Philippine Sea

June 19–20, 1944

“It was the chance of a century missed.” — Rear Admiral “Jocko” Clark

The Battle of the Philippine Sea, 19–20 June 1944, was the fifth and last major carrier-vs-carrier battle of the Pacific War, and perhaps in history. Triggered by the US invasion of Saipan, in the Mariana Islands, the battle pitted the nine Japanese carriers of the Mobile Fleet against the fifteen American carriers in Task Force 58.

Among the American naval aviators present were then-LCDR James “Jig Dog” Ramage, commanding officer of Enterprise’s Bombing Squadron Ten, and LT Don “Flash” Gordon, of Fighting Squadron Ten. Gordon participated in both major phases of the battle: the “Turkey Shoot” of June 19, and the attack on the Japanese fleet the following evening. Ramage led Bombing Ten on the maximum-range attack of the 20th, losing only one plane due to lack of fuel (the crew was rescued). By war’s end, Gordon was an ace with seven confirmed kills, while Ramage was awarded a Navy Cross for his leadership during the battle, and eventually retired as Rear Admiral.

The following article was composed by James Ramage and Don Gordon, relating the story of the battle and their actions those two June days.

Preparations

May – June 1944

James Ramage of VB-10 begins the story:

By May 1944 the Imperial Headquarters believed that the moment for decisive battle was approaching. The Commander in Chief Combined Fleet, Admiral Soemu Toyoda, announced the general order for Operation A-Go. A-Go envisioned a decisive fleet action around the Palaus and in the Western Carolines. If the U.S. fleet attacked the Marianas, its ships would be pounced on by land-based planes. Then the enemy would be lured into areas where the Mobile Fleet would destroy him. The optimistic authors of the plan expected complete success.

In conjunction with A-Go, the Japanese Navy’s First Air Fleet would deploy from the Home Islands to the expected battle area. There were 540 land-based aircraft involved, under overall command of Vice Admiral Kakuji Kakuta. Most went to the Carolines/Philippines areas. Only 172 were sent to the Marianas. Movement south started on 23 May and was completed in early June. So they were all in place prior to our fighter sweep on 11 June.

The Mobile Fleet, commanded by Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa, consisted of five fleet carriers — Taiho, Shokaku, Zuikaku, Junyo and Hiyo — plus four light carriers: Ryuho, Chitose, Chiyoda and Zuiho. They carried 430 aircraft which combined with Kakuta’s 540 land-based aircraft gave a total of 970 aircraft. This looked like a very formidable force — on paper at least. It was obvious that coordinating these aircraft would be a problem, one that was never solved.

To be near an oil source, the Mobile Fleet was massed at Tawi Tawi, a fine anchorage in the westernmost Sulu Archipelago. The oil there was of such high quality that it could be burned in ships’ boilers without refining. It was, however, quite unstable. Ozawa’s fleet left port on 13 June, observed by our submarine Redfin.

At noon on 6 June 1944, Task Force 58 under Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher commenced to sortie from Majuro in the eastern Marshalls to support Operation Forager — the invasion of the Marianas. The composition of the force was as shown here — a tremendous striking force of seven fleet carriers and eight light carriers carrying 891 aircraft. Carrier operations started at 1300 on June 11 when the task force was 200 miles east of Guam. Mitscher launched a fighter sweep of 208 fighters and 8 torpedo planes against the airfields on Saipan, Tinian, and Guam. The sweep was certainly effective as there was no air opposition evident for the next three days. Our pilots claimed 86 kills plus 33 on the ground. We lost eleven F6F Hellcats. The Japanese claimed 65 of ours and admitted to losing 36. Vice Admiral Kakuta’s Base Air Force had been seriously hurt, and could only put up effective action if he received outside help.

D-Day for Saipan was 15 June. At 0855 on 15 June, Admiral Toyoda sent the following message: “On the morning of the fifteenth, a strong enemy force began landing operations in the Saipan-Tinian area. The Combined Fleet will attack the enemy in the Marianas area and annihilate the aviation force. Activate A-Go operation for decisive battle.” So the carrier battle that we aircrews had looked forward to was at long last to occur.

Enterprise Air Group Commander Bill “Killer” Kane was to be overall airborne coordinator for the H-hour strike and ensuing close air support on Saipan on 15 June. H-hour was 0800. This was a tremendous air effort which included deckloads from the fifteen TF 58 carriers plus the air support escort carriers with the amphibious force — at least 500 planes.

It was still quite dark when “Killer” and the Big E deckload strike flew into the objective area on the southwest coast of Saipan. As we flew over our amphibious force all hell broke loose. Kane was shot down and I moved into his spot as air coordinator for the landings. It was a magnificent show to observe from about 2000 feet over the beach. “Killer” was recovered and returned to the ship. He had a beautiful pair of shiners which he wore into the strike on the Japanese fleet on 20 June, when he went into the water again.

LCDR William I Martin (CO of VT-10) and LCDR William R. “Killer” Kane (CO of VF-10) swap stories, following Kane’s return to the Big E, 22 June 1944.

Vice Admiral Raymond Spruance, Commander Fifth Fleet, realized that the Japanese fleet could not strike before the 17th, so he permitted Mitscher to go on with a plan to strike Iwo Jima, Haha Jima, and Chichi Jima. Mitscher sent Task Groups 58.1 and 58.4 north. The object was to stop the flow of land-based air from the Japanese Homeland to the Marianas. Task Groups 58.2 and 58.3 continued to support the troops ashore and maintain control of the air above the Marianas and over the Fifth Fleet. The main effort in troop support had been taken over by the escort carriers. We in the ready rooms could feel the Japanese carriers’ presence and were hot to get at them. Searchers were going out 350 miles covering bearings 215° to 285° with no results. TG’s 58.1 and 58.4 headed south on the 17th to rejoin TF 58.

On 17 June, Mitscher recommended to Spruance that at 1800 Task Force 58 steam on course 270°: due west. He felt that a night surface action could occur and that a daylight carrier strike would follow. Mitscher queried Vice Admiral Willis Lee, the battle line commander, “Do you desire a night engagement? It may be we can make air contact late this afternoon and attack tonight. Otherwise we should retire to the eastward tonight.” Lee replied, “Do not, repeat, not believe we should seek night engagement. Possible advantages of radar more than offset by difficulties of communications and lack of training in fleet tactics at night.”

On 18 June, not one Task Force 58 search plane located Ozawa: they missed by 60 miles. About 1800, before sunset, in anticipation of enemy air strikes during the night or on 19 June, Admiral Mitscher ordered the formation of a battle line of seven battleships, four heavy cruisers and fourteen destroyers — Task Group 58.7 — fifteen miles to the west of the central carrier force, TG 58.3. At the same time, TG 58.1 was ordered to a position twelve miles north of TG 58.3, and TG 58.2 twelve miles south. Task Group 58.4 was positioned twelve miles west of TG 58.1. In addition, two picket destroyers were positioned 10 miles west of the battleship Indiana at the center of the battle line formation. In this disposition, it was considered feasible for each group to conduct air operations independently, or otherwise maneuver at will. The battle line would form up into a circle with one battleship — Indiana — in the center as an air defense cell, or an attractive lethal target, which it turned out to be.

In contrast to the U.S. disposition, the Japanese formed a van of three single carrier groups (Carrier Division or “CarDiv” 3) with eight destroyers in each group, five miles apart. The van was 100 miles northeast of CarDiv’s 1 and 2 with three carriers and eight destroyers each, but the centers of these two formations were only five miles apart. This disposition did not lend itself to strike coordination, mutual air defense, nor defense against submarine attacks.

At 2200, Nimitz sent Spruance an HF/DF (radio direction finder) location of the Japanese fleet at 13° north latitude, 136° east latitude as of 2033. At 2325 Mitscher proposed to Spruance that he reverse course to due west at 0130 in order to commence “treatment” at 0500. Spruance, considering a reported contact between submarine Stingray and Ozawa’s fleet somewhat further east than expected, decided to continue on to the east, stating that an “end run by other carrier groups remains possibility and must not be overlooked.” At 0100, Enterprise launched radar-equipped VT-10 Avengers to search out to the west to 325 miles. It was later determined that their search had ended just 40 miles short of the enemy, which would still have been out of range for a strike mission. In the meantime, a Saipan-based PBM made radar contact about 390 miles from the fleet. The contact was not acknowledged at the base. Therefore, the fix was at least six hours old by the time the aircraft landed at the seaplane anchorage at Saipan. An earlier HF/DF fix was reported in the same area.

Ozawa, however, knew exactly where we were. At 1637 on 18 June, CarDiv 3 commander Rear Admiral Sueo Obayashi commenced launching a 67 plane strike against the American carriers, but it was cancelled by Ozawa’s order for a major attack on the 19th. According to Ozawa’s battle plan, all carrier aircraft launched after 1600 were to land at Guam.

The transfer of carrier planes to nearby airfields was Mobile Fleet doctrine. For 19 June, Ozawa issued no orders to his aircraft where to land. It was left to the squadron commanders, whether to land ashore or return to the carriers. Ozawa’s intention for the night of 18–19 June was to keep his main body 400 miles and his van 300 miles from Task Force 58. He planned to remain outside our strike range. The greater range of his aircraft and the presence of airfields on Guam and Rota where they could rearm and refuel, plus the expected help from land-based air would enable him to destroy the American carriers.

At daybreak on 19 June, the Mobile Fleet continued their searches with carrier aircraft and float planes from the battleships and cruisers. Forty-three aircraft were sent on three dawn searches. Twenty-one failed to return. However, by 0730 on 19 June, Admiral Ozawa had several reports on the location of the U.S. carrier fleet. Earlier reports had the carrier force east of the Marianas, but those were the “jeep” carriers supporting the expeditionary forces. Search planes from his ships, and maybe from Guam, confirmed the position of the Task Force 58 carriers as northwest of Guam. Now was the time to strike.

The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot

19 June 1944

Don Gordon of VF-10 continues the narrative:

My first launch was at sunrise on a combat patrol mission above our group: Lexington, Enterprise, Princeton and San Jacinto. I recall observing the Hornet and Yorktown group to the north, and the Bunker Hill and Wasp group to the south. I do not remember seeing the Essex group to the northwest during my two flights for a total of about five hours on 19 June.

What was really impressive, on this flight and the next one, was the perfect, huge circle of ships with a lone battleship in the center to the west of Enterprise. My flight of four Hellcats were vectored over there a few times. We were under the control of Enterprise’s Fighter Director, the Fighter Director for TG 58.3. The frequency assigned prevented us from eavesdropping on some of the activities taking place around us by other combat air patrols.

At 0550, the destroyers Yarnall and Stockham, west of the battle line, were attacked by five or six Zekes carrying small bombs. One Zeke was shot down by Yarnall, while a small bomb missed Stockham. These aircraft were probably from Guam, but why had they flown around a force of 110 ships covering an area 24 miles long and 15 miles deep, just to attack two small boys?

At 0600, the battle line’s destroyer screen shot down a Val dive-bomber. After moving east by north from 0200, Admiral Mitscher changed course to west-southwest to close the distance to the enemy for an air strike. But the prevailing easterly wind forced the fleet to the east for every launch and recovery. In the next four hours, the fast carriers advanced toward their goal by only 45 miles.

Air Group Ten planes spotted forward of Enterprise’s island, in June 1944.

Belleau Wood’s combat air patrol was ordered at 0630 to Guam to investigate bogeys over the island. The combat air patrol was about 100 miles northwest of Guam at the time. On arriving over Guam at 0720, the Belleau Wood CAP reported many aircraft taking off from Orote Field and called for help. More Hellcats from Belleau Wood, Cabot, Yorktown and Hornet responded, but the planes had disappeared or landed and concealed themselves in camouflaged revetments by the time reinforcements had arrived.

Not quite an hour later, many bogeys were picked up on radar 81 miles southwest of the force, headed for Guam. These were probably the aircraft from Yap or Truk that intended to augment the forces at Guam and Rota. Three of the task groups launched 12 Hellcats each to intercept the bogeys. The 33 Hellcats shot down 33 fighters and 5 bombers, but the Japanese planes continued to land at Orote, on Guam.

The requirements for each task group to launch 12 additional Hellcats was not a burden on any individual squadron. The large carriers each had 33 to 40 Hellcats, and each of the light carriers had at least 24. A few of the fleet carriers had a detachment of night fighters. In the case of Enterprise, we had three F4U-2s with six pilots, and the other large carriers had three F6F-3Ns. So, except for the Task Group 58.4, each task group had at least 120 Hellcats and a few F4U-2’s available for interceptions at any time. With only one fleet carrier — Essex — Task Group 58.4 had only 84 Hellcats.

In Enterprise, Bud Schumann had relieved Killer Kane as commanding officer of the Grim Reapers, VF-10. Killer replaced the former Air Group Commander, Roscoe Newman, who had been promoted to the Carrier Division Five staff.

As Flight Officer, I prepared the flight schedule and ready room alert schedule. Enterprise was assigned a light flight schedule on 19 June. Only one division, four pilots, was scheduled at 2 to 2-1/2 hour intervals. However, the alert schedule was heavy with three or four divisions in the ready room, constantly briefed, and prepared to launch in 10 minutes: Condition 3. (At Condition 1 readiness, the pilots had to man their aircraft and stand by for immediate launch.)

We had 39 to 40 pilots in the squadron, but our tactical organization was maintained at nine divisions — four pilots per division — in order to have spare pilots without routinely destroying the tactical organization to provide a spare pilot at each launch. We never considered that we had a shortage of pilots. We expected that the loss of a pilot would mean the loss of the aircraft. We did not expect any illnesses as pilots were a healthy lot, especially when a combat situation was imminent.

At 0830, the Japanese van — Carrier Division 3 with three light carriers and 100 miles closer to Task Force 58 than the rest of the Mobile Fleet — launched 69 aircraft: a strike known as Raid I in American accounts. Task Force 58 radar detected flocks of bogeys 150 miles west at 0959. The fighter directors called a “Hey Rube” to fighters sent to investigate aircraft over Guam. Five minutes later, General Quarters sounded for all ships. At this time Lexington, our flagship, was 105 miles northwest of Guam.

Contrails fill the sky over Task Force 58 during the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot, 19 June 1944.

At 1023 TF 58 turned into the wind, 22 knots east by south, and the Ready Alert pilots manned their aircraft. In the case of Enterprise, that was four divisions of four aircraft each to be led by the Commanding Officer, LCDR Bud Schumann. My division was included in this launch. In just eight minutes, the full deck load of fighters were launched and the decks were cleared of the bombers which had been loaded for possible strike against the Mobile Fleet. The bombers orbited east of the Task Force, waiting for further orders. With the decks clear and with a constant heading into the wind, the carriers could recover the Hellcats when necessary to fuel, re-arm, and change pilots.

After launch, we were directed to 15,000 feet overhead. Schumann was having radio problems and did not receive the instruction for two divisions to vector 270 degrees. I assumed the lead and acknowledged.

As we approached our battleship formation, it did not look like a healthy situation as the umbrella of anti-aircraft fire was well above our horizon. I climbed the group of fighters to 25,000 feet to avoid their AA and altered our course to the north as added precaution. The AA umbrella was up to 20,000 feet — and on the surface at least five miles beyond the screen. This force made up of six battleships, four heavy cruisers, and 14 destroyers was unique and awe inspiring. The lone battleship in the center, Indiana, added to my confidence in our power at this moment. It is my most memorable scene in World War II.

Records show that battleship South Dakota was hit by a bomb at 1049 during the 69 plane attack. With the amount of AA it was obvious that we had missed Raid I. We proceeded west and saw no enemy aircraft and returned over base by 1115. We should have been launched earlier or vectored earlier.

By 1057, the Raid I attack was complete. Forty-two of the 69 aircraft had been destroyed, 25 by fighters from Essex and other carriers. The inexperienced do not and can not realize how fast these actions occur. If you tangle with Zeros, you miss the bombers and torpedo planes. If you chase bombers you miss out on torpedo planes, and so on. At 200 to 240 knots, 10 to 15 miles can be covered rather rapidly. With the enemy closing at the same speed, you should be in a defensive position as early as possible. We were out of position.

Ozawa’s Carrier Division 1 — the most southern group of three carriers — began launching 128 aircraft at 0856: Raid II. This raid took a track on their first leg over the van group, which made their distance to the target much longer than a direct route of 445 miles.

At 1107, this raid was detected at 115 miles. They had been in the air three hours before arriving over the target area, and this original group of 130 aircraft suffered some amazing early losses. One warrant officer in a Judy dove into the ocean to destroy a torpedo fired by the submarine Albacore at carrier Taiho. It was a fruitless effort: one torpedo found its target at 0905 and the carrier sank at 1530. Eight aircraft had engine trouble and returned to their carriers. Also, as the group departed and flew over their own task force, friendly anti-aircraft fire shot down two planes. Another eight were so damaged that they returned to their carrier. Thus, the strike was reduced to 109 aircraft.

Raid II included two pathfinders. They were probably responsible for dropping chaff to the northeast of Task Force 58, drawing our fighters off in that direction.

As the raid neared, I was vectored 250 degrees. This time 10–15 miles southwest of the battle line, I tallyhoed four aircraft with in-line engines to our port and low. We reported them as Judys. We were probably at 15,000 feet. I ignored some Zeros to our right that appeared to carry drop tanks. I did not think they could damage anyone but me. We selected the most lethal target, the aircraft that had torpedos. As we followed the Judys, I shot down one as we approached the battle line from the south. At a lower altitude we shot down another. At this time the AA from the battle line was very intense, as before. Shrapnel was churning the water at least 5 miles from the center. I was firing at the third Judy as we flew about fifty feet over the water. Neither of us could see through the AA, I am sure, and the churned up water. Suddenly, he dropped his torpedo and turned right to avoid the AA. I got him in that turn. I doubt that the torpedo had enough endurance to reach the battle line. The fourth torpedo plane escaped.

In my research, I found out that the Zeros did carry bombs in these raids and Judys only carried bombs. So after nearly 50 years, I learned that I shot down Jills. Anyhow, these aircraft had in-line engines and carried torpedos, whether they were Judys or Jills. Furthermore, the official record gives my wingman and I credit for one Judy each. I do not know who got credit for the third! Enterprise’s 16 fighters were given credit for two Judys and one Kate from Raids I and II. Again we were almost too late to make the intercept. If the fighter directors did anything wrong this day, they held the CAP over their own Task Group until the raid was too close for an effective intercept.

At 1130, Ozawa’s CarDiv 1 and CarDiv 2, six carriers, completed a combined launch of 82 aircraft in Raid IV. When it was launched, Raid IV was directed to a bogus fix about 110 miles south of Task Force 58 and about 95 miles southwest of Guam. It was a fiasco. When no targets were found at that fix, 18 aircraft returned to their carrier. The other 15 aircraft from CarDiv 1 took up a heading to Rota, while 49 aircraft from CarDiv 2 proceeded toward Guam. At 1423, the small group of 15 aircraft, sighted TG 58.2. They changed course for the attack. Six aircraft came in under the CAP and attacked the cruiser Mobile, and carriers Wasp and Bunker Hill.

The larger group of 49 aircraft from CarDiv 2 continued on a heading to Guam. At 1449, they jettisoned their bombs near Guam. An hour earlier, Enterprise had launched two divisions of Hellcats and escorts for seaplanes from the cruisers and battleships. The SOCs were also escorted by the F4U night fighters. One of the Enterprise divisions was led by Lt. Rod Devine. It was his first launch of the day.

The Devine division was ordered to investigate bogeys enroute to Guam around 1510. When the remainder of Raid IV arrived at Guam, they were met by Yorktown, Cowpens, Essex, Hornet, and Enterprise fighters. Thirty of the 49 aircraft were destroyed. Nineteen aircraft that managed to land at Rota were so badly damaged that they were beyond repair. In ten minutes the Devine division destroyed 11 aircraft, while another section of Hellcats from Enterprise accounted for 4 more kills. The Devine division was in the right position at the right time and made the most of it. This brought the Grim Reapers’ (VF-10) total to 18 aircraft destroyed at the loss of one Hellcat: a total that was less glamorous than some carriers, but only a few of the enemy escaped once contact was made.

One Hellcat from Enterprise was lost while escorting SOC seaplanes from Montpelier, sent to pick up two men in a raft about three miles west of Guam. Two Hellcats were escorting one SOC, while an F4U-2 from VF(N)-101 escorted the other. After landing, each SOC rescued one man, but could not take off because of the east wind condition. The SOCs started taxiing to the northwest. One of the SOCs was strafed by a Zeke. An Enterprise Hellcat came to its defense, but was shot down. We should remember that many SOC pilots risked their lives with a very defenseless aircraft.

By 1845, most of the enemy aircraft had been shot down, returned to their bases, or landed on the islands.

The Japanese carriers and other ships launched 373 aircraft and only 130 returned, a loss of 243 aircraft. U.S. aircraft losses were 23 shot down, and 6 others were lost operationally. Aviation personnel casualties were 20 pilots and 7 air crewmen. U.S. carrier planes made 300 intercepts: all but 5 were by Hellcats. Three Task Force 58 ships were hit or near-missed with the loss of 4 officers and 27 enlisted men. The reported superior readiness of the U.S. pilots is hard to imagine:

• US Aviators had a minimum of 2 years experience and 300 hours flight time.
• Japanese CarDiv 3 Aviators had only 3 months experience.
• Japanese CarDiv 2 Aviators had only 2 months experience.

Historians have studied this action for years. There is general agreement that the fighter pilots’ claims were consistently thirty percent higher than the facts will bear. The US Pacific Fleet Command released a total of 402 aircraft destroyed, 366 by Hellcats, 19 by AA fire and 17 by ground fire. The Japanese carriers launched only 328 aircraft and 45 seaplanes for a total of 373. At the end of the day 130 of these remained. Aircraft from Guam, Rota and Truk were destroyed, but not enough to make up the difference between 243 and 402.

With land-based losses on the order of 60 aircraft, operational losses and 22 aircraft that sank with Taiho and Shokaku, the real losses on June 19 may have been 315 to 325. In any case, it was a big defeat for his Imperial Navy, which would appear only one more time, in the battle for the Philippines.

Task Force 58 Strikes

20 June 1944

“Jig-Dog” Ramage resumes the narrative:

As we move into the second phase of the battle, I must point out two events of great importance which were not known at that time. The first was the attack by our submarine Albacore on Ozawa’s Flagship Taiho at 0909 on the 19th. She was Japan’s newest carrier but succumbed to one torpedo. This fact was not known until months later. Second was the attack on Shokaku by our submarine Cavalla at 1220. Shokaku took four hits. These two ships went down with a loss of over 2900 men, and 22 aircraft.

This brings up a question. After the loss of his two big carriers on the 19th and most of his aircraft, why would Ozawa remain in the area? First, he was not aware of his heavy losses in the Turkey Shoot, and was standing by to recover the aircraft that supposedly had landed on Guam and Rota. Second, his pilots reported sinking at least four American flattops with six more covered with black smoke. They also reported huge success against the Grumman F6Fs. He intended to complete the job on Task Force 58 on the 21st.

At 1300 on 20 June, Ozawa finally got aboard the Zuikaku where he learned of his terrible aircraft losses of the previous day. He counted about 100 planes operational in the Mobile Fleet. He was again confused by Admiral Kakuta, who advised him that a number of planes had landed in Rota and Guam — not adding that most of them were not operational. Ozawa assumed that Kakuta’s force had been augmented from Iwo Jima, Yap, and Truk.

Our TBM search that morning, which covered a 120 degree sector to the west out to 325 miles, was 75 miles short of the Japanese. An additional noon search by Hellcats on bearing 340 degrees to 476 miles was to the north of Ozawa’s force. We in the ready rooms were still sweating it out.

A Bombing Ten SBD Dauntless launches from Enterprise at dusk in early 1944, much as the squadron did on the evening of June 20.

At 1542 on the 20th, Lt Stu Nelson of VT-10 finally reported the enemy fleet position as 135° 25’ east and 15° 00’ north. At 1548 Mitscher signaled “prepare to launch a deckload strike.” At 1621 the force had reversed course into the east wind and commenced launching. The prevailing east wind had much to do with controlling operations that day. At 1636 the launch was completed and the task force headed back to the west to try to shorten the return trip of the airborne striking force. Barrett Tillman, the historian, says the totals involved were 98 F6Fs, 51 SB2Cs, 26 SBDs and 52 TBMs, for a total of 227 aircraft. RADM Harrill’s TG 58.4 consisting of Essex, Langley, and Cowpens did not participate in this strike.

There were two SBD Dauntless squadrons remaining in TF 58 at that time: VB-16 commanded by LCDR Ralph Weymouth in Lexington and VB-10 in Enterprise. Both squadrons were nearing the end of their combat cruise, hence were well experienced. We felt that in the SBD (Slow But Deadly) we had a much better dive bomber than the SB2C (Beast). However, we had about 50–75 miles less combat radius in the Dauntless. Hence, we were the strike-limiting aircraft in the task force. Records will show that of the 26 SBDs flying on that strike, only three Dauntlesses went in the water. Lt. Lou Bangs, my second division leader, our only loss, went in the drink after having been waved off from the Big E because of a foul deck. He was rescued.

We were well briefed for the attack. We had decided to use vice automatic lean fuel control, and to stay low enough so that we would not have to use high blower. I reluctantly went to high during the run-in because we picked up some Zeros and I didn’t want to get shot down for lack of reserve power.

Prior to launch we were given the Japanese position as about 270 miles to the west: beyond our range, but it didn’t seem to be a problem. It did become of great interest when, after launching, we found out that the fleet was one degree (60 miles) farther out; definitely out of range. Upon receiving this information, I felt certain that all the SBDs would take a bath. I was not worried about the TBFs and F6Fs.

We used a running rendezvous in order to save fuel and by 20 miles out I had the 12 F6Fs and 5 TBFs with my 12 bombers. We launched into a clear blue sky at about 1630 local time. We were in a gradual on-course climb indicating about 140 knots. This was not comfortable for the other aircraft types, but we had the fuel problem. We gradually climbed to about 15,000 feet. I got a whiff of smoke and said to my gunner Aviation Radioman 1/C D. J. Cawley, “Are you smoking?” He replied in the negative and said, “Skipper, I can smell it too.” Then the cockpit began to fill with a heavy black smoke. “Damn. I think we are on fire!” Cawley waited awhile and offered the suggestion that perhaps some lube oil had been spilled and was beginning to burn off as the cylinders became heated. I hoped so. Here was our big chance and here I was with an engine fire. I said, “Cawley, you may be right. We’re going on anyway.” Within five minutes the smoke cleared up!

We continued on a westerly course. Strike groups were passing us until we were all alone in the rear of some 227 aircraft. We had our game plan. I began to even out the fuel in my wing tanks by shifting tanks about every fifteen minutes. I did not want to have an asymmetrical load in the dive. Also, we had been warned that one wanted at least some fuel in each tank. A completely empty tank was considered more likely to explode because of residual vapor.

About two hours out (300 miles) I sighted a strike group off to our port in an attack situation. Beneath them I could see four oilers and several escorts. I broke radio silence calling to Lt. Van Eason, our torpedo element leader, “85 Sniper from 41 Sniper. We will not attack. The Charlie Victors (carriers) are dead ahead.” I then opened up on VHF guard channel saying, “Unknown Strike Leader from 41 Sniper. The carriers are dead ahead. What are you trying to do? Sink their merchant marine?” The other strike group continued on with the attack in spite of the information that the Japanese carriers were the prime targets. I was exasperated. I later found out that their commander stated that his SB2Cs were low on fuel! Who wasn’t?

Radio discipline was not good. I could hear all sorts of completely unwarranted transmissions from over the target area. Well, at least the Japanese carriers were located.

Ships in Ozawa’s Mobile Fleet turn sharply to evade US dive-bombing attacks the evening of 20 June.

Shortly, our strike group was picked up by the Japanese combat air patrol. Cawley informed me that there were several Zeros on our port quarter, high. Each time they would commence a run on the base element, our Air Group Commander, “Killer” Kane, would nose into them with his F6Fs. The Japanese would break off the attack. They had decided to wait until our most vulnerable time, the point of roll into the attack. At that time the bomber and torpedo formation integrity would be broken as each pilot made his dive. Bombing Squadron Ten did not dive from an echelon. Rather, during the high speed run-in, the wingman gradually drifted back until the division leader rolled in. This preserved the “V” formation for as long as possible, permitting the gunners to concentrate on an attack from the rear from either side. It was standard procedure for the low fighter cover to strafe ahead of the base element, and the high cover to strafe behind. The fighters would proceed to the rendezvous point to provide cover for the aircraft of the base element as they rejoined and formed a defensive formation.

The Japanese fleet was easy to locate; there were black AA puffs over a wide area — also some colored detonations. Soon, I could make out two carriers below and to port. It was just as we had been briefed. I took the closest carrier and Bangs’ division took the second carrier in the middle task group. Eason’s torpedo planes split between the two. The TBFs carried four 500-lb general purpose bombs, while the SBDs each carried one 1000-lb bomb: half general purpose and half semi armor piercing.

As I rolled in, I had a fine view of the carrier. I split my dive brakes at about 10,000 feet. Shortly thereafter I could hear Cawley’s twin thirties chattering; then I looked over to the right and within five feet of me, passing below, was a Zero. The dive brakes had thrown him off aim. My dive was a good, standard 70° attack. At about 5000 feet I opened up with my two 50-caliber machine guns. The tracers were going directly into the forward elevator. The carrier was steaming into the wind. Allowing for the wind and target motion, I moved the pipper to just ahead of the bow of the carrier, and released at 1800 feet.

My First Division plus Van Eason’s five TBMs dove on Ryuho. Bang’s six plane division, upon sighting a third carrier, split into two sections with Bang’s diving on Hiyo and Grubiss’ section attacking Junyo. There is still doubt about which section hit which carrier. All three carriers in CarDiv Two were covered. None returned to battle during the war. Hiyo was sunk, and the damaged Junyo and Ryuho were broken up two years after the war in a Japanese shipyard. You will note that other U.S. squadrons registered hits on Carrier Division 2 as well.

I pulled out, easing down to about 300 feet and was immediately taken under fire by all sorts of ships — battleships, cruisers, and destroyers. Cawley yelled into his mike, “Skipper, look back. She’s burning from asshole to appetite!” About that time there was so much stuff being thrown up at us that I just couldn’t look back. Cawley then began telling me to climb or descend, depending on where the AA was aimed. We pulled out to the eastward. As soon as I was clear of the Japanese outer screen, I started a gentle turn to the left. It was about 1930 and beginning to get dark. I shortly had six of my birds, then three more. Several Zeros were about to make a run on us, but Kane’s fighters shot down four or five. After three orbits, I knew that we’d have to start back to the task force. As I gave the hand signal indicating that we were squared away on our return course, we began to pick up all sorts of stragglers. As soon as they picked up our heading they added throttle and left us. They weren’t going to get stuck with the SBD’s 150-knot cruise speed.

Don Gordon of VF-10 describes the attack:

When we arrived over the enemy carriers, there were no other attacks in progress and no ships burning. I saw some Zeros to our left, but I did not see them move toward us.

As Jig Dog started his dive, my division dove with him. We were starting from at least 1000 feet above, so we had some catching up to do. As we started down, we were approaching the red line and very steep, so we did a descending barrel roll to the left to flatten out. I fired all six fifties in a strafing run on the port catwalk of the carrier.

I saw the first two SBDs drop their bombs while I was in my strafing run. They both hit right smack against the fantail of the carrier. I recovered to the east, southeast below 1500 feet, and eased down to sea level. I picked up Jig Dog immediately. The AA did not seem to be aimed at my group. When I looked back, I saw another bomb explode in the center of the flight deck just aft of the small island.

As we departed at very low altitude, heading for home, I saw a Zero heading in the opposite direction about 500 feet above us. I pulled up with my wingman for an upside down overhead. It worked. My wingman fired when I did at about 200 feet from the Zero’s belly. The Zero blew apart, and we completed our loop, through the debris, to rejoin the formation for a long ride home.

We picked up searchlights about sixty miles from home plate. I knew that we were on the proper heading, since the ZB signal had been strong for some time, but it was reassuring to see the lights. I had Enterprise boresighted. We came directly over the ship. From 2000 feet I could see the recognition lights on the forward end of the starboard catwalk.

It was just after 2100. We had lots of fuel, so I orbited over the Big E until about 2215. I broke the division for landing, but the deck was foul on my approach. I extended my pattern to the left and landed on Lexington at about 2230, along with my wingman and section leader. My number four landed on Enterprise. We had been in the air for over six hours.

“Jig-Dog” Ramage resumes the narrative:

I turned on my running lights. The accompanying planes followed suit. It was quite a parade. I’m sure that this was all of the U.S. aircraft remaining in the target area. We arrived last, were the last to leave, and certainly would be the last back to our carriers. It was really quite cozy. The Wright 1820 engine was purring along through a quiet, black sky. Cawley was telling me what he had seen, because being the leader of a dive bombing attack is not a good place to observe results. He said that he was eyeball to eyeball with the Jap who had tried to shoot us down. My gunner thought that he was trying to ram us. He described the barrage of AA fire both enroute to and also following our drop. I was glad that I only saw a part of it. I ran out of gas in the auxiliary tanks so that anything I had was in the main cell. Cawley went over his ditching checkoff list and said that he was all ready, just in case. As I looked at my fuel gauges and chartboard, I felt we would make it. At least we would be close to our carrier force. I told Cawley, “Don’t sweat it.”

At about 2030 started the most miserable case of radio and air discipline imaginable. It would have been all right if people with genuine emergencies sounded off, but it seemed like many just transmitted in panic. Cawley picked up the discrete Enterprise radar beacon response, and I corrected course slightly to starboard. There was total silence in the Sniper flight.

Apparently several strike groups decided to make water landings together, the flight leaders taking them in as a group. I wondered — were they really that low on fuel — or were they afraid of the air traffic around the carriers, or even the night landings? Not all of the air groups had emphasized night carrier operations as our former CAG, Roscoe Newman, had insisted.

At 2100 Cawley had a good heading for the Big E: the ZB/YE signals were in the correct sector. I figured we were about 30 miles out from Task Group 58.3 and could see the loom of lights dead ahead. The panic was getting worse in the air. No small blame for the panic must go to the excessive number of lights on the ships. And some cruiser was firing starshells into the air — just what you need with a couple hundred planes in the area. Our problem wasn’t finding the force, that was a piece of cake. With everything, including destroyers, lighting up it became a real mess!

By now we had received a transmission to land on any carrier available I wasn’t about to lose the integrity of my formation, letting them mill around in confusion. At 2130 I brought the Sniper flight up the starboard side of Enterprise and broke the first section into the landing pattern. Cawley said, “Skipper, it looks like a crash on deck.” I concurred, but knowing how fast Enterprise’s flight deck crew worked, I hoped that by the time I came downwind, the deck would be clear. I could see our LSO, Hod Proulx, giving a slow wave-off signal. As we went up the port side I could see real trouble below on the flight deck, lights and a plane on its back.

At that time I called, “Sniper flight, our base has a foul deck. Pancake on any available base. This is 41 Sniper. Out.”

I was flying in auto lean and did not go to high prop pitch for landing. We would need every ounce. By this time the noise had subsided, but there were still too many lights. I finally located what I believed to be a light carrier, but just as I was getting squared away on it, I looked dead ahead maybe two miles, and there was a big carrier. I was too high for a straight in, so I elected to make a normal carrier pass. Cawley advised me that we were alone in the pattern. The landing was smooth. As I taxied out of the gear, I was receiving frantic “wing fold” signals from each plane director. They didn’t realize that SBD wings did not fold. I finally got into a parking spot forward of the barriers when a flight deck man jumped on my wing saying, “get the hell out of there!” It was obvious that he was afraid of a plane jumping the barrier. Cawley and I ran into the island structure. I asked, “What carrier?” “Yorktown,” a crewman responded. My friend and squadron mate, LT (jg) Don “Hound Dog” Lewis, and gunner, John Mankin, met us. We hadn’t seen them since the ready room six hours before. It was a long day!

No one seemed to know exactly what to do with us. In the ready room there was no debriefing. Really not much interest except great concern for their missing squadron mates. I guess I don’t blame them, but hope that “visitors” on the Big E were better treated. We were finally taken down to the wardroom. I wasn’t that hungry. There was no offer of medicinal spirits! It was very gloomy at 2300 in the Yorktown wardroom.

In a little while, Captain John Crommelin, Chief of Staff for RADM Ralph Davison, came in and sat down at the table. I was still pretty unhappy about the lack of radio and flight discipline, and told him so. He asked about results. I told him what my gunner had observed: one carrier burning and one apparently sinking. That was all that I could personally vouch for, and I really hadn’t seen that. Crommelin said that there were reports of many more sinkings. I told him that I wasn’t so sure about that. Perhaps Crommelin told someone that maybe I should be debriefed! A commander finally asked me about my flight. When I repeated what I knew, he said something about my not knowing how many hits Enterprise’s group had made on the carriers. I didn’t think it worthwhile to explain how you lead an attack, and how little the leader really sees. From the minute you sight the target, you are intent on getting in and setting your 18–20 planes up for a proper attack. You can’t be concerned with sightseeing, nor deterred by enemy fighters or AA fire. My experience had been that once you commit the group, you get them on target and out as soon as you can. Jinking and flitting around the periphery is not conducive to a long and happy existence. Also, you screw up the dives by the rest of the attack group. I couldn’t explain this to a debriefer who had not ever been shot at.

I was assigned a bunk in an empty two-man room of pilots who were missing on the raid. Sleep was impossible. I went through the sequence of the day’s operation and could see no place where I had gone wrong. I was still unhappy. We should have done better.

I arose on June 21, wondering what lay ahead. I was advised that Lewis and I would be launched on a strike with the Yorktown group. Our SBDs could not keep up with the VB-1 SB2Cs, or if we did we’d run out of fuel. I wanted to go back to the Big E where I could organize my own attack. My log book shows a flight of 0.8 hours on 21 June: Yorktown to Enterprise. Upon landing I discovered that two of VF-10’s F6Fs were missing, including CAG Kane (rescued), and only one of my 12 SBDs was missing (Bangs). My exec, Ira Hardman, had taken off earlier on a strike/search mission. If there was another strike, I would lead it, but the Japanese fleet was at least 400 miles away, hightailing it for home, streaming oil from the carriers still afloat. They had gotten away!

Vice Admiral Marc A. Mitscher on the bridge of his flagship Lexington CV-16 during the Marianas campaign.

After talking with the ship’s exec, Tom Hamilton, I went to the flag bridge to brief RADM “Black Jack” Reeves on the strike. I told him that I didn’t think the damage claims by the various groups were valid. We had been the last ones in the area and we hadn’t seen the burning hulks as claimed. It turned out later that we had done better, thanks to our submarines that sank two carriers. In addition to the two that we claimed had sunk, there were three or four more pretty badly beaten up. And, of course, most of their aircraft were gone after the “Turkey Shoot” on 19 June, plus the seventy-odd that they lost on the 20th trying to defend their force.

When I told Reeves about the strike group bombing the oilers, he really flipped his lid. He asked me who it was; I told him. Fortunately for the strike leader, he was not from TG 58.3. He would have been relieved immediately.

Lt. Lou Bangs and gunner were returned by the rescuing destroyer. His views were about the same as mine. He had run out of gas in the groove to the carrier landing. That afternoon we went up to receive CAG Kane when he was highlined over from the destroyer that picked him up. He had black eyes under black eyes. He had been shot down by our own amphibious forces on 15 June, and had barely returned to get in on the strike. I said, “Killer, what the hell happened?” He responded, “Everyone was running out of gas, but I ran out of altitude.” He had flown into the water! He picked up 13 more stitches in his head.

The Consequences

Japanese losses were three fleet carriers and two oilers sunk. Damaged were two heavy carriers, two light carriers and an oiler. Zuikaku, though heavily damaged, was repaired in time to be sunk along with Chiyoda (also damaged), Chitose and Zuiho on 25 October, north of the Philippines by our carrier planes. Junyo and Ryuho did not re-appear at that time, and were broken up after the war by the Japanese.

Only 35 of the original 430 aircraft remained on the carriers fleeing for the homeland. Counting land-based air, the Japanese lost 476 planes and 445 pilots. The pilot loss was critical. Heavy losses at Midway and the Guadalcanal campaign had never been replaced. The loss of the relatively untrained pilots in this battle left the few remaining carriers ineffective. We lost 36 pilots and 40 crewmen for a total of 76. The two day battle cost us 126 carrier planes.

Our aircraft losses during the attack on the Japanese fleet were heavy. We suffered only 17 combat losses, but the operational costs were high: 79. Almost all of these were due to fuel exhaustion. Although a 330 mile strike was beyond our combat radius, I have always felt that losses need not have been that great. Total losses of SB2Cs were 43 out of 51, or 84%. The venerable SBD with less range had losses of 4 out of 26, or 15%.

When our task group entered port in Eniwetok on 9 July, I was summoned by ADM Mitscher to visit him on his flagship, USS Lexington. While I had met him when he presented medals to us, I didn’t know quite what to expect. As I entered his in-port cabin, he arose and came to the door to meet me. I remember those blue eyes looking at me. Right off I could feel the warmth that he had for his pilots. His first words were, “Tell your boys that they did a good job.” We then proceeded to go into details about the strike. It became obvious that what he wanted was information on the relative performance of the two SBD squadrons — VB-10 and VB-16 — compared to the SB2C squadrons. He mentioned that we had more hits with far fewer losses. I mentioned that Air Group 10 was night qualified. I refrained from expressing some rather subjective views which I think were quite obvious to him. A discussion ensued about returning to the SBD as standard equipment for the bomber squadrons. I told the Admiral that so far as the pilots were concerned, there would be no difficulty. The staff pointed out the logistical problems, which were insurmountable in the forward area because of time. I left the cabin feeling that ADM Mitscher certainly knew aviation. It was a wonderful experience.

My feelings were similar to Admiral Mitscher’s: “The enemy escaped. He had been hurt badly by one aggressive carrier strike at the one time he was within range. His fleet was not sunk.” We were all disappointed.

This battle has been somewhat neglected by history. It was the biggest carrier battle of the war. A total of 24 carriers and 1861 aircraft were involved. Results were of greater consequence than we had thought. When the sun went down in the Philippine Sea on 20 June, it meant the end of Japanese aspirations in the Pacific. The two day battle had shorn the Japanese Navy of its most potent weapon: air power.