Challenge for the Pacific

In early afternoon Meiyo Maru stood slowly out of Simpson Harbor bound for Guadalcanal.

Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher was leaving the Solomons.

The commander of the Expeditionary Force was not waiting until Sunday morning, as he had promised, but had turned his ships southward before dusk of Saturday night. He was taking with him three aircraft carriers, one battleship, six heavy cruisers and sixteen destroyers—by far the greater portion of the invasion fleet’s fighting power.

Throughout that day of August 8, Admiral Fletcher had been fretting. He had bombarded his commanders with inquiries about enemy torpedo-bombers. He was remembering the Battles of the Coral Sea and Midway, when Japanese torpedoes had finished Lexington and Yorktown. With forebodings he learned of the torpedo-bomber attack in Iron Bottom Bay that afternoon. But Admiral Fletcher did not consult Admiral Turner who had been in that battle, nor did he take comfort from reports of how completely the enemy had been devastated. Admiral Fletcher consulted chiefly with his fears. In late afternoon he radioed Vice- Admiral Ghormley:

“Fighter-plane strength reduced from ninety-nine to seventy-eight. In view of the large number of enemy torpedo planes and bombers in this area, I recommend the immediate withdrawal of my carriers. Request tankers be sent forward immediately as fuel running low.”

Fletcher did not wait for Ghormley to approve or reject his recommendation for withdrawal. His carriers were already heading south as the message cleared, and it would be twelve hours before Fletcher finally received Ghormley’s approval to retire. He had yet to be sighted by the enemy, his fighter strength was double the enemy’s, and his bunkers held enough fuel to keep him in the area for at least two more days; but the commander of the Expeditionary Force was pulling out.

Admiral Fletcher had thought too much about a long black shape tipped with 1200 pounds of explosives—the dreaded Long Lance Torpedo of Japan.

Because, after World War I, Japan had been denied naval equality with the great powers, she felt that she must, of necessity, turn to other measures which would offset superior opposition. One of these was foul-weather or night torpedo attacks aimed at whittling the enemy down to size for decisive daylight battles.

Throughout the 1930s the Japanese Navy trained in the stormy North Pacific, seeking, in nocturnal maneuvers, the utmost in realism. Ships collided and sank and men were lost without qualm. Night binoculars were developed, for the Japanese knew nothing of electronic detection devices such as radar, and the fleet was combed for men with exceptional night vision. These sailors were trained in special techniques until they were able to distinguish objects four miles away on dark nights. Excellent starshells were also produced, as well as parachute flares. Night-fighting cruisers, some of which carried as many as eight torpedo tubes on their decks, were equipped with float planes whose crews were well-drilled in night scouting or in dropping flares to illuminate a surprised enemy.

It was with such crews and such weapons that Admiral Mikawa came steaming down The Slot, bound to destroy the American invasion fleet.

In the afternoon of that August 8, Commander Ohmae aboard Chokai finished drafting the battle plan. With a feeling of extreme confidence he sent it to be wigwagged to the Fleet.

“We will penetrate south of Savo Island and torpedo the enemy main force at Guadalcanal. Thence we will move toward the forward area at Tulagi and strike with torpedoes and gunfire, after which we will withdraw to the north of Savo Island.”

As dusk approached every ship was ordered to jettison all topside flammables to clear the decks for battle. Depth charges and loose gear were stowed below. Gradually, as the sun began to sink, a feeling of exhilaration ran through the Fleet. Admiral Mikawa signaled:

“Let us attack with certain victory in the traditional night attack of the Imperial Japanese Navy. May each one calmly do his utmost.”³

Gunichi Mikawa was himself calm. It was by then full dark and he had come down The Slot without an American airplane to detain him.

Defense of Iron Bottom Bay against surface attack depended upon extensive aerial reconnaissance.

Searching of The Slot began, on that August 8, with none of the additional reconnaissance which Admiral Turner had requested the night before.

Then the Flying Fortresses on routine search missed Mikawa’s fleet by sixty miles.

Finally, of the two Royal Australian Air Force pilots who had sighted Mikawa from their Hudsons, only one bothered to make his report.

That report was filed after the pilot flew another four hours, returned to base in New Guinea and had tea. It then passed through seven separate relays before it was received by Admiral Turner eight hours and nineteen minutes after the sighting was made. The message said: “Three cruisers, three destroyers, two seaplane tenders or gunboats, course 120, speed fifteen knots.” Reading it, Turner took counsel from what he thought the enemy would do, rather than what the enemy could do. He decided that the Japanese were going to set up a seaplane base at Gizo Bay in the central Solomons. Turner was not at that moment entirely calm, for he had just intercepted Fletcher’s message to Ghormley.

Turner was trembling with rage. He, too, would have to leave quickly. Even though the ships were far from unloaded, he could not risk them to air attack without air cover of his own. But he would still like to discuss the situation with his commanders, so he sent for Vandegrift and Rear Admiral Sir Victor A. C. Crutchley.

Rear Admiral Crutchley was the last Briton to hold the rank of Flag Officer Commanding the Australian Naval Squadron. He was both a veteran of World War I, in which he had won the Victoria Cross, and of the present war, in which he had commanded battleship Warspite in the second battle of Narvik. Very tall, very charming, Crutchley was a great favorite with the Aussie sailors, who called him “Old Goat’s Whiskers” for the magnificent red beard and mustache which he wore to hide an old wound-scar.

Turner had given Crutchley the Western Defense Force. Eastern Defense had gone to Rear Admiral Scott in San Juan accompanied by the Australian cruiser Hobart and the American destroyers Monssen and Buchanan. Turner did not expect trouble at the eastern entrance to the Bay because an attack there would have to follow a roundabout route.

But at the western entrance to either side of Savo an enemy coming down The Slot would have a clean shot at the American fleet. So Crutchley had gone there, and the British admiral had begun by dividing his forces.

He put his radar destroyers Blue and Ralph Talbot to either side of Savo on the outside and his six heavy cruisers to either side of Savo on the inside. Aboard Australia, his flagship, Crutchley sailed a north-south patrol followed by Canberra and Chicago in that order. Destroyers Patterson and Bagley were in front to screen. The cruisers were in column about 600 yards apart and they reversed course every hour.

The northern group was commanded by Captain Frederick Riefkohl aboard Vincennes followed by Quincy and Astoria. Destroyers Helm and Wilson formed the screen. Riefkohl sailed a box patrol, ten miles to a side, cruising at ten knots to turn right at 90 degrees every half hour.

Crutchley thought dividing his forces was excusable because he believed that six heavy cruisers would be an unwieldy force at night. Admiral Mikawa with seven cruisers did not share this belief. Crutchley also thought that he would have ample forewarning of enemy approach; it was not his fault that Allied reconnaissance had failed utterly. Then, Crutchley thought that Admiral Turner’s message to come aboard McCawley meant that he should withdraw Australia from the battle line. This he did, leaving Captain Howard Bode in Chicago in charge. But Captain Bode remained at the stern of his column because he expected Admiral Crutchley to resume position in Australia. In fact, Admiral