biscayne
“consistently set a high standard of anti-
aircraft performance” most often “being
the first ship to open fire.” Acknowledging
how German fighter-bombers often would
approach by imitating Allied tactics, or
even by following P-40s or Spitfires, the
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1
Biscayne’s gunners would instantaneously
recognize the enemy. “The quick-
opening, accurate fire of the Biscayne
was a controlling factor in defense of the
anchorage.” In addition, the ship served as
“supply, fuel and water ship for small craft,
hospital ship, smoke supply depot, minor
repair ship and receiving station.” She had
unerringly led assault ships to the correct
beach, and in Lowry’s estimation, “could
have done so, if necessary, without the aid
of reference vessels,” skillfully employing
her SC and SG radars.
Acknowledging that “berthing, messing
and ship-service overcrowding is difficult
for all at times,” Lowry did not feel it to be
critical. In fact, “[i]n view of the excellent
manner in which the Biscayne gets the job
done,” he accepted the “disadvantages of
crowding . . . as part of the job.” In sum,
“[w]hile the Biscayne is not perfect, [she]
is quite satisfactory as an amphibious
force flagship.” (Her captain, Commander
edward H. eckelmeyer Jr., meanwhile,
doubted “there are any other ships in
the u.S. Navy operating with personnel
increased by 200 percent over that for
which they were originally designed.”)
“As she stands and on past performance
alone,” wrote Rear Admiral bertram J.
Rodgers, who flew his flag in the Biscayne
during the invasion of southern France,
ONI PHOTO
In 1945 the biscayne, now bearing the designation AGC-18, moved from the Mediterranean
to the Pacific Theater, where she served in a number of campaigns. She spent the final month
and a half of the war in the Philippines.
• • • • • • • • • • • •
NATIONAL ARCHIVeS
The biscayne, resplendent in a splotchy
camouflage scheme, in Boston in
January 1942. At this point she was
largely unmodified—still equipped with
six boats, four of which were nested aft.
A Kingfisher floatplane sat on the main
deck near the stern. The small star just
aft of her hull number (11) indicated
her aviation assignment.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
her fourth major operation as a
makeshift flagship, “her record as
a flagship has been a good one; she has
discharged her function as such in spite of
the fact [that] the Flag installations were
of a temporary and incomplete nature.”
The Biscayne’s men had “performed
their duties with ability, courage, and
distinction,” and he praised their “pleasant
and effective” cooperation.
After receiving further alterations at
boston Navy Yard when she returned
from the Mediterranean, the Biscayne
was formally redesignated AGC-18 on
10 October 1944 and returned to the
Pacific. There she took part in several
amphibious operations, including Iwo
Jima and Okinawa, and earned two
battle stars to add to the four awarded
to her earlier. Decommissioned on 29
June 1946, the Biscayne was transferred
to the u.S. Coast Guard and was stricken
from the Navy Register on 19 July 1946.
Renamed the Dexter, the erstwhile
stopgap flagship was returned to the Navy
on 9 July 1968, and ultimately was sunk
as a target.
The smallest of the amphibious-
force flagships in the u.S. Navy during
World War II, the Biscayne carried out
her wartime duty wherever she served
with great distinction, and in recognition
thereof, received the Navy unit
Commendation.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
15
Historic Aircraft
The Navy’s First
O
rville and Wilbur Wright
developed the principles
of manned, powered flight,
first demonstrated on 17
December 1903, at Kitty Hawk, North
Carolina, with their Wright Flyer. But
it was Glenn Hammond Curtiss who in
large measure was responsible for the
“selling” of aviation by putting his early
flying machines to practical use.1
In 1908, 30-year-old Curtiss designed,
built, and flew his own airplane. He won
nationwide attention in May 1910 by
capturing the New York World’s $10,000
prize for being the first aviator to fly from
U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
Glenn Curtiss, hanging from a crane’s hook, helps guide his fragile hydroaeroplane as it is hauled up
the side of the armored cruiser Pennsylvania on 17 February 1911. This experiment in San Diego
Bay, California, helped earn Curtiss the contract for two of the Navy’s first three aircraft.
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Albany to New York City. He made the
1421/2-mile trip in 2 hours, 50 minutes.
Somewhat prematurely, the World
claimed: “The battles of the future will
be fought in the air! The aeroplane will
decide the destiny of nations.”
The newspaper promptly set up a
“bombing range” on Keuka Lake at
Hammondsport, New York, near Curtiss’
shop, arranging floats to simulate the
500-by-90-foot outline of a battleship.
Curtiss flew over in his airplane and
dropped 8-inch lengths of 11/2-inch-
16
diameter lead pipe on the “battleship.”
Rear Admiral William W. Kimball, one
of the observers, dismissively declared:
“There are defects for war purposes: lack
of ability to operate in average weather
at sea; signalling its approach by noise
of motor and propellers; impossibility
of controlling its height and speed to
predict approximate bombing ranges;
difficulty of hitting from a height great
enough to give a chance of getting within
effective range.”
The press interpreted the results
differently. The World told of “an
aeroplane costing a few thousand but
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
able to destroy the battleship costing
many millions.” The New York Times
acknowledged a new “menace to the
armored fleets of war.” The aircraft-
versus-battleship controversy was raging
before the Navy had purchased its first
aircraft. At the time the U.S. Army had
only one Wright flying machine.
On 26 September 1910—one year
after the Army had bought that first
aircraft—Captain Washington Irving
Chambers, assistant to the Secretary
of the Navy’s aide for matériel, was
By Norman Polmar
Author, ShipS and aircraft
of the U.S. fleet
directed to keep the Navy informed of
aviation matters. Chambers, who had just
completed a tour of duty as commanding
officer of the battleship Louisiana, was
interested in engineering and considered
to be an aggressive officer. Much to the
benefit of the Navy, he soon became very
interested in aviation.
Under Chambers’ direction, Glenn
Curtiss provided an aircraft for two historic
firsts—the first takeoff of an aircraft from a
ship, from the scout cruiser Birmingham on
14 November 1910, and the first shipboard
landing, aboard the larger armored cruiser
Pennsylvania on 18 January 1911 (see story,
page 48). Both flights were made by Eugene
Ely, a Curtiss test pilot, in the same Curtiss
pusher aircraft.
The year 1910 had ended on another
bright note for naval aviation when, on
23 December, the Navy took up an offer
by Curtiss to teach, without charge, a
naval officer to fly. Lieutenant Theodore
G. Ellyson reported for flight training
to the Curtiss camp at North Island
(San Diego), California. The following
March the Wright Brothers offered to
train a pilot for the Navy contingent
upon the purchase of one airplane for
$50,000. When the Wrights made their
offer unconditional, the Navy ordered
Lieutenant John Rodgers to the Wright
training camp for instruction; he become
the U.S. Navy’s second aviator.
Captain Chambers negotiated for
the purchase of three aircraft for a total
of $25,000—two from Curtiss and one
from the Wrights. Curtiss was favored
because of his early interest in seaplanes
and his flight with one of his aircraft that
alighted near the Pennsylvania, anchored
• • • • off San Diego, on 17 February 1911.
While hundreds of Sailors lined the rail
to watch, the aircraft was hoisted aboard
the ship and then returned to the water,
and Curtiss took off.
On 1 July 1911, the Navy’s first aircraft,
the Curtiss A-1 Triad hydroaeroplane, or
seaplane, became airborne with Curtiss
himself at the controls. The pusher-engine
biplane, powered by a 75-horsepower
Curtiss V-8 engine, was fitted with a
combination of wheels and a large, single
float. The name Triad was derived from
its three capabilities—land, sea, and air.
The aircraft took off from and landed on
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
Keuka Lake. The A-1’s first flight lasted
five minutes and reached an altitude of 25
feet. A total of three flights was made on
that date—one by Curtiss with Ellyson as
a passenger and two by Ellyson alone.
The Navy’s second aircraft, a wheeled
landplane, the Curtiss A-2, flew for the
first time at Hammondsport on 13 July.
Curtiss was again at the controls for its
first flight. Beyond these early flights,
Ellyson used his time at Hammondsport
making night takeoffs and landings on
the lake, and takeoffs from an inclined
launching wire rigged from the beach
down to the water. (The Navy accepted
the Wright B-1 landplane at Dayton,
Ohio, in 1912.)
Subsequently, the fledgling naval air
arm was moved to Greenbury Point,
across the Severn River from the U.S.
U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE
Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland.
Lieutenants John H. Towers (left) and Theodore G. Ellyson—Naval Aviators Nos. 3 and 1,
But late in the year naval aviation was
respectively—land the Navy’s second aircraft, the A-2, at the Curtiss Field in Hammondsport,
moved from Annapolis to San Diego on
New York, on 14 July 1911, the day after the aircraft made its maiden flight.
land owned by Curtiss.2
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The A-2 was rebuilt as a
hydroaeroplane, while Curtiss delivered In future years Curtiss would produce Sparrowhawk airship-borne fighters,
two additional aircraft of the type to the many naval aircraft. Among the most the SBC and SB2C Helldiver dive-
Navy, the A-3 and A-4. On 6 October noteworthy were his large World bombers, SOC Seagull scout-observation
1912, Lieutenant John Towers (Naval War I–era flying boats, typified by the floatplanes, and R5C Commando
Aviator No. 3) piloting the A-2 remained H-16. The later, even larger NC-series transports. While later Curtiss aircraft,
aloft for 6 hours, 10 minutes, setting an flying boats were developed for long- which were produced through 1947,
American endurance record. Beginning range operations against U-boats and did not achieve eminence, Curtiss
on 12 November 1912, the A-3, piloted by were capable of flying to Europe with did provide the U.S. Navy with many
Ellyson, was used in catapult trials at the intermittent stops. In May 1919, the notable—and its first—aircraft.
Washington Navy Yard. The same aircraft NC-4 was the first aircraft to fly across
also established an American altitude the Atlantic Ocean, albeit in stages. Norman Polmar is a columnist for Proceedings
record for seaplanes, 6,200 feet. Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels and Naval History magazines. Among his 50
The Navy Department was obviously later wrote of the NC-4 flight, “It will published books is the two-volume Aircraft
pleased with the Curtiss-built aircraft, rank with the laying of the Atlantic Carriers: A History of Carrier Aviation and Its
for 19 of the Navy’s first 26 aircraft were cable and other events which have Influence on World Events (Potomac Books,
produced by Curtiss; 2 were Burgess marked a distinct and significant 2006, 2008).
Co. & Curtis (no relation to Curtiss) advance in the history of the mastery of 1. Curtiss aircraft are best described in Peter M.
flying boats; 2 were Burgess-Dunne the elements by man.” Bowers, Curtiss Aircraft 1907-1947 (Annapolis, MD:
hydroaeroplanes; and only 3 were Wright Other notable Curtiss aircraft were Naval Institute Press, 1979), and Gordon Swan-
aircraft (delivered in 1912–13). the JN-series biplane trainers, the F9C borough and Peter M. Bowers, United States Navy
Aircraft since 1911 (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute
Press, 1976), pp. 91-154, 424-428.
2. Subsequently, naval aviation moved back to An-
napolis and then, in January 1914, to Pensacola,
Florida.

Curtiss A-1 Triad Hydroaeroplane

Type: Amphibious
(wheels and a single float)
Length: 28 feet, 7½ inches
Wingspan: 37 feet
Engine: 1 Curtiss V-8;
75-horsepower pusher
J. M. CAIELLA

The Curtiss A-1 Triad was the U.S. Navy’s first aircraft. Fitted with a retractable undercarriage and Maximum Speed: 60 mph
a main float with two outrigger floats, the aircraft was capable of operations from both land and water. Crew: Pilot + passenger
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 17
 HELLCAT ACE
in a Day—Twice!
Interview by Paul Stillwell In excerpts from his new
U.S. Naval Institute oral history,
Captain David McCampbell, the
Navy’s all-time leading fighter ace,
recounts two historic days of
Pacific war aerial combat.

U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE

Seated in Minsi III, his F6F-5 Hellcat fighter, a

smiling Commander David McCampbell gives
a thumbs-up in a photograph taken between
his famous Marianas and Leyte Gulf fights.
McCampbell scored 34 aerial victories, a U.S. Navy
record, during only five months of combat.

18 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
T
he most notable fighter ace in Navy history was the late Captain situation, I never really had a forced
David McCampbell, who was credited with 34 victories against landing. I always got back to the ship.
Japanese aircraft during World War II. He and Lieutenant Com- Except one occasion, I was low on gas.
mander Edward “Butch” O’Hare were among the few pilots awarded My ship couldn’t take me, but I was
Medals of Honor for aerial combat. McCampbell’s came as the result able to land on the Langley [CVL-27].
of shooting down nine aircraft during one mission in the October 1944 Battle
of Leyte Gulf. Stillwell: And that was on the 24th of
In his retirement, McCampbell seldom gave interviews, preferring to let his October 1944, which we’ll get to during
accomplishments speak. However, through the urging of fellow Navy veteran Jim the course of today’s discussion.
Gregory, McCampbell agreed to a series of oral history interviews with the U.S. McCampbell: Right.
Naval Institute. The interviews trace his entire life and naval career, including his
time as a midshipman, flight training, service as landing signal officer in the car- Stillwell: I think a point to be made in
rier Wasp (CV-7) in World War II, and his notable command of Air Group 15 in addition is that that reflects a consider-
the Essex (CV-9) in 1944. Later he had an interesting tour as naval adviser to the able amount of skill on your part that
Argentine Navy, served on the Sixth Fleet staff, and commanded the fleet oiler you were able to avoid the antiaircraft.
Severn (AO-61) and carrier Bon Homme Richard (CVA-31). McCampbell: No, I would rather de-
His candid recollections of his service and of the individuals with whom he scribe it as luck.
served are available in his oral history, newly released by the Naval Institute’s
Heritage Division. Stillwell: What was it about the F6F
that made it such a good plane?
Paul Stillwell: I believe you want to start today, Captain Mc- McCampbell: I can’t say enough good things about the
Campbell, by making the point about your record in combat Grumman Hellcat F6F. We first had the F6F-3, and then
and not being shot down or forced down. later we got the F6F-5, with the rocket rails, so we were able
Captain McCampbell: Yes, that’s true. I’m quite proud of to carry rockets. When we got the 5s, I either carried four
the fact that I was never shot down by
the enemy in air-to-air combat or by
antiaircraft. I came very close to it once
on my second combat mission. It was
over Marcus Island, and my plane was
shot up pretty badly with antiaircraft
fire.1 I’d had a fire in my belly tank.
My wingman called and told me, and
I dropped that, but then I was able to
get back to the ship, which was about
160 miles away. When I got back to the
ship and prepared for landing, I found
that I couldn’t lower my wheels in the
normal manner; I had to lower them
down by an emergency method we had.
I couldn’t get the tailhook down in the
normal manner; I had to crank it down.
I had one of the flaps shot up pretty
badly. I had a little difficulty in landing
aboard, but I did get back to my ship.
After I landed, one of the enterprising
young mechanics took the good Ham-
ilton standard clock out of the plane,
and then they pushed it over the side. NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAGE COMMAND

I never had to parachute, fortunately. McCampbell (above with paddles) began his wartime service as senior landing signal
I missed a good opportunity on that officer (LSO) on board the USS Wasp (CV-7). After the carrier was torpedoed off
particular flight that I just described, Guadalcanal, he jumped from the listing ship’s LSO station into the oily, debris-strewn
but I decided to stay with the plane, water far below. Oil “was still in my ears a month or so later,” he recalled.
and we got back safely. Except for that • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 19
rockets or a 500-pound bomb hung on the wing, because we did quite well. There were two in that first flight that shot
always used the belly tanks. down five planes. Charlie Brewer, the skipper, was one, and
[The F6F] had vastly improved capabilities over the pre- Ensign [Claude] Plant was another one.
vious fighter planes that had been in action, the F4F and Then as I said, I led the second strike. The enemy had
the Buffalo.2 The latter were only used by the Marines in been picked up about 120 miles away, which indicated to
the Battle of Midway. The Hellcat could climb faster, it was me that those early-warning radars were better than we had
more maneuverable, slightly more maneuverable, it provided in the later part of the war, when they changed the surface
an excellent gun platform for the six .50-caliber machine ships’ radar type, the carriers, anyway. But they picked them
guns. We had self-sealing gas tanks. up, a nice, clear day, about 120 miles
I think the later models of the F4F away. So we had plenty of time to
did too. And we had armor plate The Judy . . . blew up in my launch our flight to go out and at-
behind the pilot. It was faster, equal face, and I pulled up above tack them. I guess we must have
at some altitudes with the Japanese him to avoid the debris. hit that second strike out about 60
Zero, or Zeke, and better at higher miles, maybe more, maybe a little
altitudes performance-wise. less. And we simply tore into them.
The biggest advantage, I think, that it provided—over the They had Zeros, and they had Jills, torpedo plane, and Judys.3
Japanese, anyway—was the self-sealing gas tanks. It had tre- The Judy was a beautiful little bomber, not a heavy bomber,
mendous firepower. You could shoot up 400 rounds per gun but a good-looking little bomber. For some reason, I missed
in 40 seconds if you held the trigger down. Of course, you’d the fighters. I never saw them.
burn out the barrels of the guns if you did. We were taught I picked up first the Judys, so then I concentrated all
early on to shoot in short bursts, like three to four seconds, my attention on them. Fortunately, the last division that
ease up on the trigger, and then let go another short burst, or was with me, of four planes, picked up the fighters and had
repeated ones. I burnt out guns once there at the Marianas a good time up there with them. But I led the rest of my
Turkey Shoot, my first flight, and it was graphically displayed people down on the Judys, and I had so much altitude ad-
to me that the thing to do was not to hold the trigger down vantage, that when I dove down, I would estimate we were
too long, so I never burnt out a barrel after that. maybe 20,000 feet above, and they were probably about
15,000 or 16,000. I dove down on them, and I had so much
Stillwell: When you held down that trigger, did that fire all speed, I couldn’t hit the leader, but I did hit one of the tail-
six simultaneously? end Charlies. I attacked him, thinking that I would knock
McCampbell: Yes. You could shut off a couple if you wanted. him off, and then go under him, and go to the other side
Some of the Marines down at Guadalcanal used to shut off and come back with altitude advantage and hit them from
two guns, they said, to come home on, but I always trained the other side. But the Judy that I first went down on blew
my people to fire all of them. If they wanted to save up a up in my face, and I pulled up above him to avoid the debris.
little ammunition, why, just stop shooting. So then I went across on top, and I remember thinking at
the time, “Gosh, will I ever get across this formation?” Be-
Stillwell: Did you always use tracers? cause I figured they were all shooting at me, see. There was
McCampbell: Yes. One tracer every third bullet. We had no one out there waving binoculars or a sword at me, but I
the incendiary, the ball bullet, and the tracer. We used that had that feeling. I went across the other side and made an
one-in-three combination all through combat. attack on another plane, and I worked my way up, and finally
got the leader with just the one gun firing. I’d burned out the
Stillwell: Well, along with its other attributes, the Hellcat barrels on five of them. I still had one gun that fired, and with
was a rugged plane. that, I dropped down to the flight of Jills, the torpedo planes
McCampbell: Very rugged. below, and I shot a plane down. I shot at a plane, the leader,
down there with the Jills, but I didn’t claim him. I think I
19 June 1944—Great Marianas Turkey Shoot claimed him as a probable, because I knew he didn’t blow up
in my face. Then I went on back to the ship.
Now, this is all on June 19, the Marianas Turkey Shoot.
Stillwell: Everybody has had an interest in the Great Mar- Then I got new gun barrels first off, and I didn’t go out again
ianas Turkey Shoot, the First Battle of the Philippine Sea, until the fourth flight of Japs coming in. There were five
so please tell me your memories of that day. flights in all, and I hit number two and number four. They
McCampbell: Well, a few basic facts. I led the second group had gotten over near Guam by the time I got into them,
of fighters to take off from the Essex. Now, the fighter squad- and that was quite a melee. They were scattered somewhat
ron commander led the first group from the Essex, and they preparatory to landing, and we blasted into them. I man-

20 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
aged to get two planes out of that group, and, I guess, all in
all, we only had seven planes on this flight. I was seventh.
I don’t remember, but I’d say we got about eight planes out
of that bunch over Guam or very near Guam.
Then, as I was coming home, I saw this American sea-
plane down on the water that was trying to recover, pick up
one of the downed pilots, and a couple of Japs were strafing
him. So my wingman and I went down and ran them off.
We didn’t claim either one, but ran them off anyway. We
circled a little bit, and then I ran into one of my pilots, En-
sign Ray Nall, whose plane had been damaged. He couldn’t
make anywhere near full speed, and there was at least one
Jap attacking him. I ran him off, and that was one of the few
occasions that I ever used the weave.4 I was weaving with
him, trying to protect him from this Jap or two, and got him
back to the ship, and then we landed. But as I was in the
landing circle coming back to the ship, Charlie Brewer, the
NATIONAL NAVAL AVIATION mUSEUm
McCampbell and his wingman, Lieutenant Roy Rushing, prepare to take on a group of Japanese “Zeke” fighters, in Ted Wilbur’s
painting High-Side Attack over Leyte Gulf. During the 24 October mission, McCampbell downed nine planes and Rushing six.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
fighter squadron commander, had just taken off, and I heard
him call in to the ship. He said to the fighter director, “Is
this all the planes I get for this flight?”
The fighter direction officer said, “Yeah, that’s all we got.”
So I called Charlie, and I said, “Charlie, there’s lots of
Japs over Guam, so when you go in, you’d better go in high
and fast and stay that way.” He acknowledged.
Stillwell: How many did he have with him? You say it was
a few.
McCampbell: Six with him.
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
Stillwell: That was the same number you had on yours.
McCampbell: Yes. And so he went in, and the result, he and
his wingman both got shot down.
24 October 1944—Battle of Leyte Gulf
McCampbell: The admiral called me up and specifically told
me after June 19th, that he didn’t want me taking part in any
more scrambles or purely fighter-type missions.5 He wanted
me to lead the deck loads of fighters, bombers, and torpedo
planes on missions. So I didn’t get in on that [early 24 Octo-
ber] fighter sweep. But then, a couple of hours later, we got
notification by radar that this flight was coming in on us. We
were right off Luzon. We only had seven planes left flyable.
We thought we had eight, mine being one of them, but one
of the guys couldn’t take off for some reason. I never found
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
out why, a malfunction of the engine or something. And we
got notification of this raid coming in, and so we scrambled
all the fighters we had left. The Lexington [CV-16] was short
too. In reading Hugh Winters’ book, those were all loaded and
prepared to make a strike, as we were, I’d say, in the middle
of our loading bombing and torpedo planes for a strike.6 But
this raid was right on us, and the first vector I got was like
290 degrees, 22 miles. That was just after I got in the air.
Stillwell: Well, even before that, you were halted from get-
ting into the air, weren’t you?
21
McCampbell: Yes. I got to the fighter ready room. I put And then word came I was not to go. I got in touch with
on my parachute harness and my life jacket and my pistol, him. I’ve forgotten how, but I told him, “No, I’m not to fly.”
which I always carried but never used. It was mainly in case So this was a delay. Then when I got the word to go, the
I got shot down over land or something. I was in the fighter plane captain had to get the plane on the elevator and get it
ready room when I heard this announcement of a raid com- topside. So when we were told to man our planes, my plane
ing in, and I called to the air officer and asked him if he was on the catapult, ready to go, except it wasn’t full of gas.
wanted me to take part in this flight or not, knowing that We’d always degas it when we’d put it below, in case of bomb
there were only seven planes ready to go, mine included, and attack and fire hazard. So they were gassing it when I went
he said, “Yes, the group commander is to go.” Then I buckled out and manned my plane. Pretty soon word came down,
up, was getting all set to go, and the next word came down “If the group commander’s plane’s not ready to go, send him
shortly, “The group commander is not to go on this flight.” below.” I looked at my gauges and saw that my main tanks
were only half full.
Stillwell: Now, was that by telephone that that came? What they had done was gas the belly tank full. Of course,
McCampbell: Loudspeaker. Intercom. So then I started tak- the first thing you do when you get in combat is drop that
belly tank. Well, anyway, I waved the
gasoline detail away, and I told them
I was ready to go. So they launched
me, and the other six planes followed,
and we made a running rendezvous,
and, as I said, shortly after I got off,
the first fighter director direction was
that the enemy was 22 miles away at
14,000 feet. The bearing, I believe,
was 290. It later was changed to more
like 298. And we intercepted them.
I intended that second division to
go down on the bombers and keep
my division topside for the fighters.
It turned out that the number-three
man in the bomber group was the
second division leader. My second
section leader couldn’t take off.
Anyway, I called back to this guy,
NATIONAL ARCHIVES thinking it was the second division
Several days after the Leyte Gulf battles, McCampbell (right) flew to the USS Lexington leader, and told him to go down
to deliver Air Group 15’s after-combat action reports. While there, he discussed the recent and attack the bombers. Now, to
air fights with Task Force 38’s commander, Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher, and his chief of this day, I don’t remember who that
staff, former destroyer commander Captain Arleigh Burke (left). was, but, anyway, he was only the
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • third man in the rendezvous, and I
thought he would be the fifth man.
ing off my flight gear, and then shortly afterwards, word came So five of the fighters went down and attacked the bombers,
down and said, “The group commander is to go.” I guess and that left my wingman, Roy Rushing, and me topside. So
he found out by then that there were very few fighters left. that’s how we got into this action. We first made a couple of
attacks on the fighters. We’d gotten the altitude advantage,
Stillwell: It was Admiral [Frederick] Sherman who had found and they quickly went into a Lufbery circle, and I guess that’s
that out? when they made a couple of attacks.8
McCampbell: Well, I thought [the air officer had] probably Then we saw that was not very fruitful, although I think we
gone to Admiral Sherman, but it turned out he didn’t. did get a couple of planes, and they went into a Lufbery. So Roy
and I just preserved our altitude, got up about 3,000 feet above
Stillwell: Captain [Carlos] Wieber.7 them, and circled, figuring that some were apt to come out of
McCampbell: He must have gone to Captain Wieber. So then, this Lufbery circle, and then we could go to work on them. So
in the meantime, I first told my plane captain to get my plane we had a cigarette apiece, and in about, I don’t know, 10 to
on the catapult. He had to bring it up from the hangar deck. 15 minutes—it’s kind of hard to judge time, but it was enough

22 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
for me to smoke one cigarette, so at least eight to ten minutes. ing for the ship, and when I got over the ship, I found they
And then they broke out of this circle, and then headed for had a flight deck full of planes, and I knew that to launch
Manila. I don’t think they ever sighted our task group at all. all those planes would take a good 20 minutes, and I didn’t
They headed for Manila and got strung out, and later formed have that much gas left.
up in a nice, neat formation, real tight, and that’s when we So I called the ship and told them that, and the admiral
went to work on them. called the Langley and directed
So we had the altitude them to launch nine torpedo
advantage all the time we They . . . formed up in a nice, neat planes, so they could give me
attacked the Japanese. We formation, real tight, and that’s a clear deck to land aboard,
zoomed down, would shoot a when we went to work on them. which they did. When I saw the
plane or two. Roy and I each deck was clear, I came around
would take one, and I’d tell and made a pass, but the LSO
him which one I was going to take, if it was to the right didn’t cut me on the first pass. They still hadn’t cleared the
or to the left, which one it was. By telling him this, that deck properly for landing. So I made a quick turnaround, came
allowed him to know which way I was going to dive, and back again, and he gave me the cut, and I landed safely. But
then allowed him to pull out after we attacked, which gave when I tried to come out of the landing gear, I gave it near full
me freedom to go either way I wanted. This worked very gun, and the engine conked out on me. So I ran out of gas on
successfully, and he got the news. I’d pick out my plane, then the deck. They had to push me out of the landing area. I found
he’d pick out his. We’d make an attack, pull up, keep our out from the mech who reammunitioned the guns that I had
altitude advantage, speed, and go down again. We repeated exactly six rounds left in the starboard outboard gun, and they
this over and over. We made about 20 coordinated attacks. were all jammed. But it worked out all right.
In the meantime, a third pilot joined up on us, and he I went down to the fighter ready room. I remember the air
made, he said, two attacks, getting a plane on each one, and group commander had just come back from a flight. I was in
then he said he ran out of ammunition, and he went back to the ready room, having a sandwich and some milk, and he
the ship. But the guy didn’t tell me he was going to leave us. was all excited. I knew him. He said: “Dave, I just got five
It didn’t make any difference, really, except that he should planes! How many did you get today?”
have called me and told me he was going to return to the I was almost embarrassed to say. I said, “Well, I think I
ship. He may have been one of those that when we shifted got 11, with a couple of probables thrown in there. You’ll
frequency at the fighter director’s instruction, that he didn’t have to wait and talk to Roy Rushing.” That took the wind
get the word, or he didn’t get the right frequency, and he out of his sails.
had no contact with me. I didn’t try to sort this out later. Shortly thereafter, the admiral had directed the Langley
But anyway, pretty soon, Roy called me. He said, “Skipper, to launch me on a low combat air patrol, just by myself,
I’m out of ammunition.” no wingman, nothing, but we started getting a lot of low-
I called back, and I said, “Well, Roy, I’ve got a little left. flying torpedo planes, and so they sent me out about 20 miles
Do you want to go down with me for a couple more runs, or from the ship at 3,000 feet, and I circled out there, doing
do you want to sit up here and watch the show?” left-hand turns for about an hour and a half or two hours
He said, “Oh, no, I’ll go down with you.” So he followed before they would take me back aboard the Essex. So that
me down for a couple more attacks, and then I looked at completes the day for me.
my gas gauges, and I saw I’d emptied one main tank. I was
1. This attack was on 18 May 1944, by which time Air Group 15, led by then-
about on the second one, and I was beginning to get low. Commander McCampbell, was operating from the carrier Essex (CV-9). For details
By then I was out of ammunition, too, getting low on gas, see Edwin P. Hoyt, McCampbell’s Heroes: The Story of the U.S. Navy’s Most Cel-
ebrated Carrier Fighters of the Pacific War (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1983).
so I called Roy and said, “Well, we’ll go back to the ship. 2. The Brewster F2A Buffalo was the first monoplane fighter to enter Navy opera-
I’m getting low on gas.” By now, having followed this flight tional squadrons, which it did in mid-1941.
away from the task group toward Manila, we had gotten 3. “Judy” was the Allied code name for the Japanese Navy’s Yokosuka D4Y carrier-
based dive-bomber. “Jill” was the code name for the Japanese Navy’s Nakajima B6N
pretty far away from the ship. I’d estimate maybe around carrier-based torpedo-bomber.
4. “The weave” refers to the Thach Weave, developed by then-Lieutenant John S.
100 miles, give or take a few.
“Jimmy” Thach, USN.
So we headed back to the ship, and when I first got the 5. This was Rear Admiral Frederick C. Sherman, USN, Commander Task Group 38.3.
YE signal, and asked if they could take me as soon as I got 6. T. Hugh Winters, Skipper: Confessions of a Fighter Squadron Commander, 1943-
1944 (Mesa, Arizona: Champlin Fighter Museum Press, 1986).
back, they said, “Oh, yes, come on in.”9 So we kept head- 7. This was Captain Carlos W. Wieber, USN, commanding officer of the Essex.
8. The Lufbery circle is a defensive maneuver in which airplanes
fly in a ring, each one protecting the tail of the plane ahead. It
There’s More on the Web! was named for Major Raoul Lufbery, a French-American fighter
To hear excerpts from Captain David McCampbell’s U.S. Naval Institute pilot in World War I.
oral history follow the Naval Aviation Centennial links at www.usni.org. 9. YE is an aircraft homing system.

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 23
 AMERICA’S
First Strike Against
TERRORISM
Lieutenant Commander Joseph T. Stanik, U.S. Navy (Retired)

Twenty-five years ago, the Navy played an

indispensable role in the U.S. confrontation
with Moammar Gadhafi, a showdown that
culminated with a night of air strikes against
terrorist-related targets in Libya.

24 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 I
n the predawn darkness of 15 April 1986, the sky along the Lib-
yan coast suddenly erupted in blinding fire and dense smoke. U.S.
Navy attack aircraft from carriers in the central Mediterranean
and U.S. Air Force fighter-bombers based in England had begun
their attacks on terrorist facilities and military installations in or
near the cities of Tripoli and Benghazi. President Ronald Reagan had
ordered the operation—code-named El Dorado Canyon—in retaliation
for the Libyan government’s involvement in the bombing of a West
Berlin discotheque that killed one off-duty American Soldier and mor-
tally wounded another.
The raid, which was explicit warning to terrorists and terrorist
America’s first military states around the world.
action directed against
Tough Talk But Little Action
international terrorism,
had three objectives: pun- When Reagan took office on 20 January
ish the regime of Libyan 1981, Americans were already the princi-
dictator Moammar Gad- pal targets and victims of international
hafi for the West Berlin terrorism. In 1980 nearly 40 percent of
attack, interrupt further terrorist attacks worldwide were directed
acts of Libyan terrorism against American citizens or property.2
by smashing key compo- On the very day Reagan became chief
nents of its infrastructure, and dissuade executive, 52 American hostages were
Gadhafi from future sponsorship and sup- freed after 444 days of captivity in Iran.
port of terrorist violence. Polls taken after The hostage crisis was a traumatic expe-
the raid showed that the American people rience for the American people, and it
heartily approved the use of force against contributed in large part to Reagan’s land-
the Libyan dictator, but many believed slide victory over his predecessor, Jimmy
that Reagan should have acted much Carter. A week after the inauguration, at
earlier against the agents, sponsors, and a White House ceremony honoring the
supporters of terrorism.1 former hostages, Reagan committed the
What’s apparent in the wake of 9/11 country to bold and determined action
is that the U.S. actions against Libya against terrorism: “Let terrorists beware
that climaxed with the strike nearly 25 that when the rules of international be-
years ago were the United States’ first war havior are violated, our policy will be
against international terrorism; its ongo- one of swift and effective retribution. We
ing campaign against al Qaeda is its sec- hear that we live in an era of limits to
ond. The latter conflict has put Reagan’s our power. Well, let it be understood that
war in clearer focus. It was marked by there are limits to our patience.”3
strong rhetoric, countless policy debates, Seemingly acting in defiance of Rea-
and extreme caution in the use of force. gan’s declaration, terrorists stepped up
Operation El Dorado Canyon, however, their violence against Americans over the
coming more than five years after Rea- next five years, and after each incident
gan took office, was a daring act that un- Reagan stated that the perpetrators and
nerved Libya’s dictator, forced him to pare their sponsor would be held accountable
back his involvement in terrorist violence for their deed, but he did not order ret-
to ensure his own survival, and sent an ribution as he had promised. He did not
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAGE COMMAND; INSET: ALAIN NOGUES/SYGMA/CORBIS

Navy and Marine F/A-18 Hornets take off from the USS Coral Sea during March 1986
Mediterranean operations. In February and March, after investigators concluded Libyan
dictator Moammar Gadhafi (inset) had supported December 1985 terrorist attacks in
Rome and Vienna, U.S. Navy Task Force 60 conducted a series of freedom-of-navigation
exercises off the North African country’s coast.

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 25
avenge the April 1983 bombing of the U.S. Embassy in
Beirut, the destruction of the U.S. Marine Corps barracks
at the Beirut airport six months later, or the hijacking of
TWA 847 to Beirut in June 1985.
The United States did score a stunning victory over
terrorism by capturing the hijackers of the Achille Lauro
cruise ship in October 1985, and Reagan warned terrorists
everywhere that “they can run but they can’t hide.”4 That
triumph would be short-lived, however. Two months later,
Palestinian terrorists carried out twin attacks at the Rome
and Vienna airports, massacres that killed 20 travelers—
including five Americans.
With each new act of violence, Americans became
angrier and more insecure and wondered if Reagan’s war
against terrorism consisted only of promises of stern action.5
Secretary of the Navy John F. Lehman would later write
that by early 1986, “It . . . appeared that despite our great
power—and our rhetoric—terrorism would succeed against
Reagan as it had against his predecessor.”6 Then, in mid-
April 1986, Reagan responded convincingly to a terrorist
attack by ordering the strike on Libya.
Targeting Gadhafi
America’s problems with Moammar Gadhafi had begun
during Richard Nixon’s presidency. In 1973, the dictator
declared the Gulf of Sidra south of 30 degrees 30 minutes
north latitude to be sovereign Libyan territory. Gadhafi’s
exaggerated claim violated international conventions gov-
erning territorial waters and spurned the right of navies
to operate in the international waters and airspace of the
central Mediterranean. Furthermore, during the 1970s
the Libyan leader became a leading practitioner of state-
sponsored terrorism, which he used to achieve his foreign
policy objectives. He carried out acts of subversion against
moderate governments in the Middle East and Africa and
provided diplomatic support, training, arms, and funding
to a disparate collection of terrorist groups worldwide. By
the end of the decade, the United States and several other
Western governments viewed him as the most notorious
champion of international terrorism.
After Reagan committed the country to a war against
terrorism, his policymakers focused their attention on Libya
and its mercurial leader for a number of practical reasons.
Gadhafi was the world’s most visible terrorist, several lead-
ers in the Middle East and Africa detested his meddling
regime, and—most important—Libya was the most vulner-
able militarily of the leading state supporters of terrorism.
Through exhaustive deliberation and debate, Reagan’s na-
tional security team crafted a multifaceted and incremental
strategy that would defy Gadhafi’s illegal claim over the
Gulf of Sidra, challenge his subversive activities, and con-
front his wide-ranging use of terrorism. The administration
hoped this deliberate and measured approach would exploit
26
Gadhafi’s domestic weaknesses and set the stage for an in-
ternal regime change.
During the first five years of the Reagan presidency, the
administration’s strategy of diplomatic and economic sanc-
tions, covert operations, and demonstrations of military
force became stricter, bolder, and more assertive. In 1981
the Central Intelligence Agency launched a covert opera-
tion in Chad designed to challenge indirectly Gadhafi’s grip
on power. In 1985, the CIA was set to provide lethal aid to
Libyan dissidents in the hope that they would topple Gad-
hafi’s government, and National Security Council officials
actively encouraged an Egyptian invasion of Libya. In 1982
the President banned the importation of Libyan oil, and
four years later, he prohibited all commercial transactions
between the United States and Libya.
During his first year in office, Reagan had directed the
U.S. Sixth Fleet to conduct a large freedom-of-navigation
exercise near Libya; five years later, he ordered the fleet
to carry out a series of large and complex demonstrations,
culminating in a huge surface-and-air operation in the
Libyan-claimed Gulf of Sidra. The exercises vigorously
denied Gadhafi’s illegal claim to the waters and forcefully
demonstrated America’s revulsion of Libyan subversion
and terror.
At the heart of American military power arrayed against
Libya was the Navy’s formidable Battle Force Sixth Fleet
(Task Force 60). The force included one or more battle
groups consisting of an aircraft carrier, an air wing of ad-
vanced tactical aircraft, and a shielding flotilla of modern
cruisers, destroyers, and frigates. Owing to the overwhelm-
ing strength of the battle force and flexible rules of en-
gagement that permitted the fleet commander to respond
vigorously to any hostile act directed at the force, U.S.
ships and aircraft were able to operate with impunity in
Libyan-claimed waters and airspace and vigorously repulse
all attacks and threats of force by Gadhafi’s military.
During the August 1981 freedom-of-navigation exercise,
Rear Admiral James E. Service led Task Force 60, which
then consisted of the USS Nimitz (CVN-68) and Forrestal
(CV-59) aircraft carrier battle groups. When one of two
Libyan Su-22 Fitter J aircraft fired an air-to-air missile
at a pair of Nimitz-based F-14 Tomcats, the pilots of the
American fighters acted swiftly in self-defense and, in a
dogfight lasting about a minute, shot down the aggressors
with Sidewinder air-to-air missiles.
Crossing the ‘Line of Death’
For about two years following the 1981 air engagement,
Reagan’s Libya strategy seemed to quiet Gadhafi, but by
1984 the dictator was linked to several infamous acts of
subversion, terrorism, and deadly mischief—most notably,
the murder of a British policewoman outside the Libyan
Embassy in London, the assassination of Libyan dissidents
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
living abroad, and the mining of the Gulf of Suez. Reagan Libyan aircraft, but not one Libyan pilot achieved a firing
had failed to convince Gadhafi to renounce terrorism and position on a U.S. fighter plane.
subversion largely because the United States’ European In March, with the arrival in the Mediterranean of the
allies either gave his policy—which included the closure USS America (CV-66) battle group, the huge naval force,
of all Libyan embassies and a total ban on the purchase of totaling 26 warships and 250 carrier-based aircraft, executed
the country’s oil—little support or rejected whole parts of Operation Attain Document III, a giant freedom-of-naviga-
it. They feared Libyan terrorism and strove to avoid any tion exercise that included extensive surface and air activ-
action that might threaten their lucrative commercial re- ity below 32 degrees 30 minutes, which Gadhafi boasted
lationship with the country. After investigators uncovered would prove to be a “line of death” for the American fleet.
evidence that Gadhafi’s government had supported the When Libya attacked American fighter aircraft with
terrorist attacks at the Rome and Vienna airports on 27 SA-5 and SA-2 surface-to-air missiles (SAMs) and threat-
December 1985, U.S.-Libyan tensions quickly escalated to ened the force with missile patrol boats on 24 March, the
an international crisis, but the United States found itself fleet reacted with quick and deadly precision. Kelso acti-
essentially alone in dealing with Gadhafi. vated Operation Prairie Fire, a contingency plan designed
In early 1986, Reagan ordered the Sixth Fleet again to counter any hostile act or perceived aggression directed
to challenge Gadhafi. On three occasions, the fleet com- at the fleet. In response to the missile attack, Saratoga-based

U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE

A plane director signals the pilot of an A-6E Intruder prior to takeoff from the USS Saratoga on 24 March. Later that day, Intruders
from the “Sara” and the USS America sank a Libyan missile boat that had sortied to within range of Task Force 60’s ships.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

mander, Vice Admiral Frank B. Kelso, dispatched Task A-7E Corsair IIs disabled the SA-5 battery with high-speed
Force 60 to the vicinity of Libya to defy Tripoli’s claim of antiradiation missiles. Meanwhile, A-6E Intruders from
sovereignty over the Gulf of Sidra and confront Gadhafi the America and Saratoga attacked and sank the Waheed, a
regarding his practice of sponsoring, supporting, and en- French-built fast missile boat, with Harpoon cruise missiles
couraging acts of terrorism. In January and February, the and Rockeye cluster bombs. On the 25th, Coral Sea– and
USS Saratoga (CV-60) and Coral Sea (CV-43) battle groups America-based Intruders carried out a devastating Harpoon
conducted Operations Attain Document I and II. In each and Rockeye attack on the Ean Mara, a Soviet-built mis-
instance, the battle force, commanded by Rear Admiral sile corvette.
David E. Jeremiah, promptly achieved naval and air supe- To avenge his humiliating defeat in the Gulf of Sidra,
riority near the Libyan coastline. Navy and Marine Corps Gadhafi ordered several terrorist operations designed to cause
aviators performed nearly 150 intercepts on a variety of “maximum and indiscriminate casualties” against Ameri-

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 27
can citizens and interests overseas.7 In early April, Libyan
agents crossed from East to West Berlin and carried out a
deadly bombing of La Belle discotheque, a popular hangout
for American servicemen. The blast killed two U.S. Sol-
diers and a Turkish woman; another 230 people, including
79 Americans, were injured. U.S. and British intelligence,
however, intercepted communications between Tripoli and
the Libyan Embassy in East Berlin that included the order
for the operation and report of its successful outcome. The
intercepts proved official Libyan involvement in the attack
and provided Reagan with a long-sought smoking gun.
AP PHOTO/ANDREAS SCHOELzEL
Firefighers search through debris in the aftermath of the 5 April terrorist bombing of a West hiriyah Guard Barracks in Benghazi,
Berlin discotheque. Libyan complicity in the attack, in which three people were killed—
including two U.S. servicemen—and 230 injured, prompted President Ronald Reagan to
order Operation El Dorado Canyon.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
After the West Berlin bombing, Reagan concluded that
diplomatic measures, economic sanctions, and large naval
demonstrations had not produced a change in Gadhafi’s be-
havior. He therefore ordered Operation El Dorado Canyon.
While the President realized that few allies would support
the mission, one provided crucial backing. British Prime
28
Minister Margaret Thatcher permitted U.S. Air Force F-
111Fs fighter-bombers based in England to participate in
the operation (their use on a non-NATO mission required
the consent of the British government). Her approval
would make possible a significantly larger and more de-
structive raiding force.
El Dorado Canyon
In the aftermath of Gadhafi’s sponsorship of a deliberate
attack on American citizens, Task Force 60 and units of
U.S. Air Forces Europe (USAFE) planned and carried out
a precision, low-level, night air strike.
Commencing at 0200 on 15 April,
F-111Fs from Tactical Fighter Wing
(TFW) 48, based in Lakenheath, Eng-
land, and A-6Es flying off the Coral
Sea and America struck terrorist facili-
ties and airfields in and near Tripoli
and Benghazi, respectively.
Using 2,000-pound laser-guided
bombs (LGBs), a trio of F-111Fs at-
tacked the Bab al-Aziziyah Barracks
complex in Tripoli, which served as
the command center of the Libyan
terrorist network, a billeting area for
Gadhafi’s guard force, and his per-
sonal residence. Three more F-111Fs
dropped LGBs on the Murat Sidi
Bilal Training Camp on the coast
near Tripoli, ripping apart a school for
naval commandos and terrorist frog-
men. Finally, five F-111Fs attacked
the Tripoli Military Airfield with
500-pound bombs, destroying several
Soviet-built IL-76 Candid transport
aircraft, which had been used to sup-
port terrorist activities beyond Libya’s
borders.
Far to the east, six Intruders off the
America, dropping 500-pound bombs,
scored devastating hits on the Jama-
which served as an alternate terror-
ist command center and an assembly
facility for MiG aircraft. Using 500-
• • • • • • • • • • • pound bombs and cluster ordnance,
a half-dozen A-6Es off the Coral Sea
struck the Benina Airfield near Benghazi, demolishing sev-
eral fighters, transports, and helicopters.
A huge armada of USAFE and Task Force 60 aircraft
supported the joint strike force. Air Force KC-10A Ex-
tender and KC-135R Stratotanker aerial refuelers and
EF-111A Raven electronic-warfare aircraft accompanied
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
the TFW 48 fighter-bombers from England to the central
Mediterranean. The Air Force tankers refueled the F-111Fs
four times en route to Libya and twice on the return to
England. While A-7Es, F/A-18 Hornets, and EA-6B Prowl-
ers—joined by the Ravens—suppressed enemy radars and
SAM batteries, F-14s and F/A-18s protected the strike
aircraft and the battle force from a Libyan counterattack.
E-2C Hawkeyes performed long-range air and surface sur-
veillance, strike coordination, and fighter control, and KA-
6Ds and KA-7s provided invaluable tanking services for the
carrier-based aircraft. The participation of U.S. Marines in
• •
DOD/TROY SUMMERS
El Dorado Canyon boosted the multiservice nature of the
operation; Hornets from two of the four F/A-18 squadrons
on the Coral Sea and the Prowlers from the America were
flown by Marine aviators.
The air strike had a profound impact on both Gadhafi
and America’s allies. The Libyan dictator received the
clear, unmistakable message that he could no longer attack
Americans without incurring a serious penalty. At the G-7
economic summit in Tokyo in early May, the leaders of the
seven largest industrial democracies took steps they hoped
would forestall further military action. The United States
and its allies imposed strict diplomatic measures that would
isolate terrorist states, improved cooperation between their
law enforcement and intelligence services, and condemned
Libya by name for its involvement in terrorism. When asked
what message the allies were sending to Gadhafi, Secretary
of State George Shultz responded: “You’ve had it, pal! You
are isolated! You are recognized as a terrorist!”8
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

USS Coral Sea ordnancemen attach a bomb rack to an A-6E

Intruder in preparation for 15 April attacks against Libya.

K. ERLINGER

DOD/SSGT WOODWARD

A U.S. Air Force F-111F takes off from England on its

long strike mission against Libyan targets.

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 29
Assessing the Campaign
Scrutiny of Reagan’s Libya strategy reveals five lessons
that dominated his administration’s war on terrorism.
First, development of a comprehensive U.S. strategy to-
ward Libya was a long and difficult process. Secretary of
State Shultz and Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger
disagreed over the use of force (ironically, the former was
the hawk), the United States and its allies differed over
political and economic sanctions, and career officials and
political appointees sparred within the executive branch.
Second, contrary to the reputation among his critics of
being a “trigger-happy cowboy,” Reagan avoided the use of
force until he could accurately identify those responsible
for a specific attack and—in the case of Libyan terrorism—
until economic sanctions, diplomatic initiatives, and dem-
onstrations of naval power had been given a reasonable
chance to alter Gadhafi’s behavior.
In a televised address on the night of the raid, Reagan
emphasized that the United States had not attacked Libya
in haste: “We tried quiet diplomacy, public condemnation,
economic sanctions, and demonstrations of military force.
None succeeded. Despite our repeated warnings, Gadhafi
continued his reckless policy of intimidation, his relentless
pursuit of terror. He counted on America to be passive. He
counted wrong.”9
Several factors restricted Reagan’s use of force. Pin-
pointing the perpetrators of an attack, such as the Marine
RONALD REAGAN PRESIDENTIAL FOUNDATION AND LIBRARy
President Reagan (far left) and his advisers, including Secretary of State George Schultz (second from left), listen as General Charles
Gabriel briefs them on the Air Force’s raid on targets in and near Tripoli, Libya. While the El Dorado Canyon strikes did not end
Gadhafi’s involvement in international terrorism, they did force him to reduce his participation.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
30
barracks bombing, was difficult. For strategic or political
reasons, Syria and Iran, both prominent state sponsors of
terrorism, were immune from attack. Syria was the Soviet
Union’s closest ally in the Middle East, and the Reagan
administration was engaged in a secret initiative with the
Iranian government that became part of the Iran-Contra
affair. The Secretary of Defense was reluctant to use mili-
tary force except under a strict set of guidelines, which
became known as the Weinberger (later Powell) Doctrine.
And U.S. allies feared that military force would increase
terrorist violence in their countries and disrupt lucrative
commercial ties with Mideast nations.
Third, the air strike was a major political and psycho-
logical defeat for Gadhafi despite the fact that relatively
few bombs hit Bab al-Aziziyah, the Libyan terror network
headquarters. The Air Force and Navy aircrews had to fol-
low strict guidelines in delivering their ordnance in order
to minimize civilian casualties and friendly losses. Owing
to a combination of human error, mechanical failure, and
enemy fire, only three of the nine F-111Fs targeting Bab
al-Aziziyah dropped their 2,000 pound LGBs, and only two
planes hit the target. Since each plane carried four bombs,
a more successful attack would have been devastating, pos-
sibly killing Gadhafi. (An adopted daughter was killed and
two sons were injured.)
The raid severely damaged Gadhafi’s terrorist apparatus,
derailed several planned operations aimed at Americans, and
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
temporarily weakened the Libyan leader’s hold on power. In
the days following the strike, he faced down a series of mili-
tary uprisings and remained in seclusion until early summer.
El Dorado Canyon also demonstrated that the United
States had both the capacity and the will to attack the sup-
porters and sponsors of terrorism. On the night of the strike,
Reagan explained: “Today, we have done what we had to do.
If necessary, we shall do it again.”10 Henceforth, Gadhafi had
to face the fact that the next terrorist incident traced to the
Libyan government would trigger another armed riposte from
the United States. Veteran Washington journalist David Ig-
natius noted that the raid “broke the psychology that had al-
lowed Gadhafi to intimidate much of the world and revealed
that . . . Gadhafi was weak, isolated, and vulnerable.”11
The raid did not compel the dictator to abandon ter-
rorism, but it forced him to develop more cautious and
surreptitious methodology, which in turn reduced his in-
volvement in terrorist activity. The bombing of Pan Am
Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland, in 1988, a clear act
of revenge for El Dorado Canyon, attests that he had not
given up the deadly practice.12
After a Scottish court convicted a Libyan agent of
planting a bomb on Flight 103, The Wall Street Journal
proclaimed: “With few exceptions, the world community
by the late 1980s had had enough of exploding planes and
assassinations. President Reagan’s raid on Libya in April
1986 . . . laid the groundwork for a get-tough policy.”13
Fourth, the U.S. Navy and Air Force prepared for opera-
tions against Libya with exceptional skill and thorough-
ness and executed them with great courage. Navy, Marine
Corps, and Air Force servicemen risked their lives in com-
bat against Libyan air, naval, and air defense forces.
The Air Force role in El Dorado Canyon was remarkable.
The F-111Fs, under the command of Colonel Sam West-
brook, were required to fly a strike mission of 14½ hours
and nearly 6,000 miles—around the Iberian Peninsula—
after the French and Spanish governments closed their
airspace to the fighter-bombers and their support aircraft.
One F-111F was hit by either a SAM or antiaircraft fire
en route to Bab al-Aziziyah. Passing over Tripoli without
dropping its LGBs, the plane crashed into the sea; its pilot,
Captain Fernando Ribas-Dominicci, and weapon systems
operator, Captain Paul Lorence, were the mission’s only
U.S. fatalities. El Dorado Canyon was planned and carried
out in the spirit of the Goldwater-Nichols Department of
Defense Reorganization Act, a major piece of legislation
that mandated interservice cooperation but did not go into
effect until nearly six months after the strike.
Finally, the U.S. Sixth Fleet—specifically Task Force
60—played an indispensable role in the confrontation with
Gadhafi. The battle force, which did not require approval
from foreign governments for its movements, established
a commanding presence off the coast of Libya. While on
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
station, it exerted a powerful influence on Gadhafi, exacted
“swift and effective retribution” against units of the Libyan
military that meant harm, and during El Dorado Canyon
projected destructive power ashore. After fulfilling each of
its missions, Task Force 60 withdrew to peaceful waters.
President Reagan’s application of military force was a clas-
sic demonstration of the value of carrier-based naval power
in the execution of U.S. foreign and national security policy.
His use of the Sixth Fleet in the Mediterranean in the 1980s
was limited in scope, supported specific national interests
and objectives, was carried out with few political costs, frus-
trated the enemy’s ability to respond militarily, secured a
favorable political outcome in a dispute with a foreign power,
and was successful enough to forestall a larger conflict or a
costly, long-term commitment of military forces to maintain
that outcome.14
Libya’s claim of sovereignty over the Gulf of Sidra was
thoroughly discredited, and Gadhafi wisely reduced his
involvement in terrorism. After El Dorado Canyon, any
government or organization considering a terrorist act to
advance its objectives would have to take into account
the prospect of retaliatory military action.15 Twenty-five
years have passed since the air strike, but the story of Op-
eration El Dorado Canyon and the events, circumstances,
and policies leading up to the heroic mission deserve to
be remembered.
1. George J. Church, et al., “Hitting the Source,” Time, 28 April 1986, p. 26;
“Reagan Decides It Had to Be Done,” Economist 299 (19 April 1986), p. 17.
2. CIA National Foreign Assessment Center, Patterns of International Terrorism:
1980, Research paper, June 1981, p. iii.
3. Ronald Reagan, Public Papers of the Presidents of the United States: Ronald Rea-
gan, 1981 (Washington, DC: GPO, 1982), p. 42.
4. Ronald Reagan, “Transcript of White House News Conference on the Hijack-
ing,” The New York Times, 12 October 1985.
5. Joseph T. Stanik, El Dorado Canyon: Reagan’s Undeclared War with Qaddafi (An-
napolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2003), p. 90; John F. Lehman, Command of the
Seas (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1988), p. 363.
6. John F. Lehman, Command of the Seas, p. 363.
7. Vox Militaris, “The U.S. Strike against Libya: Operation El Dorado Canyon,”
Army Quarterly and Defence Journal 116 (April 1986), p. 136.
8. Jacob V. Lamar, David Beckwith, and Jay Branegan, “A Summit of Substance,”
Time, 19 May 1986, p. 16.
9. U.S. Department of State, “U.S. Exercises Right of Self-Defense against Libyan
Terrorism,” Department of State Bulletin, June 1986, pp. 1-2.
10. Ibid., pp. 1-2.
11. David Ignatius, “Bombing Gadhafi Worked,” The Washington Post, 13 July
1986.
12. U.S. Department of Defense, “Report of the Threats and Scenarios Panel,”
The Defense Science Board 1997 Summer Study Task Force on DOD Responses to
Transnational Threats, Vol. III Supporting Reports, February 1998, p. 3.
13. “A Lockerbie Verdict,” The Wall Street Journal, 1 February 2001.
14. James Cable, “Gunboat Diplomacy’s Future,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings
vol. 112, no. 8 (August 1986), pp. 38, 40.
15. Twice more before 11 September 2001, the United States used force in
response to terrorist incidents. In June 1993, President Bill Clinton ordered a
Tomahawk cruise missile attack against Iraqi intelligence headquarters in Baghdad
after U.S. investigators uncovered a plot by Saddam Hussein to assassinate former
President George H. W. Bush during his visit to Kuwait a few months earlier. In
August 1998, massive truck bombs exploded at the U.S. embassies in Nairobi,
Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. The terrorist attacks killed more than 250
people, including 12 Americans. Clinton responded by launching scores of Toma-
hawks against facilities in Afghanistan and Sudan linked to Osama bin Laden, the
suspected mastermind of the attacks.
31
32 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 who some years earlier had penned what would
become a classic work on naval warfare, The In-
fluence of Sea Power Upon History. Among the
many principles that Mahan described were the
ideas that “passive defenses belong to the army,”
navies must be used as a means of “offensive de-
fense,” coastal defenses were for weak nations
who could do no better, and “the enemy must
be kept not only out of our ports, but far away
from our coasts.” Far away was no exaggeration
in this case. Commodore George Dewey’s Asi-
atic Squadron was more than 7,000 miles from

S
the nearest American support base as his ships
he is unique—no sister was ever built. steamed from China toward the Philippine Islands to engage
She is a combat veteran. She is the the Spanish fleet based there.
world’s oldest floating steel warship and
the only surviving example of a hybrid Warships on the Cusp of Old and New
whose coal-fired engines are augmented
Dewey’s flagship, the Olympia, headed a squadron that
by sail-carrying masts. She is a National Historic
consisted of the cruisers Baltimore, Boston, and Raleigh; the
Landmark, and her last assignment was to carry
gunboats Concord and Petrel; the revenue cutter Hugh Mc-
the first American Unknown Soldier home to hal-
Culloch; and the coal transports (colliers) Nanshan and Zaf-
lowed ground.
iro. The squadron’s main firepower was represented by the
Yet now she is in dire jeopardy, and the nation
cruisers, results of a shipbuilding program begun ten years
she served in time of crisis should not ignore this
earlier. With their tall masts and crossed yards, ready to
important ship in her time of need. The cruiser
take on sail should the need arise, and their large smoke-
Olympia—once a proud symbol of American power
stacks billowing black clouds of coal-fired smoke, they were
and glory—faces the possibility of being scuttled un-
both monuments to a dying age and pioneers of the next.
less she receives desperately needed maintenance.
The first morning at sea, the order to “clear for action”
As of last November, Philadelphia’s Independence
was passed. On board the Olympia, barricades of canvas and
Seaport Museum (the Olympia’s home) had raised
iron were built up around the gun crews’ stations, and heavy
enough revenue to keep the ship open for the time
chains were rigged over awnings to provide additional pro-
being. But her ultimate fate remains in limbo.
tection to the ships’ ammunition hoists. Although she was
Lest we forget our debt, let us pause for a mo-
built primarily of steel, veterans of the recent Sino-Japanese
ment to recall this endangered lady in her hour of
War had told of terrible casualties resulting from flying wood
greatest glory.
splinters, so Dewey made the tactical decision to have hatch
When the United States declared war on Spain in
covers, spars, chests, and other removable wooden items ei-
April 1898, the U.S. Asiatic Squadron, then moored
ther safely stowed or jettisoned. Even some of the Olympia’s
at Hong Kong, was immediately ordered to “Proceed
mess tables were thrown over the side by overzealous cooks
at once to Manila; engage and destroy the Spanish
before they were stopped. A lieutenant in the Baltimore
fleet, when and where you find them.” The Ameri-
noted that a trail of wood “was strewn for fifty leagues [150
can strategy to eliminate the Spanish naval presence
miles]” in the ships’ wakes.
in the Far East as indicated in the dispatch from the
The Olympia’s commanding officer, Captain Charles
Department of the Navy had come about largely
Gridley, ordered the Sailors’ wooden ditty boxes to be
because of the writings of Alfred Thayer Mahan,
jettisoned as well. Although the crew was eager to fight
BEVERLEY R. ROBINSON COLLECTION, U.S. NAVAL ACADEMY MUSEUM the Spanish and seemed willing to sacrifice their lives if
1 May 1898: The cruiser Olympia, in the vanguard necessary, giving up their ditty boxes, in which all their
of the vessels approaching from the left, served as worldly possessions were kept, seemed too much to ask.
the flagship of Commodore George Dewey’s Asiatic There on that disciplined warship on the far side of the
Squadron in its decisive victory at the Battle of Manila world, the ditty box was the one place a Sailor could call
Bay, as depicted in this contemporaneous lithograph. his own, where he kept tokens of his former life, where
The ship, which came to symbolize America’s rise to he had some small ties to home. To the crew’s everlasting
global power, now is in peril of being scrapped unless gratitude, Commodore Dewey came to the rescue, urging
funds are raised and repairs made. Gridley to allow the men to stow their boxes below the

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 33
cruiser’s protected armor deck rather than toss them into
the South China Sea.
Wood was not the only thing that had to go. The ships’
barbers worked overtime shaving each Sailor’s hair down to
the scalp because the surgeons declared “hair is as danger-
ous as cloth in a wound.”
That evening the Olympia’s band assembled and played
a series of rousing pieces, including several John Philip
Sousa marches and “Yankee Doodle,” but the crew was
most enthusiastic when the band struck up a popular song
of the day, “Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.” That
odd sensation of nervous excitement that often prevails
as battle draws near had taken hold of many of Sailors
of the Asiatic Squadron, and they swayed rhythmically
and slapped each other’s backs as they sang along. Indeed,
a “hot time” in the “old town”
of Manila was just a few days
away as the U.S. ships
steamed onward, ever
closer to the Philippines
and to a page in the
history books.
tonight, and you will follow the motions of the flagship,
which will lead.”
That night the Asiatic Squadron approached the Boca
Grande (Big Mouth) of Manila Bay. The moon was low in
the sky and mostly masked by towers of clouds built up by
the tropical heat of the day. The darkness was occasionally
broken by flickers of lightning dancing among the clouds, and
light rain showers doused the white-duck uniforms of those
on deck. Guns were loaded, but breechblocks left open to
prevent accidental premature firing. As had always preceded
battle since the days of sail, the decks were covered with sand
to provide traction when blood and sweat moistened them.
Certain that the entrance to the bay was guarded by guns
mounted among the high rocks on either side and that mines
had been placed in locations unknown, tension among the
crews of the U.S. ships ran high.
Apprentice Seaman Wayne
Longnecher remembered that
this was “the hardest part
of the fight . . . run-
ning the gauntlet of
both mines and
forts, not
J. M. CAIELLA

Olympia (Cruiser No. 6) Protected Cruiser

Running the Boca Grande Gauntlet Displacement: 5,500 tons (design)
In the meantime, Admiral Patricio Montojo y Pasaron Length: 334 feet, 1 inch
prepared his fleet for battle with the approaching American Beam: 53 feet
squadron. When word of the outbreak of war had come, Draft: 21 feet, 6 inches
the Spanish commander moved his fleet out of Manila to Speed: 20 knots (design)
the more remote Subic Bay, 30 miles to the north. On his Armament (1898): Four 8-inch/35-caliber
arrival, however, Montojo discovered that defensive prepa- Ten 5-inch/40-caliber
rations there were hopelessly behind schedule. Noting that Fourteen 6-pounder
the water at Subic was more than 40 meters deep, Montojo
Seven 1-pounder
concluded that his crews would have a better chance of sur-
Four Gatlings
vival if sunk in the much shallower waters of Manila Bay. It
Six 18-inch torpedo tubes
was that combination of tactics and pessimism that caused
him to return to Manila Bay to make his stand there. Complement: 428 officers and men
Dewey had been concerned about the possibility of Mon-
knowing which moment a mine or torpedo would send you
tojo moving to Subic. “With this strategic point effectively
through the deck above.” He sardonically reflected on the
occupied,” he later wrote, “no hostile commander-in-chief
fact that he was doing this for $16 a month pay.
would think of passing it and leaving it as a menace to
The scene was reminiscent of an earlier time, when
his lines of communication.” So he was relieved to find
Dewey’s Civil War hero, David Glasgow Farragut, had run
Subic Bay empty when his squadron arrived on 30 April.
past the guns of Confederate forts below New Orleans and
Calling a council of war on board the Olympia, the com-
again at Mobile Bay, uttering his famous words, “Damn
modore told his commanders, “We shall enter Manila Bay

34 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
the torpedoes, full speed ahead.” But those guns had been Knowing that the U.S. ships were more maneuverable than
furiously firing and, so far, these were silent. his own, Montojo had chosen to fight from an anchored posi-
The Olympia passed unharmed into the bay, as did sev- tion where he could best control and consolidate his firepower.
eral of the other ships following in column behind, steering Not wanting to subject the city of Manila to the ravages of the
by the single dim light that had been mounted on each battle, he had positioned his fleet off Cavite, an arsenal some
ship’s stern. It seemed as though they might all pass unchal- five miles south of the city. While achieving his aim of sparing
lenged, but near the end of the column accumulated soot the city, the decision greatly reduced his available firepower,
in the McCulloch’s smokestack ignited, and a bright column because there were only 34 land-based guns in the Cavite
of flame erupted skyward, giving the Spanish gunners an area as compared with 226 guns of various types at Manila.
unmistakable target. A battery from the nearby headland To prevent his ships from being vulnerable to torpedoes,
opened fire, and an artillery round passed over the Mc- Montojo had constructed a protective boom in front of his
Culloch and hit the water on anchored vessels, consisting of
The Battle of Manila Bay, 1 May 1898
her far side. She immediately lighters filled with stones and
returned fire with one of her water that were held together
six-pounders, and the Boston, in a continuous line by heavy
Raleigh, and Concord opened chains. Unlike his American
up with their larger batteries. counterpart, Montojo had not
The deep rumble of gunfire ordered the wood stripped from
rolled across the bay, and the his ships.
garish flashes briefly lit the At 0400 a cold breakfast aug-
dark waters. But the exchange mented by hot coffee was served
was short-lived. The Spanish to the American crews still at
battery fired only three more their battle stations. As they
shots before a round from the ate, a young Sailor in the Olym-
Boston silenced it. And the pia began to sing a somber ren-
Asiatic Squadron proceeded dition of “Just Before the Battle,
into Manila Bay without fur- Mother.” One of his shipmates
ther molestation. poured coffee on him, cutting
Once past the Spanish guns the concert short.
guarding the entrance, the
American ships slowed to four Commodore George Dewey’s
knots. Manila was 25 miles Asiatic Squadron departs Hong
away, and Dewey decided that Kong in April 1898 with orders
it made good tactical sense to to “engage and destroy the
make a slow transit so that it Spanish fleet, when and where
K. ERLINgER

would be daylight when he en- you find them.”

gaged the enemy. His squadron
had a finite amount of ammu-
nition with no means of rapid resupply, so he
could not afford to waste shots firing blindly
in the dark. With no enemy in sight and the
great expanse of the bay before the squadron,
word was passed for the men to remain on
station but to stand easy. Many of the crew
lay down on the deck to catch a little sleep,
but the excitement of the moment and the
gritty sand on the decks made that a difficult
proposition.

In the early morning of 1 May, the squadron

enters Manila Bay, takes fire from the shore
batteries at Manila, then turns to engage the
K. ERLINgER

Spanish fleet off Cavite.

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 35
NAVAL HISTOrY & HErITAGE COMMAND
As seen in this circa 1900 photograph of the Olympia’s forward tur-
ret, an ornate plaque between the 8-inch guns commemorates the
ship’s leading role in the Battle of Manila Bay. The American public
hailed Dewey and his triumphant Sailors as “saviors of the Republic.”
Showdown at Close Range
Increasing speed to eight knots, the U.S. squadron ap-
proached Manila as the sun brightened the sky behind the
city. Before long it was evident that there were only sail-
driven merchant ships moored at the city. No warships.
With the Olympia still in the van, Dewey turned his col-
umn southward and, as the ships paraded past the Manila
waterfront, a few of the Spanish gun batteries opened fire
on the squadron. One 9.4-inch shell passed uncomfortably
close between the cruisers Raleigh and Baltimore, but none
of the Spanish shots found their marks.
A sharp-eyed Olympia lookout peering southward
through binoculars discerned through the morning mist a
row of masts topped with bright red and yellow flags. His
report was what Dewey had been waiting to hear. There
was the Spanish fleet, the object of his strategy.
Critics later pointed out that Dewey gave away a signifi-
cant tactical advantage by moving his squadron in close to
the Spanish fleet. His largest-caliber guns had a greater range
than any of his opponent’s guns and, by remaining outside
his enemy’s reach, he could have fired on the Spanish ships
without any risk to his own. But Dewey later explained that
“in view of my limited ammunition supply, it was my plan not
to open fire until we were within effective range, and then to
fire as rapidly as possible with all of our guns.”
The Asiatic Squadron moved ever closer to its adversary.
Even when the Spanish opened fire, Dewey withheld his order
to commence firing. Like so many others, Landsman John Tis-
dale found the tension of waiting under fire excruciating: “Our
hearts threatened to burst from desire to respond. I sat upon
the gun-seat repeating to the rhythm of the engine’s throb,
‘Hold your fire . . . hold your fire . . . hold your fire until the
bugle sounds,’ while my fingers grew numb upon the spark.”
Tisdale, waiting at his station in the Olympia’s after tur-
ret, was certainly justified in his anxiety, but there were
even more difficult jobs to be accomplished under the
circumstances. Because the ships were moving in so close
to shore and in danger of running aground, a leadsman
was required to stand at the ship’s rail, far forward on the
open deck, casting a line down into the water to measure
the depth. That Sailor had to cast his line, let it hit bot-
tom, retrieve it, and report both the depth and the type
of bottom—while enemy shells roared through the air and
crashed nearby, lifting great geysers of water skyward.
When at last the U.S. ships had closed to within 5,000
yards, Dewey calmly uttered the words to the Olympia’s cap-
36
tain that would be long remembered, “You may fire when
you are ready, Gridley.”
According to the Olympia’s official log, she commenced
firing at 0535. Two-hundred-and-fifty-pound shells belched
from her forward battery, and the cruiser shuddered from
the eruption. Still in column, only the Olympia’s forward
guns were “unmasked” to allow firing at the enemy, and Tis-
dale still “chafed for the opportunity to fight back.” Dewey’s
tactics soon remedied the problem. The commodore turned
the column to starboard until it was steaming nearly paral-
lel to the Spanish line of ships. Now Tisdale’s after turret
could be brought to bear on the enemy, as could every
American gun that could be trained to port.
The American gunners did not hold back. Long before
the phrase “shock and awe” would enter the American lexi-
con of war, the Asiatic Squadron let loose with all its fury,
firing every available gun as quickly as possible to deluge
the Spanish fleet with shellfire. On his flagship, the Reina
Cristina, Montojo watched as “the Americans fired most
rapidly. There came upon us numberless projectiles. . . .”
The Olympia led the way as the U.S. ships ran along the
Spanish line firing relentlessly. When they were beyond
the enemy line, they executed a tactical “corpen” of 180
degrees, turning in column to preserve the order of ships
for another run in the opposite direction. The guns were
shifted to starboard, and again a withering fire was brought
to bear on the enemy. The Spanish fought back, even as
their ships began to burn and splinter apart. They launched
several torpedo-boat attacks, but they were driven back by
the Americans’ smaller guns, including those of the em-
barked Marines, who fired their rifles at the charging boats.
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 The battle raged for several passes. Dewey’s tactical ma-
neuvers ensured that the maximum force of American guns
was brought to bear on the stationary Spanish ships. It
also made the American ships vulnerable by presenting
beam-on targets. But Montojo’s immobile ships were even
more vulnerable.
‘Like an Enraged Panther’
At last Montojo decided to go on the offensive. Whether
he saw it as a tactical venture, designed to gain some military
advantage, or as merely an act of defiance for honor’s sake is
not clear, but he ordered his flagship to get under way and
to charge headlong at his tormentors. Apprentice Seaman
Longnecher, peering out from his gunport in the Olympia,
could see the Spanish ship coming. “As the Reina Christina
came out from the yard to meet us, she planted a shell into
the side right at my gun port,” he recalled. “But it was spent
and did not come all the way through before it burst.” John
Tisdale was impressed by the Spanish tenacity. He witnessed
one of his after turret’s 8-inch shells rip “through and through”
the charging Spanish ship, yet “like an enraged panther she
came at us as though to lash sides and fight us hand to hand
with battle axes, as in the olden Spanish wars.”
But the charge was in vain. On fire and badly mauled,
the Reina Cristina was forced to come about and limp back
to her mooring. She was so badly dam-
aged that Montojo soon ordered her The Olympia did her part. Now we
abandoned. As she sank, he shifted must do ours. The group Friends of
his flag to another ship. The Reina the Cruiser Olympia is raising money
Cristina’s losses were catastrophic: 150 to save the ship. To find out more,
were killed and another 90 wounded. visit http://cruiserolympia.org.
Five years later, when she was raised
from the mud of Manila Bay, the skeletons of 80 men were
discovered in her sick bay.
The battle raged for another half hour, until the smoke
became so thick that it was impossible to see what was
happening. Dewey then received a most unsettling report.
Word came from Captain Gridley that the Olympia had
only 15 rounds of heavy-caliber munitions remaining—a
mere five minutes’ worth of fighting. With the battle un-
decided as far as he could tell and in light of this alarming
report, Dewey ordered the Asiatic Squadron to withdraw,
much to the mixed relief and consternation of the crews.
They could not help but be glad for the rest, yet they were
“fired up for victory,” as one lieutenant observed.
Moving out of range, Dewey called his captains to the
Olympia for a meeting. He ordered a hot meal for the crews
while the senior officers met. Word spread that Dewey
had stopped the fight expressly for the purpose of having
breakfast. Not a few of the men expressed their dismay
and disapproval of that decision. One gunner was heard
to say: “For God’s sake, Captain, don’t let us stop now. To
hell with breakfast!”
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
While the many ate and passed scuttlebutt, the few con-
ferred. Dewey soon learned that the report on low ammu-
nition was in error. He also learned that there had been
only six Americans wounded, all in the Baltimore, and none
killed in action.
The smoke eventually cleared substantially, and at 1116
the U.S. squadron headed back in to finish the fight. It
resumed the bombardment, and in less than an hour, all
the Spanish ships were destroyed or put out of action. A
white flag appeared over the naval station at Cavite, and
the Battle of Manila Bay was over.
Ship of Heroes
From the Olympia’s main deck that night, Wayne Long-
necher watched the remnants of the Spanish fleet burning
across the water. “It was a beautiful sight to see; besides about
12 or 13 ships all in flames, small magazines were going up
all night,” the Sailor said. He and his shipmates would never
forget that night, nor the day’s events that led up to it.
John Tisdale’s hitch was up, and soon after the battle
he made his way halfway across the world to return home.
He had left California as a boy, still “wet behind the ears.”
He came home a Sailor and combat veteran, with tattoos
to tell parts of his story and the confidence that comes to
those who have faced great challenges and prevailed.
On his arrival in America, Tisdale
found the country ecstatic over the Na-
vy’s victory at Manila Bay. Everywhere
he went, he heard songs with lyrics
praising the great triumph. Banners pro-
claimed Dewey and his men the “saviors
of the Republic,” and newspaper stories
spoke of a “new era of American dominance of the sea.”
The Spanish fleet had been destroyed and 381 Spaniards
lost their lives. The Asiatic Squadron lost not a single man,
much less a ship. The Olympia and her squadron-mates
carried the day in exemplary fashion.
This first engagement in what would prove to be a short
war would also serve as the opening act in a drama whose
denouement would be the emergence of the most powerful
navy in the history of the world. Led by the cruiser Olym-
pia, the U.S. Navy had arrived on the world stage, where it
would rise to the starring role in just a few decades.
Sources:
John Barrett, Admiral George Dewey: A Sketch of the Man (New York: Harper and
Brothers, 1899).
Benjamin Franklin Cooling, USS Olympia: Herald of Empire (Annapolis, MD:
Naval Institute Press, 2000).
George Dewey, The Autobiography of George Dewey. (Annapolis, MD: Naval Insti-
tute Press, 1987).
Jack H. Friend, “The Battle of Mobile Bay,” Jack Sweetman, ed., Great American
Naval Battles (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1998).
Craig L. Symonds, Decision at Sea: Five Naval Battles that Shaped American History
(New York: Oxford University Press, 2006).
Craig L. Symonds, The Naval Institute Historical Atlas of the U.S. Navy (Annapo-
lis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1995).
37
 The Washington
WINS THE DRAW
BY JAMES D. HORNFISCHER

In the dark waters of Ironbottom Sound on the night of

14-15 November 1942, Rear Admiral Willis Lee’s warships
got the jump on a Japanese bombardment force bearing down
on Guadalcanal. As described in an excerpt from the new
book Neptune’s Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal, the
outcome of the subsequent slugging match hinged on radar
and the battleship Washington’s 16-inch guns.

38 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E

U.S. Naval INStItUte Photo archIve
With the discharge of the Washington’s great main
battery in action against Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo’s
force, the battleship’s forecastle is cast in a ghostly light.
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
T
he battleships Washington and South Dakota
pushed through the sea with an implacable
ease. Admiral William F. Halsey well under-
stood the risks of sending Rear Admiral Wil-
lis Lee’s two big ships to set an ambush in
Savo Sound. “The plan flouted one of the firmest doctrines
of the Naval War College,” Halsey would write. “The nar-
row treacherous waters north of Guadalcanal are utterly
unsuited to the maneuvering of capital ships, especially in
darkness.” But the big ships were all he had left.
The Washington (the second and last ship of the North
Carolina class) and the South Dakota (the first of a newer
breed) were not sisters but close cousins, part of the surge
in new major ship construction that followed the expiration
of the 1930 London Naval Treaty’s five-year-long “build-
ing holiday.” The construction of the big new ships was
politically risky for President Franklin D. Roosevelt during
the pinchpenny, isolationist-minded years after the Great
Depression. He waited until after the 1936 elections to
authorize the Washington’s construction.
The Navy’s General Board never seemed sure what it was
willing to sacrifice in order to meet the limits imposed by
treaty limitations on battleship displacement. Its preferred
designs changed as frequently as its membership did. In the
end, Lee’s two battleships were the product of a decision to
emphasize superior firepower. The two ships each carried
a 16-inch main battery that fired 2,700-pound projectiles.
Rushed to the South Pacific soon after their commission-
ings, neither ship was put through the usual round of sea
trials prior to deployment. But there was widespread confi-
dence in them nonetheless, and the ships were more than a
match for a Japanese battleship such as the Kirishima, with
a 14-inch main battery.
Aside from the short time they had operated together
with the Enterprise task force, the Washington and the South
Dakota had never been in each other’s company. While
Admiral Lee repeatedly drilled his gunnery and director
crews in aiming their guns and finding targets, neither ship
had much experience actually firing her big weapons. The
Washington had only fired her main battery twice at night,
both times in January 1942. Nighttime gunnery experience
was scanter still on the South Dakota. She had fired her
main battery three times, but never at night.
News of an inbound battleship force commanded Lee’s
attention. Late in the afternoon on November 14, he re-
ceived a report that the submarine Trout had sighted large
enemy units, southbound about 150 miles north of Guadal-
canal. The Tokyo Express, though operating with chang-
ing rosters of ships and commanders, was keeping to its
well-established timetable of midnight arrivals. While the
Cactus Air Force was preoccupied with hammering Rear
Admiral Raizo Tanaka’s transports that afternoon, Vice Ad-
miral Nobutake Kondo’s heavy surface force—the Kirishima
39
 BATTLESHIP Kirishima
Atago KONDO
NIGHT ACTION Nagara
Takao Teruzuki
Asagumo
Takao
Atago (flagship)

✯✯ ✯ KIMURA
HASHIMOTO
Inazuma
Kirishima sinks (~0300) Samidare
Hatsuyuki Uranami FLORIDA ISL AND
November Shirayuki
Nagara
Shikinami
Sendai
14–15, 1942 Washington

South Dakota Tulagi

S AVO TRANSPORT Gavutu
Washington AREA
YOKE
South
Dakota LEE
Washington fires Gwin
on Kirishima (2400) Ayanami Preston
Ayanami sinks (2330) Benham
Walke sinks
Walke
LEGEND Preston sinks (2347)
Gwin
Benham
Japanese battleship Kamimbo Bay Cape
Esperance
Japanese heavy cruiser
Battleships open fire
Japanese light cruiser Doma
10
0 Cove (2316)
Japanese destroyer SEAL
ARK 100
CHANNEL
American battleship
American destroyer
Tassafaronga
N LENGO CHANNEL
Lunga Point TRANSPORT Koli Point
Ship sinks AREA XRAY
W E Point Cruz Henderson
Gunfire G UA DALCANAL Field

River
Kukum ver

anikau River
R
LUM PENNINGToN

aru

i
Lunga
S Ten
Reef 0 5
Fathom line Mt. Austen
Miles

Mat
joined by the heavy cruisers Atago and Takao—had avoided enemy ships north of Savo Island. Admiral Lee and Cap-
daylight air attack. It would be up to Lee’s surface task force tain Glenn Davis had designed the Washington’s fire-control
to stop them. Halsey had given him complete freedom of procedures around the fact that this type of data was es-
action after his arrival in the waters off Guadalcanal. sential to everything. They made sure that their radar plot
By 2230, Lee was cutting a clockwise arc about 20 miles officer did not operate the traditional way, communicating
north of Savo Island. With his sweeping radar beams re- through a man who served as his “talker.” Instead, he was
vealing no contacts, he passed near the grave site of the wired up with his own headset to speak directly to the
Hiei, over the wrecks of the Vincennes, the Quincy, and the gunnery officer, the main battery plotting room officer, and
Astoria, then re-entered Savo Sound, to cruise over the sea- the trainers in each of the gun director stations, all at the
floor where the Atlanta lay. As the task force came around same time. In this way, he could describe the appearance
to a westerly heading and steamed toward Cape Esperance, of the scope and designate targets directly to all stations
its navigators and helmsmen noticed that their magnetic with a need to know, with less confusion.
compass needles were twitching and spinning. Magnetic With a Philip Morris hanging from his lips, Willis Lee
interference was straightforward enough an explanation. said to Davis, “Well, stand by, Glenn, here they come.” In
Some thought the dead ships of Ironbottom Sound were every compartment of the Washington, an electronic bell
reaching out with an inscrutable message. gave two short rings, signaling a warning that a salvo was
imminent. Hydraulic hoists trundled projectiles up from

F
aithfully motoring in circles as it cast its ten-centi- the magazines to the turrets. The powder cars whisked up
meter microwaves, the Washington’s SG radar spied silk cylindrical bags filled with explosive propellant. The
the enemy ships to the north of northwest as they projectiles were eased mechanically onto the heavy bronze
left the cover of Savo Island making 21 knots. The radars breech-loading trays and the powder bags laid in behind
watched the enemy vessels for several minutes at a range of them, as many as eight per load depending on the range to
18,000 yards, sharing their data on human wavelengths via the target. After the breech had been rammed and locked,
the Plan Position Indicator scope, and to the mechanical the gun captain hit the ready light indicating the gun was
fire-control computer that delivered calculus to the gun ready to fire.
turrets, before losing track of the contacts because of in- Admiral Kondo had arrayed his force in three groups.
terference from land. Consisting of the Kirishima and the cruisers Atago and
The radars were sketching a picture, definite in range Takao, his Bombardment Unit was his centerpiece. Ahead
and bearing if indistinct in composition, of two groups of of those large ships went his Screening Unit, the light

40 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 cruiser Nagara leading six destroyers, commanded by Rear
Order of Battle Admiral Susumu Kimura. Off to the east steamed a sepa-
rate Sweeping Unit made up of the light cruiser Sendai and
United StateS
three destroyers under Rear Admiral Shintaro Hashimoto.
taSk FOrce 64 - Rear Admiral Willis Lee
It was this latter group that Lee’s radars detected first as
Battleships destroyers the Washington and South Dakota plunged along on their
Washington (BB-56) — Flagship Walke (DD-416)
westerly heading, tracing a course south of Savo Island. On
South Dakota (BB-57) Benham (DD-397)
the radar scope, the Washington’s radar plot officer watched
Preston (DD-379)
the light echoes separate from the mass of Savo Island,
Gwin (DD-433)
“then separate into ‘drops’ similar to the effect of planes
taking off from a carrier.”
Japan The Washington’s turrets trained to starboard and fixed
advanced FOrce - Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo
on Hashimoto’s group as it approached on the east side
Bombardment Unit Screening Unit of Savo Island, sliding aft relative to the battleships as
Vice Admiral Kondo Rear Admiral Susumu Kimura they moved west. At 2313, when Main Battery Control re-
Battleship Light cruiser ported to Lee that the narrowcasting fire-control radars had
Kirishima Nagara found targets and were yielding ranges, Lee hailed Captain
Heavy cruisers destroyers Thomas Gatch over the TBS and gave the South Dakota
Atago — Flagship Shirayuki permission to open fire. It was not until the enemy vessels
Takao Hatsuyuki were spotted visually, at 18,500 yards, that the Washing-
Teruzuki ton, followed closely by the South Dakota, let loose. For
Sweeping Unit Samidare
the second time in three nights, Savo Sound erupted in
Rear Admiral Shintaro Inazuma
thunder and light.
Hashimoto Asagumo
Ensign Robert B. Reed of the Preston watched the
Light cruiser mighty flagship astern. As the corona of the Washington’s
Sendai reinforcement Unit
Rear Admiral Raizo Tanaka first broadside faded, he could follow the nine red trac-
destroyers
ers as they flew away, “grouped together for all the world
Uranami Four transports,
like a flight of airplanes,” he said. Reed watched the salvo
Shikinami nine destroyers
Ayanami
disappear up into the low-hanging clouds, then reemerge
ten miles downrange. When the fire-control radar re-
ceived echoes that showed the
first salvo had landed “over,”
beyond its target, the plotting
officer checked his headphone
chinstrap—the concussion of
the big guns sent more than a
few headsets clattering to the
deck—then instructed the gun-
nery officer, Commander H. T.
Walsh, to “spot down,” lowering
the elevation of the gun. The
second salvo, fired 45 seconds
later, registered a “straddle.”
The officers watching the radars
knew their fire was on target
when they saw the radar image
of the target flicker at the mo-
ment of impact.
After the two battleships
LEFT: U.S. NAVAL INSTITUTE PHOTO ARCHIVE; RIGHT: NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAGE COMMANd commenced fire, radio snoop-
Rear Admiral Willis Lee (left) brilliantly led his force to victory over Admiral Kondo (right), ers in the South Dakota heard a
but contrary to popular opinion, the American commander’s performance wasn’t perfect. cacophony of Japanese voices,
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • “excited and very numerous.”

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 41
 L
They counted at least 13 stations on this frequency at ee’s battleships were the first ships that night to
one time. Though the South Dakota’s main battery was make their powerful presence felt, but in short
hamstrung, with just four guns working in her two forward order the destroyers in his van were grappling with
triple turrets, she continued her cannonade until her for- the enemy—and suffering the consequences of the colli-
ward turrets, swinging aft to remain on target, bumped up sion. At about 2330, the lead vessel, the Walke, located
against the stops that kept her from firing into her own a target on her starboard beam at 15,000 yards. It was
superstructure. The after turret, with no such restraints, a lone enemy ship, the destroyer Ayanami, which had
kept firing, however, and as it trained straight aft the wash strayed from Hashimoto’s formation and was winding a
of fire from her barrels set fire to her two floatplanes, course west of Savo Island, alone. As the ship closed
fantail-mounted on catapults. The on their starboard hand, the Walke
small bonfires raged briefly before opened fire with her 5-inch guns.
the next salvo blew them right off Five minutes later, lookouts in Com-
the ship. Coolly deciding which directors mander Max Stormes’ Preston, third
The light cruiser Sendai and the de- in line, spotted the Nagara ahead,
stroyers Shikinami and Uranami were
would control which turrets . . . leading four destroyers of the Screen-
the objects of this large-caliber fury. Willis Lee became the first naval ing Unit, and opened fire on her at
Though Hashimoto’s small squadron 7,500 yards. The Walke and the Ben-
was engulfed in that maelstrom, not
commander to manage a gunfight ham, Preston, and Gwin turned their
one of his ships was actually hit. The mostly by radar remote control. fire on these ships ahead.
Sweeping Unit commander, the first The Walke’s captain, Thomas E.
naval officer to take fire from 16-inch Fraser, had a hard time seeing his tar-
guns, ordered his captains to lay a get, the Ayanami, given how closely
smoke screen—of little benefit against a radar-guided foe— the enemy destroyer was hugging Savo’s shore. His radar
and reverse course to seek other opportunities to “sweep.” could see the target only when it was far enough from land
Surrounded by towering splashes, the captains of the Japa- to return a separate echo. The Ayanami’s captain had no
nese ships, making smoke, beat a high-speed retreat. plans to allow that to happen. From the cover of the dark
The Washington’s secondary battery cracked fero- shoreline, around 2330, he fired torpedoes at the Ameri-
ciously away as well, with the two forward 5-inch mounts can van and reversed course away from the action. The
shooting at the main battery’s targets, and the next two torpedoes were on their way. Enemy gunfire was faster in
mounts aft firing on a cruiser that appeared to be illu- arriving.
minating the South Dakota. The after dual 5-inch mount By the light of a setting quarter-moon flirting with low
lofted star shells. The intense flash of the 5-inch fusil- clouds, the Preston opened fire on another ship, the light
lades blinded the main battery director operators and cruiser Nagara, in the loom of Savo Island. Steaming at 23
turret captains as they looked out through their night knots, Stormes’ ship found a hitting range at 9,000 yards
scopes. But fighting by eyesight was the old way of war. when she was struck hard by a pair of 5.5-inch shells that
Now the human senses were an auxiliary system. “Radar plunged into her machinery spaces from the starboard side,
has forced the Captain or OTC [officer in tactical com- killing everyone in her two fire rooms. The blast propelled
mand] to base a greater part of his actions in a night a filthy cloud of firebrick and debris out of the stacks that
engagement on what he is told rather than what he can settled all across the amidships area. Shattered torpedo war-
see,” Lee would write. Coolly deciding which directors heads leaked TNT that quickly caught fire. The ship’s after
would control which turrets, and switching them as the stack fell across a searchlight installation, knocking it over
geometry of the engagement shifted, Willis Lee became onto the starboard torpedo tube.
the first naval commander to manage a gunfight mostly A heavier hit followed as a strange ship—which the
by radar remote control. Preston’s officers would speculate was a Japanese heavy
Using the picture his radar provided him, Lee could see cruiser—approached from the port side of the American
his four destroyers ahead and monitor the shifting geom- column and fired on the destroyer. One large shell entered
etry of the landmasses around him. He had a fine view of the engine room, exploding against the electrical genera-
the naval landscape. What he did not have, owing to an tors. Another hit near the number three gun, and a third
oversight in ship design, was an electronic picture of the was a direct hit on the number four. The blast was so great
situation to his rear. With his radar transmitters bolted to that it jammed guns one and two all the way forward. Aft
the front side of the tower foremast, he could register no of the stacks, the Preston’s decks were a blazing ruin. Cap-
returns through a 60-degree arc astern. The South Dakota tain Stormes was forced to give the order to abandon ship
was in that blind spot. almost immediately.

42 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 However, to the executive officer of the South Dakota, ammunition started popping and the forward bulkhead
Commander A. E. Uehlinger, and another officer, Henry of the fire room finally buckled, Fraser decided to aban-
Stewart, it was clear that the Preston was a victim of don ship. The severed bow floated on as the stern sank.
friendly fire. “I saw the Washington open fire to her star- Minutes later the survivors in the water were rocked by
board,” Stewart said. “To us it looked as if the Washington’s an undersea blast as the ship’s depth charges exploded,
fire had caused the accident.” The action reports would to grievous effect in their company. The dead included
lend credence to the idea that even Willis Lee was sus- Captain Fraser. The Walke’s dead would number 82 men,
ceptible to making deadly mistakes in the heat of battle.* including six of her officers.
As the Preston coasted to a stop, the Walke was hit, The Benham, behind the Walke, briefly took the lead
too. Captain Fraser was working to set up a torpedo solu- before a shell plunged into her fire room. Then a torpedo
tion at a large target to starboard when the enemy fish struck, a Type 90 fish probably fired by the Ayanami. It
arrived. One struck the Walke forward of the bridge, lift- carried away about 50 feet of the Benham’s bow below the
ing the forward half of the ship “bodily out of the water,” main deck. The blast produced no fatalities but sent a tall
the action report read. As the destroyer crashed back column of hot seawater soaring toward the stars. When
into the sea without a bow forward of the bridge super- it came back down, it washed heavily over the length of
structure, one of the ship’s magazines detonated and its the ship, causing injuries topside and carrying a man over-
explosion ruptured forward fuel oil tanks and tore holes board. Then another shower fell on the Benham: oil and

NAVY ART COLLECTION, NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAgE COMMANd

World War II Navy combat artist Lieutenant (junior grade) Dwight Shepler captured the Washington and South dakota in action
against the loom of Savo Island during the 14–15 November 1942 Naval Battle of Guadalcanal.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

in the superstructure decks. A few seconds later, several debris from the explosion on board the Preston ahead. The
medium-caliber warheads slammed into the ship, blowing Benham continued along at ten knots. The Gwin, riding in
away a swath of her forecastle and forward superstructure the van’s rear, popped star shells, illuminating the coast of
decking. Across the main deck surged a flood of fuel oil Savo, where flashes of gunfire were visible. Her torpedo
several inches deep. Flames roared through the forward crew had a solution on a cruiser, but a short circuit caused
compartments. Very quickly it became clear that the a torpedo to fire prematurely, well out of range. Then the
Walke was going down by the bow. When machine-gun Gwin, too, started absorbing shells, taking a hit in the

* The Walke’s action report records that the ship that hit the Preston was directly off her port beam. The Washington’s action report indicates that the battleship passed
south of the sinking Preston at this same time, 200 yards to the disengaged side, and that one of the Washington’s 5-inch batteries, Mount 3 on the starboard side, had been
“firing wild (training motor kicked out and the pointers were not matched). It was feared the mount might endanger own destroyers.”

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 43
engine room. A failure in her safety circuits caused three
torpedoes to release from their tubes and slide harmlessly
overboard. The Gwin came right to avoid the dying Preston
and continued on her westerly course.
The Benham’s captain, Lieutenant Commander John B.
Taylor, saw the trouble ahead and decided to steer clear
of the damaged ships and the churn of enemy gunfire.
Turning hard right, he made a half circle and steadied up,
heading east until the Washington passed
on an opposite course. Circling back
around, Taylor, seeing the burning Walke Topside, the wash of
and Preston, planned to stop and recover
survivors. When the two cripples came shrapnel made a sizzling
under fire again, he elected, however, to sound as it sliced into
withdraw.
cables, gun shields, and
I
t was around this time, at about 2333,
steel decking.
that the South Dakota suffered an ap-
palling systems failure. Her after tur-
ret had just lashed out at a target off the
starboard bow when Captain Gatch’s ship was seized as if
by an aneurysm, a short circuit in her main switchboard.
As the breakers tripped out in the switchboards that served
her secondary battery, only to find that they had been tied
down by the chief engineer, the overload surged to other
switches, creating a collapsing house of cards within the
ship’s power grid. In an instant the great battleship went
dark. Gone were her gyros and all her fire-control equip-
ment. As the battleship’s main battery fell silent, there was
nothing Gatch could do to his enemy but curse.
When the Washington turned left and passed the burning
destroyers on their disengaged side, hidden from the enemy
by their fires, she entered waters dense with flotsam and
survivors. Making 26 knots through the debris field of the
stricken Walke and Preston, the battleship’s deck force threw
life rafts overboard. From the ranks of bobbing heads they
heard cries of encouragement: “Get after ’em, Washington!”
Captain Gatch in the South Dakota tried to follow the
Washington as she passed on the disengaged hand of the de-
stroyers, but when a wreck of a destroyer loomed, threaten-
ing collision, he was forced to turn the other way, conning
sharply right, passing between the Walke and Preston and
the enemy. The maneuver placed his blinded warship in
an unfortunate tactical position, silhouetted by the burning
wrecks and plainly visible to an enemy hungry for targets.
Three minutes after her switchboard failure, power returned
to the ship. The outage was long enough to disorient one
of the two most powerful ships in Savo Sound that night.
And the confusion that reigned led to a tactical error in
shiphandling that would draw concentrated enemy atten-
tion in the coming minutes.
Having learned from his destroyers that the fight was
going well against the U.S. “cruisers,” Kondo ordered
44
Hashimoto to assist the damaged Ayanami. As Hashimoto
turned north to comply, he encountered Admiral Kimura’s
destroyers, compelling them into a full circular turn to
avoid a collision. Kondo’s unwieldy task force organization
thus turned and bit him. As the Bombardment Force—the
Kirishima and the two cruisers—finally turned south to close
on Henderson Field, both Kimura and Hashimoto found
themselves out of the fight.
Kondo had barely settled into his new
heading when his lookouts spotted the
South Dakota and identified her as a
cruiser. At the same time, the Nagara
reported seeing two enemy battleships
near Cape Esperance. The Atago’s look-
outs corrected their error in short order,
announcing the presence of battleships.
But it was only after his flagship’s search-
lights swept over the compact and power-
ful form of 42,000-ton South Dakota that
Kondo himself finally grasped the nature
of his opponent. All at once both the admiral and his flag-
ship’s commanding officer, Captain Matsuji Ijuin, began
shouting orders to engage.
Fixed by searchlights, the U.S. battlewagon drew the
immediate violent attention of every major ship in Kon-
do’s force. The Japanese flagship Atago and her sister ship,
the Takao, struck the South Dakota especially hard, repeat-
edly scoring with 8-inch fire from 5,000 yards. From the
Atago, the Nagara, and four destroyers, 34 Long Lances
splashed into the sea. The Kirishima fired on Gatch’s ship
with her 14-inch battery from 11,000 yards, scoring with
a hit at the base of her great after turret. With the main
battery out, paralyzed by the electrical failure, Gatch
was able to respond only with his secondary battery. The
battleship’s 5-inch guns jackhammered fiercely in local
control, but were hardly a deterrent to heavy cruisers and
a battleship.
Topside, the wash of shrapnel made a sizzling sound as
it sliced into cables, gun shields, and steel decking. Well
protected though the engineering compartments were deep
within the vital “armored box,” no battleship’s topside sta-
tions were proof against such firepower. More often than not,
the armor-piercing rounds fired by Kondo’s ships penetrated
and passed through the superstructure plating without ex-
ploding. Still, the fires raged so fiercely that some enemy
observers became convinced she was a goner. The barrage
of hits to the South Dakota’s superstructure shattered steam
pipes going to the ship’s whistle, and gusts of steam scalded
anyone standing in those exposed spaces. In Battle Two, the
executive officer, Commander A. E. Uehlinger, refused to
abandon station after it was engulfed in steam. In the end,
the battleship’s high foremast superstructure was poor shelter.
It was a death trap.
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 The South Dakota was designed for a different kind of
fight, conducted at distances to the horizon and beyond,
where her huge guns could kill at standoff range. At close
ranges, the variables were too many to manage and the
risk was great. When an 8-inch shell exploded near an
ammunition hoist, flashing through the opening and ignit-
ing some life jackets, a fire rose in a passageway adjacent
to a handling room serving the 5-inch battery. This small
fire was a dangerous one. But it and the rest of the South
Dakota’s below-decks fires were quickly extinguished, and
a disastrous secondary explosion was forestalled.
W
illis Lee in the Washington had been patiently
tracking a large target on his starboard hand,
but since he had lost track of the South Da-
kota, owing to his blind spot astern, he dared not turn
loose his big guns on this bogey, the Kirishima, until her
NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAGE COmmANd
Armed with 14-inch guns, the fast battleship Kirishima was completed during World War I as a battle cruiser and later upgraded so
that she could operate with Japan’s fleet carriers. But against the Washington’s deluge of 16-inch shells she barely put up a fight.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
identity could be verified. When the Japanese opened their
searchlight shutters on the South Dakota, however, he had
his answer. Lee’s flagship enjoyed momentary concealment
as she slid behind the burning Walke and Preston, which
blinded Kondo to his presence. Here was an hour of truth,
and the truth was this: Willis Lee was the contemporary
master of radar fire control, and Washington’s SG system
gave him a clear electronic view of the oceanic battlefield
under almost any circumstances.
While men in open-air stations saw the horror of naval
combat in the machine age with their own senses—steam-
ing through the debris fields of the sunken destroyers,
shouting out to survivors bobbing on rafts nursing ghastly
wounds, smelling the sweet tang of burned flesh—inside,
officers with access to a radar image watched an abstract
painting of the battlescape unfurl in a remorseless electric
light. It was a picture cleansed of horror and emotion. Lee
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
knew how to operate by it. He trained one group of his
starboard-side 5-inch dual mounts on the Atago, and his
main battery and the other group of 5-inch mounts on
the larger blip on his scope, the Kirishima. The Washing-
ton’s unblinking electronic eyes nudged the main battery
on target. From 8,400 yards—“body punching range,” as a
Washington lieutenant put it—the South Pacific’s battleship
gunslinger emerged from the cover of his burning destroyers
and turned loose with everything he had. Naval engineers
who designed protective armor schemes for battleships cal-
culated from the need to stop large-caliber direct gunfire
from around 20,000 yards. But at close ranges, stopping a
16-inch projectile was hopeless. Willis Lee had won the
draw on the Kirishima.
It had been just six minutes since the Kirishima’s gun-
ners had lost a solution on the South Dakota and checked
their fire. Lookouts on the Atago, spotting the Washington,
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
shouted, “There is another ship forward of the first, a big
battleship!” Short seconds later the lookouts were crying,
“Kirishima is totally obscured by shell splashes!” Accord-
ing to Lee, the Washington’s fire control and main battery
“functioned as smoothly as though she were engaged in a
well-rehearsed target practice.” The first salvo probably hit,
and the second one certainly did.
The Kirishima took a frightful battering from the Wash-
ington. The first hit destroyed the forward radio room lo-
cated at the base of the foremast pagoda, below the main
deck. Shells smashed into the barbettes of her two forward
14-inch turrets, starting fires that threatened the magazines.
The battleship’s assistant gunnery officer, Lieutenant Com-
mander Horishi Tokuno, ordered a forward powder maga-
zine flooded to prevent fires. The rush of water caused the
ship to list slightly to starboard. Another projectile hit the
steering machinery room, flooding it and leaving the rudder
45
 have allowed no escape, even if the enemy ship
retained the ability to maneuver. As the radar au-
tomatically lay the big rifles, the Washington’s gun
trains kept rolling and the night rained murder-
ously with heavy metal. The U.S. flagship’s rapid-
firing secondary battery popped 5-inch rounds
into the Kirishima’s pagoda foremast, stacks, and
superstructure, causing untold loss of personnel.
When the officer in Main Battery Control
ordered the guns to cease fire, based on an er-
roneous report that his target had sunk, Captain
Iwabuchi tried futilely to conn the Kirishima away
from the Washington, but “we couldn’t make way
at all,” he said. “In the meantime, the engine
rooms became intolerable because of the in-
creased heat, and most of the engineers were
killed though they had been ordered to evacu-
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
PHOTOS: NAVAL HISTORy & HERITAgE COMMAND

Left: The foremast tower of the Washington,

photographed in August 1942, bristles with state-
of-the-art fire-control sensors, including a Mark
38 director with Mark 3 radar (top) and a Mark
37 director with Mark 4 radar (below,
turned to port). The SG microwave
jammed to starboard. After this, only
navigation radar transmitter is mounted
the ship’s inboard shafts were work- As the radar automatically lay
on the small platform attached to the
ing, making it impossible to steer by
reversing the outboard shafts. When
the big rifles, the Washington’s front of the tower. Below: The most
important naval radar of World War
hydraulic pressure failed in the after gun trains kept rolling and the II, the SG radar was the first to show
part of the ship, her two after main
gun turrets were left inoperable. night rained murderously with contacts using the now-familiar radial
sweep and an intuitive map-like Plan
Heat and smoke from topside fires, heavy metal. Position Indicator display.
sucked into the ship by ventilation
turbines, forced the evacuation of the
engine rooms. A pair of 30-foot holes
yawning in her deck amidships were the scars of
this massive assault. On the Kirishima’s bridge,
Lieutenant (junior grade) Michio Kobayashi no-
ticed the ship slowing and turning in a circle.
The Kirishima’s main battery managed to roar
several times in return. The commanding of-
ficer, Captain Sanji Iwabuchi, thought his first
salvo scored two hits, one of them blowing off
the bridge of his target. “At least ten hits were
made upon them, but the enemy could not be
finished off,” he said. It was the familiar optimism
of a warrior lost in a battle larger than he can
comprehend. The 14-inch armor-piercing rounds
passed like giant subway cars over the Wash-
ington’s rigging. “They must have been mighty
close,” a Washington crewman said, “but an inch
is as good as a mile.” Remorseless radars would

46 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
ate. Only the central engine could make the slowest speed.
Fires brought under control gained strength again, so that
the fore and aft magazines became endangered. Orders to
flood them were then issued.”
Ninety seconds later, Captain Davis ordered his main
battery, “If you can see anything to shoot at, go ahead,”
and the great guns opened up again on the Kirishima, whose
gunners were able to respond with only her after turret.
“More hits obtained,” the action reported declared.
More than 200 men lay dead in the Kirishima, victims
of a stem-to-stern pummeling by at least 20 16-inch shells
from the Washington. Lieutenant Kobayashi believed the
ship took half a dozen torpedoes as well, but these were
most likely underwater hits. Many of the great 2,700-pound
American projectiles struck short but
plowed under the sea on flat trajectories
!
bl st
ed
to strike below the waterline. Admiral Thrilling Stories … Fascinating Science.
Pu Ju
ish
about 15 miles north of the Russell Islands, and four more
limping northwest with a small combat escort.
His big rifles not yet cool, Lee steered a course to intercept
them the next day. The Washington had come through virtu-
ally unscratched by enemy fire. A five-inch hole in her giant
“bedspring” air-search radar transmitter was her only wound.
She took a much worse thrashing from the blast of her own
guns: bulkheads caved in, compartments violently tossed, and
a floatplane left in ruins, suitable only for parts. Her only
human casualties were a punctured eardrum and an abrasion
to the back of a hand. She was the most powerful ship in these
waters, but any ship alone is a vulnerable one.
Excerpted from Neptune’s Inferno: The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal, © 2011 by James D.
Hornfischer, with the permission of Random House.

Lee, seeing their splashes, most likely

The POWER of the SEA

counted these as misses. But they did, by
far, the greatest damage to the Kirishima,
all along her length. These underwater
Tsunamis, storm surges, rogue waves,
hits were Willis Lee’s answer to the Long
Lance torpedo.
and our quest to predict disasters
After midnight, Kondo ordered his bat- BRUCE PARKER
BRUCE PARKER
tered Bombardment Unit onto a westerly
course. Only the Atago, lightly damaged,
and the Takao, unhit, could comply. The
Washington’s radars tracked the Japanese
ships as they withdrew—a light cruiser
was fixed for the forward turrets, and a
destroyer for the after turret. But Lee, un-
sure of the South Dakota’s location, would
not allow the main battery to fire.
Captain Gatch was fortunate to escape
“You will come away with a better "Mixes hair-raising descriptions of
with a seaworthy battleship. The South disasters with efforts to understand
understanding of why the sea will
Dakota had taken 26 hits, including 18 by leave us in awe till the end of time." them ... a lucid, original contribution
8-inch projectiles and one by a 14-incher. ––Jim
JimCantore,
Cantore, to popular- sciencewriting."
popular-science writing."
The damage wrought to the upper works The
TheWeather
WeatherChannel
Channel – Kirkus Reviews
was serious. With all of the ship’s lights palgrave
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N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 47
 By Daniel J. Demers

The aviator already had taken off from a ship.

Now he had to show skeptics that the riskier
task of landing on one was possible.
He succeeded—leaving an indelible imprint
on the future of naval warfare.

48 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E

A
nasty 15-mph quartering wind
blew across the makeshift land-
ing deck on the armored cruiser
USS Pennsylvania. Spotters on
board the ship, anchored in San
Francisco Bay, believed the adverse weather con-
ditions would prohibit the landing of the small
Curtiss biplane. Spying the aircraft at 1,200 feet
they concluded the pilot “would never attempt
the landing.” Then the aviator descended to
about 400 feet and flew past an observing admi-
ral’s flagship, tipping his wings in salute. The air-
plane turned and headed toward the Pennsylva-
nia. The disbelieving spotters assumed the pilot
• • • • • • • • • • • • • •
U.S. AIR FORCE ART COLLECTION
Concluding a highly successful day of aviation,
Eugene Ely takes off from the USS Pennsylvania
on 18 January 1911, as depicted in John McCoy’s
painting. Earlier that day, Ely had made history
when he landed his aircraft on the warship, the first
person to accomplish that feat. Taking off from
a ship’s deck was not exactly routine at the time,
either. Ely had been the first to do that—just two
months before.
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAgE COMMANd
Pioneer pilot Eugene Ely at the controls of his Curtiss
pusher aircraft. Outfitted with headgear very much
resembling the football helmets of the era, Ely strapped
an inner tube from a bicycle tire around his upper torso,
believing it would help him stay afloat if his shipboard
landing failed and he ended up in the water.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
would “sheer off after one or two circles.” As
one newspaper later reported, “nobody thought
for an instant that he would attempt to land.” It
was 18 January 1911.
The wind from the starboard, pilot Eugene Ely
reported, “swung me wide of the landing platform,
and it was not until I was within 30 yards of the
vessel that I straightened out.” His direct-in ap-
proach brought him squarely to the platform, over
which he traveled about 20 feet before touching
down.
Ely, 26, thus became the first man to land an
airplane on the deck of a warship. Italian and
French aviators had made similar attempts with-
out success. Ely crowed that he was proud of the
feat because “it reflects credit on my own coun-
try,” adding that “it was my chief desire that the
United States should win over all other nations
in this particular piece of aviating work.” An hour
later, Ely took off from the makeshift deck and
flew back to San Bruno. Just two months earlier
he had been the first aviator to take off from the
deck of a ship—the patrol cruiser Birmingham—in
Hampton Roads, Virginia. (He landed in Norfolk.)
The makeshift deck on the Pennsylvania had
been built at Mare Island Naval Shipyard in San
Francisco Bay at no cost to the Navy. The modi-
fications were paid for by the Curtiss Airplane
Company. The landing platform, constructed of
pine planks, was 130 feet long by 32 feet wide.
Ten feet of it hung at an angle—with a drop of
four feet—over the stern of the ship. The arrest-
ing gear comprised 21 ropes—each with 50-pound
sandbags attached to either end—laid across the
• • • • • • •
runway. Each rope was suspended 8 inches above
the deck. Three hooks had been affixed to the un-
derside of the aircraft to catch on the ropes when
the landing was made. The sandbags were then to
act as drag to slow the plane. A heavy canvas aw-
ning was stretched across the sides and the end of
the landing strip—“a sort of hammock to catch Ely
in case he should be thrown out [of the plane] by a
too-sudden stopping of the machine.”
The plane itself had two pontoons fastened on
either side, and a small hydroplane was mounted
49
NAVAL HISTORy & HERITAgE COMMAND
A primitive set of arresting cables—ropes stretched between sandbags lining the deck—awaited Ely’s approach (left). As he was about
to touch down (center) a gust of air lifted the plane, just enough that its landing hooks failed to catch the first several ropes. When the
ropes finally were snagged (right) the weight of the dragged sandbags stopped Ely’s forward motion.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
behind the front wheel—precautions, according to Ely, “so
that if I should take a header into the water the machine
would not dive like a duck.” Additionally he “wound [about
his torso] an inflated innertube of a bicycle tire, so that if I fell
in the water it would sustain me at least until I was picked up.”
‘A Conclusive Demonstration’
Ely approached at 60 mph with a tailwind. “Just as I
came over the overhang at the stern,” he said, “I felt a
sudden lift to the machine as I shut down the motor.” That
gust of air carried him “a trifle further” than intended. Ely
said the plane’s hooks “caught the fourth [rope] . . . up to
the eleventh.” Other accounts—and photographs—indicate
that the hooks missed far more than the first three ropes.
In any case it was, Ely wrote, “a conclusive demonstration
of the adaptability of the aeroplane to military purposes.”
Ely then mingled with a crowd of dignitaries and the officers
and crew of the cruiser. He and his wife, Mabel, were hosted
by the ship’s commanding officer, Captain Charles F. Pond,
at a luncheon. “I didn’t feel hungry but did content myself
with a couple of glasses of punch—not alcoholic,” wrote Ely.
Pond pronounced that it was a certainty that airplanes “will
figure in the battles of the future.” He speculated that future
navies would have “one ship connected with every fleet” that
would be equipped with aircraft. Rear Admiral E. B. Barry,
Pacific Fleet Commander, believed the future of aircraft in the
Navy was a bit “overdrawn.” He thought that the only useful
purpose of airplanes would be to “obtain maps and other data,
while flying from a great altitude—say over fortifications and
50
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
land defenses.” But he continued that “as a means of attack
against the modern ship of war, it seems improbable that as
much can be said.” The admiral argued that “every warship
has hundreds of marines”—all trained marksmen—“and it
seems unreasonable that the bird men could get close enough
to become effective . . . and the man and airplane would
topple into the depths below.”
Ely took off an hour later for his flight back to San Bruno.
As he climbed to 2,000 feet, he “heard a terrific screeching of
the sirens of the bay craft” honoring his feat. A crowd estimated
at 75,000—a good portion of San Francisco’s population at the
time—was along the waterfront. One local newspaper reported
the shoreline “presented one compact mass of humanity” with
“every wharf, shed and pier crowded to overflow.” Spectators
“perched themselves upon ships decks and superstructures and
even climbed up far into the ship rigging.”
When he landed at the makeshift airfield next to Tanfo-
ran Race Track, a squad of Soldiers “deployed and quickly
surrounded me,” he wrote. “They picked me up and raised
me on their shoulders,” carrying him across the field to
a tent were the Army major in charge “had luncheon”
prepared in his honor. He noticed “one of the plates was
turned down.” An officer explained they hadn’t expected
Ely to come back. “I was good and hungry and the Army
fare looked good to me,” he commented.
First Among the Firsts
Ely’s feat was one of several “firsts” that occurred in San
Francisco during a ten-day air meet held there. Crowds
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E

estimated at 200,000 had come
by car, train, and
bus to witness one
of the nation’s first
air shows. Aviators
competed for $50,000
in prize money—
$1.5 million in
current values.
Four companies
of infantry were
encamped at the
meet, which was
designed to prove
to the Army and Navy that “the aeroplane can be used as
an aggressive” weapon. “A machine gun detachment and
field guns will make mimic warfare upon the birdmen,”
promised Frederick Scotford, chairman of the air show.
The event marked the first time that the War Depart-
ment had ever permitted federal troops to participate in
a civil-aviation meet. Pioneer aviator Hubert Latham be-
came the first man to fly through the Golden Gate, where
no bridge had yet been built. The Army flew “great kites
in representation of airships” with Soldiers shooting live
rounds in order that the “figurative damage” done to the
attacking “airships” could be gauged
Another barnstorming aviator, Charlie Willard, went
aloft with a 100-foot length of fine aluminum wire trailing
his plane. He then became the first man to receive a wire-
less message from an Army ground station. In another com-
munications first, Captain Paul Beck of the Army Signal
Corps went aloft with civilian pilot Philip Parmalee, and at
500 feet sent the first wireless message from an airplane to a
ground station—while traveling at the unheard of speed of
60 mph. Wilbur Wright proclaimed, “It is perfectly feasible
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
SAN FRANCISCO PUBLIC LIBRARY
Below: Ely’s aviation feat was the biggest story of the day for
San Francisco newspapers. All of them gave the flier front-page
coverage. Interestingly, while many old-line Navy officers saw
little of significance in the demonstrated capabilities of aircraft,
these headlines indicate that at least some reporters and editors
realized that the day’s events would have a significant effect on
the future of naval warfare.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
to build an aeroplane which will fly 100, 200 or even 300
miles an hour.” The Wright Brothers’ first flight, eight years
earlier, had reached a speed of 6.8 mph.
Navy Ensign Roy Stover of the armored cruiser West Vir-
ginia became the first naval officer to fly when he was
taken aloft by Walter Brookins, a pioneer in
his own right: He was the first pilot to
have been trained under Wilbur and
Orville Wright. The press coverage
of the event included a notice that a
“mysterious Lieutenant Foster of the
U. S. Aeronautic Corps” had gone
up in a plane with a rifle “for a
target shooting test.”
Foster, who report-
edly scored a couple
of hits on silhouette
targets, was generally
believed to have been
Ely using an alias. An-
other first was the dropping of explosive devices at
targets on the ground. Reporting on the resultant
bomb craters, one newspaper commented, “the naval
office at Washington must turn to the huge task of as-
suring there is some protection from the soaring death.”
In the end, though, it was Ely’s daredevil flights onto
and off of the Pennsylvania that captured the world’s at-
tention. It was epoch-making—as one newspaper editorial
concluded: “It changed in an instant the whole theory of
naval warfare.”
Eugene Ely was killed in an airplane crash in Macon,
Georgia, in October 1911—a mere ten months after his
historic feat. In 1932 Congress posthumously honored
Ely, awarding him the Distinguished Flying Cross, and in
1961 the U.S. Post Office issued a naval aviation com-
memorative stamp marking the 50th anniversary of his
achievement. An exhibit honoring him is on display at
the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum in
Washington, D.C.
Excerpted material in this story comes from articles published in the San Francisco
Examiner and the San Francisco Morning Call between 3 January and 22 Janu-
ary 1911, and from CW2 Mark Denger, “Californians and the Military: Eugene
Burton Ely, The California National Guard’s First (Naval) Aviator,” http://www.
militarymuseum.org/Ely1.html.
51
 NAVAL HISTORY & HERITAGE COMMAND

Lieutenant Commander Frank Jack Fletcher regarded his

assignment to command a World War I subchaser as his big
chance. He would come to learn the truth of the adage about
being careful what you wish for; “the tide ran faster” than his
sorry ship, and “his officers were as green as grass.”

52 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 H
ollywood’s creative minds have churned out Navy
comedies by the handful. They gave us pink sub-
marines, talking mules, and Jack Lemmon tossing
palm trees. but silver-screen writers never could
have created as absurd and ludicrous an episode
as the Suicide Fleet. Only Navy professionals could pro-
duce such a story.
World War I brought forth a terrifyingly successful
technological innovation: the submarine. Silent and un-
seen, submarines frightened both civilian and military
personnel alike. America was devoid of adequate anti-
submarine ships. Destroyers were considered the primary
defense, but their construction took too long.
Some genius posited that the civilian yacht fleet was just
the answer. Newport, New York, and other Atlantic harbors
hosted multitudes of wonderful yachts that could quickly be
reconfigured and armed to fill this enormous gap.
Isaac emerson, the CeO of bromo-Seltzer, was a
wealthy magnate who enjoyed the pleasures of a yacht,
wining and dining his cohorts as the sun set on the gentle
waters of a nice, safe harbor. His boat was all splendor
and grace, built for hardly any other purpose than sitting
at anchor. Possessing one of the finest wine galleys along
the east Coast and noted for her exqusite dining area, the
Margaret, as emerson had named her, was worthy of her
rich owner. The Navy, however, needed boats.
A steam yacht of 245 tons built by John Roach & Sons
of Chester, Pennsylvania, in 1899, the vessel originally
had been christened Eugenia. The original specifications
provide some suspicion as to her quality. She was 176 feet
in length (143 feet at the waterline) but possessed a beam
of a mere 21 feet. It would take no maritime engineer or
naval architect to see an extraordinarily tender vessel. At
her best, she supposedly could make 12 knots with her
vertical triple-expansion engine and pair of Almy boilers.

Over the Hill, but Called to Serve

Assessed at $94,000, the Margaret (or Maggie, as she

was more affectionately known) was purchased by the
Navy on 16 October 1917 for $104,000. The uSS Mar-
garet (SP-527) was an old lady past her prime, once rich
and proud, now warped and fragile—a contradiction con-
sidering she was only 18 years old.
Workers sawed off the bowsprit, changed the wine stor-
age into a shell compartment, and turned the beautiful
dining room into a berthing area. The stately wooden
masts were replaced with stubby but practical ones, and
the boom disappeared. Already incredibly top-heavy,
Maggie had a chart house, pilothouse, and bridge with
wings supplemented to her topside. Added to this perver-
sity of a boat were two 3-inch guns and racks for depth
charges. Her severely cut-away stern now sagged greatly.
even in the gentle waters of the shipyard, her aft port-

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 53
NAVAL HISToRy & HERITAGE CoMMAND

With her bowsprit sawed off, her decks bristling with armaments, and her wine galley filled with ammo, the Margaret embarked on her
ill-fated wartime career. With the extra weight, the yacht’s cut-away stern sat low in the water.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

holes were barely above the waterline. Not that it mattered. to get aboard anything headed to Europe. Fletcher’s wish
Maggie leaked like a sieve at joints, seams, and connections. was granted, and he was assigned to the Margaret.
Meanwhile, in the Caribbean, a newly promoted lieuten- The shock of actually seeing the yacht being reconfigured
ant commander and recent recipient of a Medal of Honor into a warship must have been dreadful; his initial reaction,
for heroism at Vera Cruz, Mexico, sat depressed and frus- however, has been lost to history. His officers were
trated. Frank Jack Fletcher, grandson of one of Iowa’s most as green as grass and offered little to ameliorate his
powerful bankers and nephew of a Navy admiral, had been distress. Fletcher immediately ordered trials, and from
weaned on the art of pulling strings, supporting friends, and the first, Maggie commenced the tricks from which
working the room for personal benefit. Fletcher was affable, her reputation would arise: She quickly lost power
highly sociable, and prone to make friends easily. It did not against the current, smacked into a pier, fouled her
hurt that the young officer knew just about everybody who anchor, and tore out the anchor stanchion. She was
was anybody in the Navy. a rock-and-roll vessel that could manage a meager
Fletcher’s dilemma was of his own making. He had wran- top speed of 6 knots and was more likely to steam at
gled a position as flag secretary on the staff of his uncle, 4 knots in calm seas—the tide ran faster than that.
Admiral Friday Fletcher, to be at the center of action during This warship sent to chase and destroy submarines
the invasion of Mexico. But Vera Cruz quickly dissolved could not even move as quickly as her targets, nor
into a historical footnote as World War I erupted in Europe. even get away from her own depth charges. Worse,
Now, as friends and U.S. Naval Academy classmates were Fletcher calculated that she needed an additional 35
being thrust into mid-level officer positions on battleships tons of ballast but only had enough room for 5 tons.
and cruisers and being sent into the Atlantic, Frank Jack The captain and his officers stood proudly at
wallowed in the serene and peaceful waters of the Caribbean. Maggie’s commissioning as they watched a seaman
When he learned about the Navy’s attempt to create hoist the flag upside-down—the universal sign of
subchasers from old yachts, his heart must have leapt at the trouble. Fletcher gave a “God, Country, and the
thought of commanding his own ship. Fletcher would be Navy” speech to the crew before reading his orders
entitled to be addressed as “captain.” He would command • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
seamen and officers in battle. He would build his career NAVAL HISToRy & HERITAGE CoMMAND

on heroic deeds. The world would be his oyster if only The Margaret’s crew would have scant opportunity to
he could land such a wonderful assignment. No doubt he use her guns; after the initial test-firings caused dam-
grinned gleefully thinking about his old Academy buddies age to the vessel, Fletcher “quietly ordered the gunnery
Ray Spruance, Bill Halsey, and Chet Nimitz as they tried officer never to fire the weapons again.”

54 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
to take the Margaret to the Azores by way of bermuda. His
newly minted officers were openly scared to death as they
left the harbor along with several smaller craft. The older
salts, without much ado, named this dismal armada “the
Suicide Fleet.”
A Series of Unfortunate Events
Frank Jack Fletcher’s biggest asset was his reputation. As
a lieutenant commander, Medal of Honor recipient, and
combat-experienced officer, the skipper was held in the
highest respect and admiration by the crew. His popularity
alone probably saved his dog, Poilu, who was universally
detested. A French bulldog noted for being a drooling,
dirty, and generally irascible cur, Poilu was the subject of
many crew plots involving tossing the mascot overboard;
because the Old Man was held in such awe, those conspira-
cies never came to be.
On 4 November 1917, the Suicide Fleet went south.
Maggie’s mission was to tow SC-317, recently given to
the French, to bermuda while the French crew learned
about running the subchaser. The squadron of little ves-
sels—including the flagship May, the Winona, the Helenita,
the Utawana, and the supply ship Hannibal in addition to
Fletcher’s craft—headed out.
The first day at sea Maggie drifted into a storm, causing such
rolling that 59 of a crew of 61 reported as seasick and unable
to perform their duties. Fletcher ordered all men not to sleep
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1
on deck for fear of being washed overboard. Water seeped in
from the seams and coursed through the vessel, as the rolling
shifted from compartment to compartment a putrid combina-
tion of vomit and seawater. The pumps, barely able to keep
up with the inflow, worked 24 hours a day. The condenser
died, as did the steerage gear. The helm was operated by a
tiller and two ropes pulled by seasick seamen. Fletcher called
on an ensign new to Navy blue to be in charge of repairs. His
only experience was as a dry-goods salesman, and he was sicker
than his men. This glorious day and night for Maggie and her
sisters in the Suicide Fleet was their introduction to war.
Hardly out of port, Captain Fletcher attempted test-firings.
The initial forward gun’s backrush blew out the forecastle
locker door. The after gun blew out the stern rail, sprung 19
additional leaks in the hull, and totally flooded the enlisted
men’s berthing area. Fletcher quietly ordered the gunnery
officer never to fire the weapons again. both guns showed
that they had sprung themselves from the deck. So onward
the gallant band of intrepid warriors sailed, knowing that
firing a weapon at the enemy was probably going to do more
damage to themselves than to the target.
A general lack of potable water forced Fletcher to ration
it and deny baths to the crew. He also allowed everyone
to grow beards, or some scraggly youthful variation thereof.
(Fletcher himself grew a moustache.)
by the end of three days the Utawana was ordered to
tow a drifting Maggie but could not because she, too, had
55
broken down. Finally, a patched-up Maggie got under way
but ran out of coal halfway to Bermuda. With no power,
lights, pumps, or communications, Fletcher ordered his ship
to be towed. He then ordered a bucket brigade to keep the
ship from capsizing. She rolled so badly that her engine-
room cowl was lost. During the tow, the line parted. Then
the starboard anchor gave way, and Fletcher found 105
fathoms of chain hanging over Maggie’s side. The donkey
engine broke down, so the crew had to bring aboard both
the parted line and the anchor chain manually.
Eventually the Suicide Fleet, minus the Helenita, arrived
in Bermuda. (The lost sister showed up two days later,
having missed Bermuda thanks to the skills of the newly
minted navigation officer.) Fletcher sent his dory over to
the docks to get caulking material. The little dinghy broke
down and had to be towed ashore. Dockyard officials took
one look at the Margaret and her companions and refused
materials of any kind, because virtually all duty officers and
men on shore believed that anything sent to the Suicide
Fleet was a total waste of goods.
Fletcher sent his ailing dory over to the Hannibal, and his
request for supplies was again summarily denied. Haggling
and begging, the dory crew did manage to “borrow” ten
gallons of gasoline and some sewing thread, while Fletcher
himself managed to wield his influence to get a caulking
hammer and a small supply of oakum. comrade in arms from German subs. It was the luckless SC-317,
manned by the French. In total frustration her crewmen found
‘Nothing More Than a Piece of Junk’
themselves yet again towed behind the Margaret.
Fletcher eventually received his orders for the Azores. In a chronic repeat of bad luck, Maggie ran out of coal
The May, Winona, Rambler, and Hannibal joined the new and was again found behind a towing Cythera. The entire
boats: the Cythera, Artemis, and Lydonia. Experience had fleet became half of the boats towing the other half. The
shown Fletcher that Maggie could not hold enough coal or crews were run ragged from constant sightings of subma-
water for the trip; therefore, he ordered two piles of soft rines and torpedoes—usually flotsam or porpoises. To add
coal to be dumped on deck, forcing everyone going for- to the misery, towlines parted frequently and boats scraped
ward or aft to crawl over the dirty, dusty piles. His pirates and banged each other in heavy seas trying to deal with
scrounged up a pair of bathtubs to be filled with fresh water heaving lines. By the time Fletcher reached port at Horta,
and ensured that all lifeboats were to the gunwales with Maggie looked as bad as she sailed.
water. They also managed to find a large pile of lumber Again Fletcher found himself out of luck when it came to
for the ship’s carpenter. This, too, was stored on the deck, supplies or replacement parts. The Suicide Fleet was just too
making Maggie even more top-heavy. expendable to be allowed matériel. Sitting at anchor during
Personally, Fletcher was in a deep funk. His superb plan a hurricane, Maggie dragged her hook, as did every other ship
for a command had dissolved into a Fleet-wide joke. Hav- of the Great American Answer to the U-boat problem. One
ing used his extensive social resources to gain the Margaret, of them slammed into her, taking a goodly portion of her
Fletcher now embarked on a campaign to leave her. Writing rail. The fierce winds tore off the spuds-locker top. Unable to
to his connections, he sought a transfer. His orders to the maintain power to manage steerage and without enough chain
Azores merely postponed his plan to rid himself of Maggie. to provide solid anchor, Fletcher eventually admitted defeat
One day, firing from the May signaled that an enemy and sent his dory out to secure the ship to a mooring buoy.
steamer had been sighted. The humble fleet set about to Insult was added to injury when a German U-boat sank a
chase and sink her. But the speed of the little yachts was Portuguese barkentine, and the Margaret was sent out to hunt
so pathetic that the tramp merely headed on with alacrity, the sub down. After a fruitless search, Fletcher was ordered
leaving the hapless boats in her wake. back to the friendly confines of the harbor. Later, the German
Soon the squadron heard messages for help from another submarine commander radioed in the clear that he had seen the
boat. The May and Winona separated from the fleet to rescue a Margaret, but believed she was not worthy of wasting a torpedo.

56 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E

up to his eyeballs in failure, Fletcher awaited the out-
come of his letter-writing campaign. Washington’s silence
depleted much of his ambition and energy. Meanwhile,
after months of complaints, Fletcher’s request for a serious
survey of his ship was granted. As he well knew it would,
the report showed that the deck leaked, crew quarters
were uninhabitable, and the condenser was beyond repair.
Worse, the steam drums were so bad that the maximum
pressure that could be raised was 74 psi instead of the usual
operational 160 pounds. The drums, originally 5/6ths of an
inch thick, had been worn down to a mere 1/16th-inch.
Additionally, the official review cited the medical report
that living conditions on board the vessel were very bad.
The ship, the survey succinctly stated, was “absolutely un-
fitted [sic] for the duty to which she has been assigned.” It
was readily apparent that Maggie, frankly, was of no value
whatsoever. As Azores Detachment Commander A. W.
Osteshans noted, the design of the ship was not meant for
sailing out of sight of land “or, I might say, out of Long
Island Sound. . . . To sum up in a few words, I consider the
Margaret nothing more than a piece of junk, and I cannot
imagine a ship being bought for the government that is so
worthless for the duty required.” The commander recom-
mended the ship be scrapped immediately.
Now recognized as a disaster waiting to happen, Maggie
was pulled from further sailing orders; she became a hold-
ing ship for her crew and a general storage container for
the Navy. Fletcher attempted to keep his men busy with
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1
NAVAL HISTORY & HeRITAGe COMMAND
All good things must come to an end: Fletcher bids farewell to
the Margaret on 1 March 1918. Far more glorious commands
lay ahead for him, but he would always carry a ready supply of
humorous “Maggie stories.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
constant painting and polishing; nevertheless, everyone was
trying to obtain orders to other ships.
No excitement occurred until some swab from another
boat attempted to swim to shore but rapidly became disori-
ented and fatigued. Hearing cries for help emanating from
the dark, Gunner’s Mate Davis, on duty as petty officer of
the watch on the Margaret, dived overboard and saved the
man. Captain Fletcher brought Davis to Captain’s Mast
on the charge of leaving the ship while on duty. Slyly he
chewed the man out while subsequently writing the Secre-
tary of the Navy seeking a letter of commendation, which
Davis ultimately received for his brave act.
The only other incident of note during this interim was
Fletcher’s beloved dog Poilu going overboard. Since the
crew hated the dog, there was a certain amount of debate
over whether it should be retrieved. To the dismay of many,
it was.
Bad Circumstances Beget Amusing Memories
Fletcher finally received orders for a destroyer. Joyously he
shoved off with little to look back on with sadness. eventu-
ally each officer was ordered away after serving a few weeks
as CO. The last captain of Maggie, before all crew were dis-
patched to other vessels, was the senior enlisted man.
Fletcher eventually ended up on board the uSS Benham,
relieving his old friend William Halsey Jr. as commanding
officer of the destroyer. For his service in command of the
convoy-protecting Benham, Fletcher would receive the Navy
Cross. The Margaret was sold for scrap to an Italian firm for
$1,200 after the war and was scratched from the rolls of Navy
ships. but her legend lived on long, long afterward in bars,
officers’ clubs, and family outings. Fletcher was noted for re-
galing his friends with humorous stories about his first war
command. His distant relations quickly retold many of the
adventures for years after his death, and even his later staffs
would laugh at memories of Fletcher’s “Maggie stories.”
Sources:
Records of the uSS Margaret, History and Archives Division, Naval History &
Heritage Command, Washington Navy Yard, Washington, DC.
Communications, Commander Azores Detachment to Commander u.S. Naval
Forces Operating in european Waters, 12 January 1918. RG 45, box 319, OF
Files, NARS. Naval History & Heritage Command, Washington Navy Yard,
Washington, DC.
Interviews by the author with Mrs. Fletcher Glick, 1984–1990.
Prosper buranelli, Maggie of the Suicide Fleet (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, Doran
and Company, 1930).
Stephen D. Regan, In Bitter Tempest: The Biography of Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher
(Ames, IA: Iowa State university Press, 1994).
Yachts, journal of the American Society of Naval engineers, vol. X., no. 8 (August
1898), pp. 931–934.
57
 Fire
DOWN BELOW!
BY CHRISTOPHER EDWARDS

What started as a routine day for the USS Bennington

quickly turned into a nightmare: Explosions and fires killed
102 in one of the worst peacetime disasters in Navy history.

58 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 I
n the early morning air of a clear spring day,
the bow of the USS Bennington (CVA-20)
effortlessly cut its way though waters just off
Narragansett Bay.1 The ship was on a heading
away from the mainland, and was about to
settle down for morning flight quarters for pilot
carrier qualification.
Seaman First Class William Vickers stood in
Hangar Bay 3 looking out at an unusually calm
ocean. “It looked like a sheet of glue, it was so
calm. No ripples no nothing, just a shimmer-
ing sheet of water,” he remembered.2 Vickers
had just descended from the bridge of the “Big
Benn.” He had been relieved early from the
0400-0800 watch and decided to grab a quick
cup of coffee from the crew’s mess. He then
went up to the hangar deck to steal a quick
moment of solitude. Finishing his coffee, he
headed down to his berthing compartment for
a few hours of sleep. There, as he climbed into
his rack, he felt the carrier suddenly rock. Given
the amazingly calm ocean he had been looking
at just moments earlier, Vickers instinctively
knew that some kind of disaster had struck the
ship that was his home.
Smoke Is First Sign of Trouble
The Bennington was an Essex-class aircraft
carrier launched in 1944. The postwar devel-
opment of jet aircraft had resulted in the ship’s
modernization under the SCB-27A project. So
thorough was the modernization that, except
to an extremely well-trained eye, no one would
recognize the ship afterward as the same Big
Benn from World War II.
Among the improvements were the catapults.
The new catapults were the hydraulic Type H
Mark 8 (H8), an upgraded version of the H4-1
with which she had been equipped during the
war. The H8 could launch a total aircraft weight
of 15,500 lbs. to a speed of 105 knots within 1.69
seconds.3 To achieve that, the catapult’s main
accumulator and additional air flasks were de-
signed to provide a maximum operating pressure
• • • • • • • • • • • • • •
NATIONAL ARCHIVES
Sailors injured in the below-decks explosions and fires
on board the USS Bennington are carried by eleva-
tor to the flight deck for transport to Newport Naval
Hospital. All aircraft that could take off without cat-
apult assistance had done so to assure adequate space
on the flight deck for evacuation helicopters to land.
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
of 3,500 psi.4 It was with those high-powered
catapults that the Bennington began its flight op-
erations on the quiet morning of 26 May 1954.
Although Vickers was about to catch up on
sleep, the ship’s commanding officer, Captain
William F. Raborn, and the flight deck and cata-
pult crews were prepping for aircraft launchings.
Relatively minor trouble occurred immediately—
a malfunction on the first launch attempted on
the starboard catapult.5 No further launch at-
tempts were made from that catapult; all launches
were made from the port catapult. Shortly after
the 13th launch, an early sign of major trouble
was seen from the Bennington’s bridge. Accord-
ing to the deck log, at 0610: “From the bridge,
white ‘smoke’ was visible apparently coming from
Hangar Bay number one (1); sounded the general
alarm, sounded fire quarters.”5 Captain Raborn
had reacted quickly, so fast that the two alarms
were sounded before the worst was to occur.
After the alarms went off, fire was reported
in the forward auxiliary machinery room. Before
evaluation of that report could be made, how-
ever, “two (2) or three (3) violent explosions
occurred. Reported by ship service telephone
to be in vicinity of Wardroom Country.”7 The
Bennington was shaken to her keel as fire, smoke,
and explosive concussions swept through the
passageways and vents below decks.
Soon after the disaster, Lithographer Third
Class William Kirk related his experience in a
letter written to a friend:
The PPO [Police Petty Officer] woke me
about 0605. At 0610 I was sitting up in my
rack with my feet hanging over the side. At
0615 GQ sounded. Everyone was bitching.
Then the fire bugle sounded. I jumped out
of my rack and, still bitching, began put-
ting on my pants. I had one leg in when I
felt the first explosion. I didn’t know what
it was. It felt like a concussion, a big suc-
tion. My stomach went up and down, it felt
sickening. The deck moved, the whole ship
seemed to rock and shake. I went sailing
• • • • • • • into another bunk rack and was knocked
down. I got up. . . and ran for the ladder.
Before I could start going up smoke was
coming in through the vents. . . . The PA
system was blaring: “this is no drill.” Guys
were shouting: “Jesus Christ it’s real.” There
was a mad scramble for the ladder, on the
second deck it was smoky and a madhouse
59
 of guys. . . . I finally got to the top of the ladder lead-
ing to the hangar deck when I felt another explosion.
I looked back . . . and saw that there were four guys
behind me coming up the ladder. After they emerged
there was a cloud of black smoke and I didn’t see any-
one else come up.8
William Vickers also reacted quickly. Following the ini-
tial sudden rock of the ship:
I hollered . . . “Get the hell out of this hole, we have
been hit with a torpedo or bomb or another ship.”
Some of the crew said, “Shut the hell up and go back
to sleep.” I hollered out, “I ain’t been to sleep, I’ve
been on watch and it’s slick as glass on that water,
didn’t you feel the ship rock?” Some said, “Yeah, so
what?” When I got to the top [of the] ladder on the
first deck below the hangar deck, here comes a Sailor
with his pants and shirt on fire.
A Succession of Explosions
Depending on how close one was to the origin of the ex-
plosions, accounts differ as to their the number and intensity.
According to the deck log, either two or three explosions
occurred. Those below decks noted three explosions. An
ensuing court of inquiry investigating the disaster noted that
several crewmen reported that the first explosion sounded
like a hammer thrown against a bulkhead.9 Two explosions
that followed seem to have been significantly larger than the
first. Although to Vickers it had seemed the ship’s exterior
had been struck, damage-control (DC) crews soon deter-
mined that the explosions were internal in origin.
For a short time, efforts were effectively coordinated from
DC central, but events soon placed that station in jeopardy.
Set in a protected location, it had survived the explosions.
But soon afterward its director, Chief Carpenter James Hurd,
reported that smoke was filling the compartment.10 Fires,
smoke, and debris proved enormous obstacles to the damage-
control crews on the third and second decks; they were not
able to reach and access DC central for some time. Between
0645 and 0655 the station reported that air was getting thin
in the compartment and there was danger of suffocation.
But just one minute later, at 0656, positive news came from
damage control: All fires were reported out. It had taken
approximately 44 minutes to extinguish the blazes, and it
seemed that the greatest danger to the ship and crew had
passed. But Sailors continued to perish. Shortly after 0712,
the bridge ceased receiving responses from DC central, whose
crew seemingly had succumbed to a lack of oxygen.11 Then,
at 0758, the bridge received a report indicating that the DC
central crew had been rescued. That report was not wholly
accurate. As the court of inquiry later reported: “the normal
watch in Damage Control Central handled damage control
action with limited personnel until smoke asphyxiated the
personnel in the space.”12 Some of them had indeed been
rescued, but for others, including Hurd, who gave orders that
others be rescued before him, time simply ran out.13
Overwhelmed with Casualties
The Bennington’s medical department had more casualties
than it could reasonably handle. Three physicians were on
board at the time of the explosions, but one was killed,
leaving only the ship’s medical officer, Commander Clyde
W. Norman, and the air group’s flight surgeon. Fortunately,

How a Hydraulic Catapult Worked

Flight Deck

Shuttle Pressurized Air KELLY ERLINGER/USS HORNET MUSEUM

Pulleys
Accumulating Tank
Cables Engine Cylinder

Piston
(Simplified and not to scale)

A hydraulic catapult used a cable-driven shuttle to launch aircraft. Cables from the shuttle descended from the flight deck into the interior of
the ship. There they engaged complex sets of pulleys attached to a 30-foot-long hydraulic engine. The engine’s power came from five large
interconnected tanks. Four of the tanks (not shown) held compressed air. For a launch, air from those tanks—compressed to 3,500 pounds
per square inch—was simultaneously released into the accumulating tank. Hydraulic fluid (oil) in that fifth tank was then forced into the
engine cylinder, ramming a piston through the cylinder at high speed. That put the cables, pulleys, and shuttle all into motion. The net effect
sent an aircraft hurtling from a standstill to a top speed of 105 knots (about 120 mph) in less than 2 seconds.

60 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
21 hospital corpsmen were also on hand. Their berthing plosions, as the decking there was 2½-inch-thick, specially
compartment, where many had been at the time of the ex- treated steel armor.20
plosions, had not been affected. The medical personnel had The damaged areas of the ship were chaotic, a clutter
no idea of the extent of the damage to the ship. Their full of waterlogged debris in areas that earlier had been open
attention focused on the increasing number of casualties. passageways, neat staterooms, and orderly messing spaces.
In his medical report, Norman hinted at the mental state When damage-control teams finally entered the port cata-
of his staff early on in the crisis: “There was no definite pult room, they found extensive fire damage, and on later
way of ascertaining at such an early time . . . how many inspection at New York Naval Shipyard, one-half inch of
human casualties there would ultimately be; but a certain oil was found on the deck and the entire compartment
premonition prevailed . . . that a large number of casualties was heavily coated with soot. In the pump space in the
could be expected.”14 Even though sick
bay had 60 available beds, there were
more wounded than could be accom-
modated. Norman halted the transport
of injured to sick bay and ordered them
instead to be taken to the aft end of
the hangar deck.
With smoke still pouring from the
lower decks, Captain Raborn had
brought the ship about and was head-
ing toward Newport, Rhode Island.
All the aircraft that could be launched
without the assistance of a catapult
were flown off to clear the flight deck
as a still relatively new aircraft, the
helicopter, was about to be used. Top
commanders ashore, along with Raborn
on board the Bennington, arranged for
casualties to be airlifted to Newport
Naval Hospital. 15 In addition, ship-
bound helicopters ferried in additional
physicians and corpsmen.16 A total of
64 patients were evacuated by helicop- BETTMANN/CORBIS

ter to the naval hospital; an additional Officers and Sailors of the Bennington participate in a blood drive as their ship undergoes
18 were taken ashore by boat. A small repairs at New York Naval Shipyard in Brooklyn in August 1954. The drawing allowed
number of casualties were also sent to the crew to make a “repayment” for the blood and plasma that had been used to treat
the medical facility on the base where their shipmates after the catapult disaster in May of that year. A Red Cross bloodmobile
the Bennington had docked.17 Of the 82 was hoisted aboard the carrier for the event.
patients at the naval hospital, just eight • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
had not suffered burns. The remainder
had burns covering anywhere from 2 to 100 percent of their compartment below, 4 inches of oil covered the deck, ap-
bodies.18 The disaster’s final toll was horrendous: 102 dead parently overflow from the catapult compartment above.
and 118 injured.19 The pump motors also were coated with oil.21
The catapult was not heavily damaged, and the shipyard
Damage Reflects Intense Blasts
damage report noted that it “has been tentatively decided
The Bennington herself had sustained substantial damage. that Port Catapult will not be replaced.”22 However, attached
An assessment at New York Naval Shipyard (where repairs piping on the launching accumulator and No. 1 air flask was
were made) found serious damage on the hangar deck and heavily damaged. In particular, the vent relief pipe was found
the second and third decks. Minor damage was noted on to have twisted and burst open adjacent to the relief valve.23
the fourth deck. The most severe structural damage was The valve had been blown off the top of the accumulator and
found on the hangar deck, which bulged upward in four come to rest eight feet away; the threaded opening in the
places. More than anything, those bulges—from 1½ inches fitting that held the relief valve was found to have been in-
to 4 inches in height—indicated the intensity of the ex- creased in size by one-half inch.24 Also, an elbow in the pipe

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 61
from the accumulator’s oil-level gauge that was connected to
a 4-inch air pipe was found to have burst.25 Clearly, some-
thing had happened within the catapult to cause that kind
of damage, but what? And what caused the other explosions?
The court of inquiry ultimately reported, essentially,
that although a most-probable cause of the accident had
been identified, the exact initiator had not been positively
determined.26 The court had investigated many possibili-
ties, including, apparently, the idea that the hydraulic oil
might have been sabotaged. An analysis of the oil, however,
discounted the possibility of its deliberate dilution with
flammable or volatile solvents.27 Also, none of the crew
was implicated as having contributed to the disaster, and
CoURTESy oF THE AUTHoR
The Type H Mark 8 catapult used five large tanks—sometimes called flasks—to hydrau- with hydraulic oil and vent out of the
lically power its engine. The four tanks on the right contained compressed air, which for a system as an oil fog. That volatile fog
launch was forced into the accumulating tank, at the rear. These wishfully labeled tanks
are at the USS Hornet Museum in Alameda, California.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Raborn was exonerated of blame. The cause seemed to have
been mechanical.
Investigation of the catapult machinery found carbona-
ceous deposits within the piston valve, the accumulator,
the connected No. 1 air flask, and the piping that con-
nected all three. The inquiry’s report thus concluded that
the heavy and loosely adhering carbon deposits on
the piston valve and the closely adhering deposit
on the interior of the accumulator end of the piston
valve housing were evidently deposited thereon by
combustion within the housing.
The report laid out the most probable sequence of events
within the catapult system. The catapult was firing normally
62
until the diminishing level of oil within the accumulator
formed a vortex, whose interior vacuum allowed air to ex-
tend into and through the piping, possibly as far as the piston
valve, housed between the accumulator and the engine cyl-
inder. The launch stroke continued normally until the shut-
down sequence was initiated. That included closing the pis-
ton valve to cut off the oil’s access to the catapult. However,
because of the abnormal amount of air in the piston valve’s
control, the valve closed in an abrupt—abnormal—manner.
As a result of the violently closing valve, diesel ignition
occurred. Requiring no spark or flame, diesel ignition occurs
when a fuel mixes with very hot air; compressed air can reach
very high temperatures. The air remaining in the system then
was sufficient to permit the resulting flame
to get into the accumulator, igniting oil
vapor and foam therein. The rapid rise in
pressure caused the relief valve to open,
as it should have, but then the overboard
discharge pipe from the valve burst. That
was followed by the relief valve blowing
off the top of the accumulator, spew-
ing hot gas and flame that engulfed the
compartment. The crewmen didn’t have
a chance.
At some point after the start of the
accumulator fire, the court indicated,
an elbow burst in a brass pipe connect-
ing the accumulator oil-level gauge to a
four-inch air pipe, which in turn con-
nected the accumulator to the No. 1 air
flask. The rupture allowed air from the
flask—under very high pressure—to mix
spread throughout the forward part of
the ship via open hatches and passage-
ways. It detonated when it had mixed
sufficiently with additional air and came
into contact with some undetermined ignition source.
Potential for Accidents Was Known
The court of inquiry report mentioned three particular
points in its “Finding of Fact” section:
• Fact 107 mentions the known occurrence of diesel action
within hydraulic catapults “for many years,” but that it had
not (until the Bennington) led to any serious consequences.
• Fact 108 says that “previous instances have been reported
of air reaching the piston valve from the accumulator due
to vortex action in the accumulator of the catapults.”
• Fact 109 mentions that an anti-vortexing baffle actually had
been installed in the H8 catapult launching accumulators of
the USS Hornet (CVA-12) in an attempt to eliminate this
air carryover.
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 Those three facts indicate that the
possibility, if not the probability, of such
an accident occurring was known at the
time of the Bennington disaster.
The previous October a similar acci-
dent with an H4-1 catapult had occurred
on board the USS Leyte (CVA-32). Two
corrective efforts were initiated as a result
of that accident: Developing and testing
of a less flammable hydraulic fluid and
conducting a survey to determine nitro-
gen requirements of all shipboard hydrau-
lic systems. Of final note is Fact No. 120
from the court’s report, which says that
“in high pressure hydro-pneumatic [hy-
draulic] systems using oil, insurance un-
derwriters require the use of nitrogen, in
lieu of air.” Therefore, while the private GEORGE HAMMA

sector required nitrogen use in similar Some of the heavy steel cables and pulley systems of a Type H Mark 8 catapult—this
systems, the Navy did not. In fact, one one on board the museum ship USS Hornet. The cables and the pulley systems con-
recommendation of the court of inquiry nected the catapult engine, deep inside a carrier, to the flight-deck shuttle that propelled
was that nitrogen be used in the future in planes airborne.
most high-pressure hydro-pneumatic sys- • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
tems, noting that the disaster would not 6. Log Book of the USS Bennington, p. 513.
have occurred had nitrogen been in use in the catapults.28 7. Ibid.
8. William W. Kirk to Paul M. Irvins, “Letter to Paul,” 1 June 1954, used with per-
While Vickers, Kirk and the other surviving crewmen mission (http://www.uss-bennington.org/stz-explosion-wkirk54-ltr.html).
would long remember the disaster, the only individuals who 9. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” p. 47.
may have known exactly what happened that day were 10. Log Book of the USS Bennington, p. 513.
11. Ibid.
the doomed members of catapult crew. The inquiry noted 12. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” p. 31.
that an officer told the court that “he heard a yell from 13. USS Bennington Commanding Officer to Secretary of the Navy, 26 August
1954. “Awards for meritorious actions; recommendations for, enclosure (1), Descrip-
the vicinity of the port catapult room prior to the first tion of action and sample citation for CHCARP James W. Hurd (Deceased), recom-
explosion as follows: ‘This thing is going to blow. Let’s get mended for Navy and Marine Corps Medal, plus statements of eyewitnesses,” Naval
Historical Center, Department of the Navy, Washington Navy Yard, DC.
out of here!’” That frightening piece of testimony clearly 14. USS Bennington Medical Officer Commander Clyde W. Norman to Chief of
indicated that those in the catapult room knew something Naval Research, 16 August 1954, “USS Bennington Disaster; medical report of,” p.
2, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery, Department of the Navy, Washington, DC.
very wrong was happening. 15. U.S. Naval Hospital, Newport, RI, “A Report by the U.S. Naval Hospital,
In the end, the court of inquiry acknowledged that while Newport, R.I. Concerning the Handling and Treatment of Casualties from the
naval authorities had known an accident involving catapult USS Bennington Disaster,” p. 2, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery, Department of the
Navy, Washington, DC.
dieseling was possible, those same authorities considered 16. USS Bennington Medical Officer CDR Clyde W. Norman, “USS Bennington Di-
it unlikely that such an occurrence would lead to serious saster; medical report of,” p. 3.
17. Ibid.
consequences. But when that possibility erupted into reality 18. John L. Enyart, CAPT, MC, USN and Donald W. Miller, CAPT, MC, USN,
on 26 May 1954, the consequences were deadly serious, as “The Treatment of Burns Resulting from Disaster,” Paper produced at the U.S.
Naval Hospital, Newport, RI, ” p. 2, Bureau of Medicine and Surgery, Department
measured in the sacrifice of 102 lives. of the Navy, Washington, DC.
19. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” pp. 32-46. (The dead
1. Log Book of the USS Bennington (CVA-20) Wednesday 26 May, 1954: Remarks included a civilian contractor on board at the time of the disaster.)
Sheet,” p. 513, National Archives, College Park, MD. 20. Robert F. Sumrall, Warship’s Data 5: USS Yorktown (CV-10), (Missoula, MT:
2. William G. Vickers, Interview by Christopher Edwards, 4 April 2002, Penngrove, Pictorial Histories Publishing Company, 1990), p. 39.
CA. 21. Bureau of Ships to New York Naval Shipyard, “USS Bennington (CVA-20)-Report
3. NAVAER 51-15HA-502 Handbook Operation and Maintenance Instructions Catapult of Damage Sustained,” 1 June 1954, pp. 2-3, National Archives, New York, NY.
Type H, Mark 8, (Published Under Authority of the Secretary of the Air Force and 22. Ibid, p. 3, Emphasis is in original.
the Chief of the Bureau of Aeronautics, 1 October, 1956), p. 3. 23. Ibid, p. 3.
4. Ibid. 24. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” p. 50.
5. RADM John M. Hoskins, U.S. Navy, President; RADM Edgar A. Cruise, U.S. 25. Bureau of Ships, “USS Bennington (CVA-20)-Report of Damage Sustained,”
Navy, Member; CAPT James E. Leeper, U.S. Navy, Member; and CAPT Raymond p. 3.
J. Zanzot, U.S. Navy, Member; “Record of Proceedings of a Court of Inquiry: To 26. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” p. 56.
inquire into an explosion and fire on board the USS Bennington (CVA-20) which 27. Commander, New York Naval Shipyard to Chief Technical Adviser, Court of
occurred on 26 May 1954,” 26 May 1954, p. 28, Department of the Navy Office of Inquiry, USS Bennington (CVA-20), “Port Catapult Oil, Analysis of, USS Benning-
the Judge Advocate General (Claims, Investigations and Tort Litigation) Washing- ton (CVA-20), 25 June 1954, p. 6, National Archives, New York, NY.
ton, DC. 28. RADM John M. Hoskins et al, “Record of Proceedings,” pp. 55, 56, 64, 67.

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1 63
In Contact continued from page 9
the fact that the second ship in the story,
HMS Saltash, is a fictitious River-class
frigate. Our Navy adopted that design for
our Tacoma-class patrol frigates produced
in 1943 and ’44, one of which, the PF-6,
was named for my hometown, Pasco. I’m
curious whether any of our PG (gunboat)
types, or similar, were patterned after the
Flower class?  The first ship in the novel
is HMS Compass Rose, a fictitious Flower-
class corvette.
Intel on Japanese Commandos
Robert Hanyok
The fine article, “The Giretsu
Attack” (June, pp. 46–48), relates eyewitness
accounts regarding the surprise and desperate
fighting  that happened during  the Japanese
Airborne suicide commando raid on Yontan
This memorial to the Japanese Giretsu commandos who attacked U.S. Marine–held Yontan
Airfield on the night of 24–25 May 1945 is located at Itoman, Okinawa.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • •
“A masterpiece of 20th century
naval history.”—BOB SHACOCHIS,
author of The Immaculate Invasion
“James Hornfischer is doing
for the Navy what Stephen
Ambrose did for the Army.”
—Rocky Mountain News
A Bantam Books Hardcover and eBook
64
airfield, Okinawa, on the night of 24–25 May
1945. The handful of commandos from the
Giretsu (Heroic) Force damaged or destroyed
several planes and destroyed a large stock
of fuel. If the entire force had landed, the
damage  probably would have been far more
extensive.
A little-known element in the story is
that American naval and Army intelli-
gence had some warning of the impending
attack as early as 20 May. That was due
to the ability of American radio intelli-
gence to discern Japanese suicide-mission
plans thanks to analysis of radio commu-
nications and some code-breaking. On 20
May, naval intelligence in Pearl Harbor
had detected references to an operation,
“Kikusui 7,” which involved numerous
suicide and conventional bombing  units
scheduled to attack ships and airbases
on 23 May. Because of bad weather that
delayed forward deployment of some of
the bombers, the attack was rescheduled
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
for the night of 24–25 May. Naval intel-
ligence knew that Kikusui 7 called for
more than 40 aircraft to bomb ships and
land targets, while others were to attack
American airbases in north and central
Okinawa. The plan also called for almost
80 fighters to fly air cover.
One Japanese air force message, inter-
cepted by the U.S. Army on 21 May,
detailed the specific mission of 12 bomb-
ers from the 3rd Independent Flying Unit
that were to  transport 136 commandos
on a course south from Japan and then
west over Okinawa, presumably to attack
American air bases. Much of the intercept-
ed message was garbled, and a full trans-
lation was not completed until August.
However, an urgent  warning about the
rescheduled attack was  transmitted to
Pacific commands late on 23 May.
The Japanese unit behind these attacks
was the innocuously named “Unit 706.”
In June American intelligence detected
activity by this unit that hinted at a large-
scale attack involving as many as 2,000
suicide commandos and 200 aircraft, which
were going to attack B-29 bases, possibly in
the Mariana Islands. Recalling, perhaps,
the damage done at Yontan in  late July
and again in early August, U.S. carrier air-
craft attacked  Unit 706  staging bases and
destroyed many of the specially modified
bomber-transport aircraft that were to carry
the commandos on the proposed raid. 
Don’t Forget Subs
Captain Joseph Sharpe,
U.S. Navy (Retired)
Mr. Tillman’s interesting article, “Forging
the Weapon” (October, pp. 14–19), ended
with the thought that only tailhook avia-
tors possessed the means to take the war to
the enemy after the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Perhaps he should take a look at the devas-
tation inflicted by the submarine force as it
• • • took the war to the enemy.
A riveting narrative of our Navy’s bloodiest
WWII campaign from the author of
The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors
NEPTUNE’S INFERNO
The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal
by James D. Hornfischer
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. . . and Oilers
Kenneth A. DeGhetto USS HORNET (CV-8) All Yorktowns PT-565 All Elko PT’s
“Doolittle”
As a former naval officer on board
the uSS Cimarron (AO-22) from 1943
to 1945, I read with great interest Naval
History magazine. The October 2010 issue USS SUMNER/ All DD/DE’s USS ST. LOUIS (CL-50) All Cruisers
GEARING Destroyer
brought back many memories of the battles
that the Cimarron participated in alongside
carriers such as the uSS Essex (CV-9).
The most important fact that is always
USS MISSOURI (BB-63) All BB’s USS ESSEX (CV-9) All CV’s
overlooked in many articles regarding the
Pacific naval war was the essential impor-
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(refined crude, or fuel oil) but also AV gas IJN AKAGI “Pearl Harbor” KM BISMARCK
(aviation gasoline) kept them at the fore-
front of the battle.
The Cimarron was the class ship, com-
missioned in 1939 and decommissioned
U-BOAT Type VII USS CAPITAINE GATO/BALAO-Class Sub
in 1968. Its first major participation with
the Pacific Fleet was the Doolittle Raid in
1942. My last battle on board the “Cimmy”
was at Okinawa.
USS ENTERPRISE (CVN-65) All CVA/CVN’s Most Late Subs
The Longest-Serving Flattop
Captain Charles T. Creekman,
U.S. Navy (Retired)
AEGIS Cruiser USS AMERICA (CV-66)
Paul Stillwell’s article “The Durable 36˝ model custom made for
Adm. Leighton Smith
Lexington” (“Looking back,” October, p. 6)
is a well-deserved tribute to that versatile
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in  Corpus Christi, Texas.  Her record for All DDG’s Many more
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N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 65
Naval History News continued from page 11

Mass Burial Sites Unearthed on Iwo Jima

Field researchers working 21,570 Japanese battle deaths 12,000 Japanese soldiers who excavated at a spot near
for the Japanese Ministry of during the fierce fighting that are still classified as missing a runway and another
Health, Labor, and Welfare raged there from February to and presumed dead on Iwo, location at the base of Mount
have located a pair of mass March 1945, as World War II a status they share with 218 Suribachi. Japanese officials
grave sites on Iwo Jima, in the Pacific wended its way unaccounted-for American confirmed in October that
Japan’s Kyodo news agency inexorably closer to Japan’s troops. Armed with military- 51 sets of remains have been
reported in October. The home shores. report information about recovered so far. Considerably
island, which the Japanese The latest mass-grave “enemy cemeteries” provided more appear present—possibly
government now officially discoveries are part of an by the U.S. National Archives up to 200 at the Suribachi
refers to as Iwoto, was the ongoing effort by Japan to and Records Administration, grave and as many as 2,000 at
scene of 6,821 American and find the remains of about the Japanese search team the other site.

Saigon Rescue: Kirk Documentary Premieres

April 1975: Panic and hysteria ruled the streets of Saigon as North in Operation Frequent Wind—the evacuation of personnel from
Vietnamese soldiers surrounded the city. Americans and South Saigon. The heroic story of the Kirk in those tumultuous days following
Vietnamese sought escape by any means possible. The USS Kirk (DE- Saigon’s fall is chronicled in The Lucky Few, a new documentary that
1087) and her crew of 260 would play an unexpected but pivotal role premiered at the Smithsonian Institution in November.

DOD (CHERyL gEORgE)

After her key role during the evacuation of Saigon in 1975, the USS Kirk continued her career, subsequently being reclassified from a destroyer escort
to a fleet frigate, as seen here in this 1980s photograph. After her 1993 decommissioning, she became part of the Republic of China Navy, where she
continues to serve as the ROCS Fen yang (FF-934).
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

66 U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 produced by the Navy’s bureau of Medicine and helicopter. by day’s end, the Kirk had landed a total of 13 aircraft; remarkably,
Surgery, The Lucky Few tells the story of how the Kirk there were no deaths or injuries.
rescued South Vietnamese military personnel and The next day, after transferring the refugees to another vessel, the Kirk
civilians and escorted them to freedom and a new life. was tasked with escorting 16 South Vietnamese navy ships, laden with
As Operation Frequent Wind began, u.S. 30,000 refugees, to the philippines. Initially, the Kirk was the lone u.S. ship,
helicopters loaded with evacuees began heading out responsible for providing security and engineering support to the Vietnamese
to sea, where a Seventh Fleet task force awaited them. vessels, while also feeding the evacuees and providing medical care.
Suddenly, as the ships’ radar screens went wild, it The Kirk’s two hospital corpsmen faced a daunting task. using a
became apparent that South Vietnamese army and air commandeered swift boat, they conducted daily rounds to each of the
force Hueys, packed with refugees, were following the ships. Supplies were short and sanitary conditions were less than ideal, but
American aircraft out to sea. despite this, the Navy docs did everything they could to take care of their
The Kirk quickly jumped into action and began patients.
landing aircraft on her tiny flight deck. First one, After five days and 1,000 miles,
then two helicopters were on deck. With several the flotilla ended its odyssey in USS NEW MEXICO (BB-40)
more helicopters approaching, the commanding the philippines. but for many The Queen’s story in the
officer quickly made the decision to start pushing of the disembarking refugees, it words of her men
aircraft over the side once the men, women, and had only been the first leg of the
An oral history of a veteran of the Pacific
children were safely on board, to make room for more journey. Many would make their By John C. Driscoll
incoming. way to the united States, where
Then the unthinkable happened: The Kirk’s crew to this day—and on-screen in the
heard another helicopter approaching, and it was a new documentary—they express
twin-rotor cH-47 chinook—the largest helicopter their deep gratitude to the crew
in the South Vietnamese inventory. The crew tried of the Kirk who provided their
to wave off the chopper, but instead its pilot expertly deliverance.
hovered over the fantail while the refugees jumped or The Lucky Few can be viewed
were dropped into the waiting arms of Sailors. After online by visiting http://www.
everyone was on board, the chinook pilot ditched his navytv.org. click on “Navy
aircraft in the water. Ships,” then scroll down and
Several Kirk crew members jumped overboard select “uSS Kirk,” where the film
and rescued the pilot from the vortex of the sinking is presented in chapters.

Alexander Named
Naval History Author
of the Year
Colonel Joseph H. Alexander,
U.S. Marine Corps (Retired),
was named Naval History’s
Author of the Year at the annual
U.S. Naval Institute Honors
Night in Annapolis, Maryland,
on 20 October. Colonel
Alexander was honored for his
vivid article on the Battle of
Peleliu, “A Bitter Hemorrhage
of Fighting,” in the April 2010
issue of Naval History. One
of America’s premier Marine
Corps historians, he is also the
author of a number of highly
regarded books, including utmost
Savagery: The Three Days
of Tarawa (currently on the
Marines’ professional reading
list) and, with the late Brigadier
General Edwin H. Simmons,
Through the Wheat: The u.S.
MIcHAeL cARpeNTeR
536 pages, PB.
$27.98 (Including shipping)
62142 Cody Jr. Rd., Bend, OR 97701
john.c.driscoll@us.army.mil
(541) 815-1371
Diesels for the First Stealth Weapon -
Submarine Power 1902-1945
by Lyle Cummins
"Thank you for your
devotion filling a void
in submarine literature
to focus posterity on
the other end of our
beloved diesel boats."
Ret. USN sub
engineering officer.
760 Pages, 8 1/2 x 11 in.,
450 Photos, drawings
$35.00 + $5.00 US Post., Visa & M/C.
Carnot Press, P.O. Box 301,

Marines in World War I. Both Wilsonville, OR 97070.

books are published by the Naval Tel/Fax: (503) 694-5353
Institute Press. Email:
Retirement Sale clessie88@aol.com

N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F e b R u A RY 2 0 1 1 67
Book Reviews
Such Men as These: The
Story of the Navy Pilots
Who Flew the Deadly Skies
over Korea
David Sears. Foreword by Admiral James
L. Holloway III, U.S. Navy (Retired).
Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2010. 432
pp. Maps. Illus. Notes. Gloss. Bib. Appen.
Index. $25.
Reviewed by Hill Goodspeed
It is ironic that for decades the most
recognized account of U.S. naval aviation’s
operations in Korea has been a work of
fiction. James Michener’s book The Bridges
at Toko-Ri and the film adaptation, starring
William Holden, Mickey Rooney, and
Grace Kelly, traced the tale of recalled
Naval Reserve aviator
Lieutenant Harry
Brubaker and his
struggle to overcome
both the enemy and
his resentfulness over
having to serve in
an unpopular war. In
Such Men as These:
The Story of the Navy
Pilots Who Flew the
Deadly Skies over Korea,
author David Sears
provides background
on Michener and the
famous author’s personal
journey as he researched
and wrote the novel.
This serves as a backdrop
for Sears’ words about the
real-life Lieutenant Harry
Brubakers flying from
carriers off Korea.
As the title suggests, Navy pilots of
carrier-based fixed- and rotary-wing
aircraft are the focus of the book, and it
is in the telling of their individual stories
that Sears is at his best. His writing style
lends itself to effective narrative history,
though without detailed endnotes his
descriptions of the emotions felt by some
of the subjects at particular moments
leave the reader curious about his
sources. Although he covers stories that
are in some cases well known to students
of naval aviation—among them that of
Ensign Jesse Brown, the first African-
American to complete the Navy’s flight-
training program—Sears’ recounting
68
of the information and the weaving of
individual experiences into the fabric of
the times results in an entertaining and
informative read.
Such Men as These is not a definitive
history of naval aviation during the
Korean War. Discussions of strategies
and tactics are only used to place the
individual subjects within the context
of the times. Yet over the course of the
book Sears devotes attention to areas
overlooked in more expansive academic
histories, but that are important in fully
capturing the lives of those who fought in
the war. One example is Japan’s changing
culture between the end of World War
II and the beginning of the Korean War,
a transformation that
affected those in naval
aviation given that the
carriers of Task Force 77
replenished at Yokosuka
and Sasebo, Japan, their
crews and embarked
air groups interacting
with Japanese civilians
w h i l e o n l i b e r t y.
His discussions of
the nuances of the
h o l d o v e r Wo r l d
War II aircraft and
first-generation
jets that waged the
naval air war are
also informative, as
is his contrasting
t h e K o r e a n Wa r
experience with
that of World War
II. He includes the cycle of operations
and the dissimilar geography and weather
conditions, especially in winter.
While naval aviators’ struggles in the
prisoner-of-war camps of North Vietnam
have been the subject of numerous
memoirs and histories, the experience of
those shot down during the Korean War
has not stimulated similar attention. Sears
dwells at length on what those held captive
in North Korea endured, particularly the
psychological and emotional torture they
faced. Indeed, these sections are among the
most interesting in the book.
Occasional errors do appear. Admiral
Marc A. Mitscher did not, like Admiral
William F. Halsey Jr. and Vice Admiral
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
John S. McCain, receive his wings in
middle age, but became a pioneer naval
aviator in his late 20s. In addition, the S-51
(HO3S) helicopter flown during the war
was not, as Sears states, “the first model
put in use by the armed forces.” In naval
aviation, that distinction belongs to the
R-4 (HNS), which operated with the Army
and Coast Guard (a wartime component
of the Navy) during World War II. Yet
these inaccuracies do little to detract from
the overall story told in the pages of Such
Men as These, which provides a fitting
remembrance of one group of men who
waged the “Forgotten War.”
Mr. Goodspeed is the historian at the National
Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida. He
is a contributing author of One Hundred Years of U.S.
Navy Air Power (Naval Institute Press, 2010).
Hellcats: The Epic Story of
World War II’s Most Daring
Submarine Raid
Peter Sasgen. New York, NY: NAL Caliber,
2010. 320 pp. Maps. Illus. Intro. Notes. Bib.
Index. $26.95.
Reviewed by Carl LaVO
In late June 1944, Navy Vice Admiral
Charles A. Lockwood presented to
Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander-
in-Chief of the United States Pacific
Fleet, a plan for the submarine invasion
of the impenetrable Sea of Japan. Under
Lockwood’s guidance, naval weapons
scientists had perfected a new type of
sonar that would enable subs to penetrate
the minefields that guarded access to the
sea. “Eventually, Admiral, with this new
sonar, we’ll crack the Sea of Japan without
losing a ship or man to the minefields,”
said Lockwood, commander of the Pacific
submarine force.
Things didn’t work out quite as he
envisioned. In June 1945, Operation Barney
enabled nine “Hellcat” subs to evade the
mines and attack enemy vessels. However,
one of the boats, the USS Bonefish (SS-
223), was lost with her 85-man crew. In the
aftermath, Lockwood’s controversial gamble
drew much criticism as a needless stunt that
sacrificed the Bonefish, given that the Pacific
war was all but over.
The two central characters in author
Sasgen’s dramatic account are Lieutenant
Commander Lawrence Lott Edge,
captain of the Bonefish, and Lockwood,
the charismatic admiral who molded the
Pacific submarine force that overcame
scandalous torpedo problems to eventually
strangle Japan’s merchant marine, isolate
the island nation, and sink much of its
navy by war’s end. By the spring of 1945,
the U.S. Navy’s surface fleet was closing
in on Japan, while American aircraft were
reducing Japanese cities
to ashes. With few targets
for the submarines to go
after, Lockwood faced
the bleak prospect that
his vaunted undersea
force might become
a footnote in the
collapse of Japan. He
was determined to
make one last dramatic
gambit by plotting a
risky venture: send
FM sonar–equipped
submarines into the
Sea of Japan. The
boats were deployed
as three wolf packs of
three subs each under
the joint command
of Commander Earl
T. Hydeman, captain of the USS Sea
Dog (SS-401). He christened his group
“Hydeman’s Hellcats”—a fitting moniker,
given that FM sonar’s loud alarm of
approaching mines was called “hell’s bells”
by crewmen.
Commander Edge provides the poignant
human-interest focus for Sasgen’s book.
Readers learn early on that the Bonefish
disappeared, but under what circumstances
remains a mystery until the very end. The
majority of the book builds a portrait of Edge
and his tightly knit family while exploring
how Operation Barney came to be and its
tragic conclusion—foretold by a weary Edge
in a letter to his wife: “Feeling the war is
approaching the downhill side, as far as time
is concerned, is no help to any of us either.
Rather there’s the feeling that we’ve been
lucky enough to survive so far; it would be
such a shame not to last for the remainder
and thus live through the whole thing.”
Many critics after the war believed
L o c k w o o d ’s p r i m a r y m o t i v e f o r
Operation Barney was to avenge the
loss of the USS Wahoo (SS-238) and
hotshot skipper Commander Dudley W.
“Mush” Morton in 1943 in the Sea of
Japan. Morton was the prototype of the
aggressive sub commander Lockwood was
looking for to revolutionize the fighting
spirit of the “Silent Service.”
N AVA L H I S T O R Y • F E B R U A RY 2 0 1 1
After the war, the admiral admitted
to having this motive. But he also was
determined to point to a future in which
subs equipped with the new sonar could
operate safely in mine-laced seas, even
though he knew that the equipment
at the time was rated to be 80 percent
effective. As Sasgen notes, the admiral
had adopted the mantra of Army General
George S. Patton: A good plan violently
executed now is better
than a perfect plan
next week.
Sasgen vividly
recounts the pulsating
drama of the Hellcats
threading their passage
between the mines.
Japan was clearly caught
off guard once the subs
entered the Sea of Japan,
where they proceeded to
sink 28 vessels totaling
57,058 tons—a credible
score. However, seen
in the context of the
atomic bombs dropped
just a few weeks later (of
which Admiral Lockwood
had no prior knowledge),
Operation Barney did little
to affect the war’s outcome. Thanks to the
persistence of Edge’s widow, Sarah, who
questioned the need for the operation after
the war, the sad story of the Bonefish’s demise
is finally revealed.
Hellcats is well-written, engaging, and
fills in the last chapter of the Navy’s
submarine war against Japan.
Mr. LaVO is the author of three books on submarine
warfare for the Naval Institute Press, including The
Galloping Ghost: The Extraordinary Life of Submarine
Legend Eugene Fluckey (2007). An award-winning
journalist and newspaper editor, he lives in Bucks
County, Pennsylvania, and is completing a biography
of Navy Admiral Allan R. McCann.
Turtle: David Bushnell’s
Revolutionary Vessel
Roy R. Manstan and Frederic J. Frese.
Yardley, PA: Westholme Publishing, 2010.
400 pp. Illus. Appen. Notes. Bib. Index.
$24.95.
Reviewed by Don Walsh
Since the late 18th century there have
been several book-length publications
on David Bushnell (1740–1826) and his
all-wooden submarine Turtle, and a few
replicas of the boat have been built. All
were speculative, as no contemporary
images of the original are known to
exist. This book describes the extensive
historical research, construction project,
and dive testing of the most accurate
replica built to date.
In 1771 Bushnell was a student at
Yale when he developed the idea for a
submarine that could be deployed against
Royal Navy ships. With the backing of
powerful supporters, including Benjamin
Franklin, and with the approval of General
George Washington, the submersible was
completed and tested in 1776.
On the night of 6 September 1776,
Sergeant Ezra Lee maneuvered the small
craft out to the anchorage in New York
Harbor, where the Royal Navy flagship
Eagle was anchored. It was hard work
as he manipulated the hand-operated
controls and foot pedals to propel the
semisubmerged, egg-shaped sub into
attack position. Adding to his difficulties
was a fairly strong current.
A 130-pound black-powder explosive
charge, or torpedo, was to be attached to
the target by use of an auger and a screw
fitting. Lee managed to get under the Eagle,
but when he tried to attach the explosive
to the hull, it would not set properly. After
several tries to get the auger to make a
hole in the hull he gave up, fearing that he
would be detected at dawn.
As he was returning to the dock four
miles away, Lee realized that he had been
observed. He jettisoned the torpedo after
setting its fuse, and when it detonated the
pursuers gave up. The sub was used for a
few other missions against the anchored
British ships, but none were successful.
Bushnell was eventually drafted
into the Army as an officer doing civil
engineering work. His submarine career
had ended, and the Turtle was lost in the
69
mists of history. There are no reliable
accounts of her final fate. However, there
were a lot of contemporary writings on
her design and specifications.
This book’s authors, Roy Manstan
and Frederic Frese, intended to build an
operational replica of the Turtle using all
the documentation they could find in
historical records. Frese was an instructor
in technical arts at Old Saybrook High
School in Connecticut. In 1976, he had
built the American Turtle replica for the
American Bicentennial celebration. As
described in this book, his 21st-century
Turtle would be a student project. Project
codirector Manstan was a mechanical
engineer employed at the Navy’s Undersea
Warfare Center at Newport, Rhode Island.
He would become the Turtle’s test pilot for
her first dives in 2007.
While at least two other Turtle replicas
had been built, this project was unique
in the amount of research that was done
to ensure the submersible would be as
accurate as possible. In November 2007,
the replica was launched by her proud
team. A successful test dive confirmed
that they had indeed duplicated
Bushnell’s creation of the world’s
first combat submarine.
However, this book is much more than
a “project report.” It is also rich in the
history of the time when the first Turtle
was developed and used. Then Frese and
Manstan used that history to replicate
America’s first combat submarine.
Dr. Walsh, a marine consultant, is a retired naval
officer and oceanographer. During his naval career
he served at sea in submarines and ashore in ocean-
related research-and-development assignments.
Historical Dreadnoughts:
Marder and Roskill: Writing
and Fighting Naval History
Barry Gough. Barnsley, UK: Seaforth
Publishing, 2010. 366 pp. Illus. Notes. Bib.
Index. $70.
Reviewed by Kenneth J. Hagan
The distinguished Canadian historian
Barry Gough regards two preeminent
20th-century scholars of the modern Royal
Navy as “historical dreadnoughts” because
of the mass and power of their writing.
One was British naval Captain Stephen
Roskill; the other was American academic
Arthur Marder. In Gough’s interpretation,
Marder revolutionized the study of the
British navy. He was a protégé of Harvard
Professor William L. Langer, and on the
occasion of Langer’s retirement in 1969
Marder eulogized him “for steering me into
70
the then virginal field of naval history of
the non-‘drum-and-trumpet’ sort, where I
have been so happy all these years.”
Beginning with The Anatomy of
British Sea Power in 1940, Marder
published six volumes detailing the
workings of the Royal Navy as a
political-military institution during the
period from 1880 to 1919. In compiling
that multivolume opus he demolished
naval history as a narrow field with a
myopic fixation on the glorious legacy
of Nelsonian broadsides. The guns,
armor, and maneuvering of ships did
not count for Marder. What mattered
was the naval and governmental
“infrastructure,” which, through all of its
institutional intricacies and interpersonal
complexities, had deployed the gunners.
The passageways of Whitehall now
became more important than the gun
decks of HMS Victory.
For an American to have reshaped
the way scholars and others analyze and
interpret the ingrown and complacent
Royal Navy was an unprecedented coup,
and to their great credit the British heaped
laurels on Marder. There was, however,
one British navalist who did not echo
his countrymen’s praises. Retired Navy
Captain Stephen Roskill was as prolific a
historian as Marder, but he suffered from
a competitive disadvantage. Some of his
works were written as official histories.
Gough sympathetically observes, “The
story of his [three-volume] War at Sea
stands as a chapter in how the state
tries to own its history and yet how an
individual historian, such as Roskill, can
shape that history.” Gough traces in detail
and with compassion the hurdles Roskill
had to overcome in writing his fine history
of the Royal Navy in World War II, and
he isolates the completion of the book
in 1961 as the moment at which Roskill
became a fully independent historian and
one in competition with Marder.
Historical Dreadnoughts meticulously
describes how Marder and Roskill
initially confided in one another and
exchanged their ideas and manuscripts.
They fell into acrimonious mutual
criticism when their studies of the
Royal Navy after World War I began
to overlap. The professional and
personal decline from collegiality into
animosity is fascinating, but the greater
worth of this superb book lies in the
author’s meticulous documentation
and exposition of how two marvelously
prolific scholars produced their works.
Marder’s case is the more intriguing
of the two because of the amazing and
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
not fully explicable ways in which he was
able to insinuate himself into Admiralty
records that remained closed to other
scholars for many years after he had
examined them. Unremitting persistence
seems to have been one key, but the
reader—and apparently Barry Gough—
emerges with a sense of wonderment
that this impertinent and preternaturally
dedicated American could have cracked
open such an inner sanctum of national
and institutional rectitude. It must be
partly for this reason that Gough rates
Marder as a greater historian than Roskill:
“Marder still commands our attention,
for the fine quality of his work and the
freshness of the evidence he presents.”
Gough’s case is persuasive, but as he
knows, several historians on both sides
of the Atlantic have criticized Marder for
incomplete use of the Admiralty records
and for excessive kindness to the naval
commanders whose lives he examined.
Gough admonishes the unnamed
revisionists: “Some may make it their
life’s work to bring him down, or to score
points at his expense, but to challenge his
pre-eminence they will have to develop
a better vision of their own. . . . Mere
sniping from the wings will not suffice.”
In its prodigious scholarship, elegant
writing and humane insight into the
working lives of Roskill and Marder,
Historical Dreadnoughts presents the
21st-century critics with a daunting
challenge, which Gough understands will
be taken up: “All great historians and
practitioners of the historian’s craft face
critics.” He was writing about Marder and
Roskill, but he was speaking of himself.
Dr. Hagan is the author of This People’s Navy: The
Making of American Sea Power (1991) and coeditor
with Michael T. McMaster of In Peace and War:
Interpretations of American Naval History, 30th
Anniversary Edition (2008).
 New From
NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS

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HORRIBLE SHIPWRECK!
A Full, True and Particular Account of the Melancholy Loss of
the British Convict Ship Amphitrite
By Andrew C.A. Jampoler HARDCOVER / 978-1-59114-433-5 / $34.95
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rocked a nation is much more than an epic tale of the sea; it
is a painstakingly researched, wonderfully written account of
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from unjustified obscurity, and done it full justice in this
very well researched book. The story, as revealed, is a trag-
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Museum Report
Combine Naval History with a Day of Fun
L
ocated on Mount Hope Bay
in Fall River, Massachusetts,
Battleship Cove is home to the
national historic landmarks
USS Massachusetts, Joseph P. Kennedy Jr.,
Lionfish, PT 617, and PT 796. The patrol
boats, covered in Naval History’s April
2001 “Museum Report” and displayed at
the National PT Boat Museum, are the
world’s only restored pair of motor torpedo
boats. The museum also exhibits squadron
plaques, scale models of PT boats, a
captured Japanese suicide demolition
boat, and the actual model of the PT boat
used in the 1965 movie In Harm’s Way,
starring John Wayne. A wall plaque honors
PT boaters killed in action, and a video
presents oral descriptions of the boats’
contributions in World War II.
Continuing on a self-guided tour, visitors
can inspect a U.S. Army Cobra AH-1S
attack helicopter, an Army Bell UH-1
“Huey” helicopter, and a Navy T28 Trojan
Trainer aircraft. But Battleship Cove’s
anchor is the Massachusetts, “Big Mamie”
to her crew. She houses the official state
of Massachusetts memorial to Bay Staters
killed in World War II and the Persian
Gulf War. In 1942 Big Mamie fired 16-inch
shells against the Vichy French battleship
Jean Bart at Casablanca, sinking her. In all
the Massachusetts steamed 225,000 nautical
miles, earning 11 battle stars in 35 major
campaigns, from North Africa in 1942 to
Iwo Jima in 1945. She was decommissioned
27 March 1947.
Touring the decks, visitors can easily
imagine living on board the ship. The
bulkheads, shops, department spaces,
and crew’s quarters display artifacts and
memorabilia that help to tell her story.
Some rooms are devoted to World War
II events in which the battleship did not
participate—Pearl Harbor, with a video
of the bombing; and D-day, with audio
stories from men who were there.
The destroyer Joseph P. Kennedy
Jr. houses the Admiral Arleigh Burke
National Destroyermen’s Museum, with
displays that include a map showing which
“tin cans” were lost in the Atlantic and
Pacific oceans. Plaques and memorabilia
add information along with a sense of
the destroyer experience. This ship also
serves as Massachusetts’ official memorial
72
BATTLESHIP COVE
The World War II battleship Massachusetts, “Big Mamie,” is the central attraction at Battleship
Cove. Visitors can also walk through a destroyer, a submarine, and more.
• • • • • • • • • • • •
to citizens lost in the Korean and Vietnam
conflicts, with a room dedicated to them.
The Kennedy earned two battle stars in
Korea and was decommissioned in 1973.
The attack submarine Lionfish is
Massachusetts’ memorial for all submariners
killed in World War II. The “Silent
Service,” whose personnel accounted
for less than 2 percent of the Navy, sank
30 percent of the Japanese fleet and 60
percent of Japanese merchant marine ships.
Submarines had the highest casualty rate,
losing 52 subs and 3,505 men.
The Lionfish served in the Pacific,
making two war patrols during which
she eluded attacks, sank a Japanese
schooner, and fired on enemy submarines
(one of which she is believed to have
sunk). Her first captain was the son of
Admiral Raymond Spruance, Lieutenant
Commander Edward D. Spruance.
Twice decommissioned (1946 and 1953)
and then recalled to duty, the Lionfish
patrolled during the Cold War and served
as a reserve training sub in Providence,
Rhode Island. In 1973, she was placed on
permanent display at Battleship Cove.
A walk through the submarine gives
a vivid idea of what it was like to live in
such close quarters. On the bulkheads
and in the work spaces, exhibits tell the
service’s story. The aft torpedo room
features a cutout of a Mark 14 torpedo,
allowing a view into its makeup.
The USNS Hiddensee, a Soviet-built
Tarantul I–class fast-attack craft, was
transferred in 1991 from the Federal
By Equipment Operator Chief
(Seabee Combat Warfare) Peter
L. Magoon, U.S. Navy (Retired)
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
German Navy to the U.S. Navy. Originally
constructed for East Germany, the ship
was designed to oppose coastal threats.
She carried Styx antiship missiles, Strela
surface-to-air missles, 30-mm Gatling
guns, and a 76-mm deck cannon. In the
U.S. Navy she served as a research vessel
until April 1996; the following year the
Hiddensee joined the Battleship Cove fleet.
The Cove is a great place to spend a
day while taking in some history. There
is even an old carousel. Have lunch on
the Massachusetts at the Wardroom Grill;
local dining and lodging suggestions
are listed at the Web site. Call ahead
for special events, education programs,
or group rates. Overnight camping for
youth groups is available on board the
Massachusetts and Joseph P. Kennedy Jr.
Battleship Cove
5 Water Street, Fall River, MA 02721
Open daily, 0900-1700 (subject to change
without notice)
Closed Thanksgiving, Christmas,
New Years Day
Adults $15, seniors $13, military $5
(free in uniform)
Children 6-12 $9; free under 6
508-678-1100
http://www.battleshipcove.org/
Mr. Magoon retired as a chief equipment operator after
a 22-year career in the U.S. Navy Seabees. He now
works for the Ventura County, California, Public Works
Department as a maintenance supervisor and volunteers
at the U.S. Navy Seabee Museum, for which he carves
World War II Seabee unit wood plaques.
U N I T E D S TAT E S N AVA L I N S T I T U T E
 $
LO
54
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is 11.6 mm

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