Challenge for the Pacific

Six- and five-inch shells howled toward Aoba. They missed, but the second salvo caught the enemy cruiser full amidships. Now Salt Lake City and Boise were thundering at Goto’s stricken flagship. Not white flashes but orange flames gushed from the muzzles of heavier eight-inch guns. Aoba bucked and shuddered. Her bridge buckled. Admiral Goto was mortally wounded. He lay dying on his twisted bridge, gasping:

“Bakayaro! Bakayaro! Stupid bastard! Stupid bastard!”⁴

Goto thought friendly ships were firing on him. He thought vessels of the Supply Force had blundered, and as his own guns began to speak, he gave the order to cease fire.

Norman Scott also thought his ships were firing on each other—which was true in the case of Duncan and Farenholt—and he also gave the order to cease fire.

Then the dying Goto gave the command to turn right.

The movement enabled the Japanese ships to aim all their guns, but it also gave the Americans the opportunity to mass their fire at each ship as it approached the frothing white water that marked the turning point. They did, for Scott’s gunners were slow to respond to his orders to cease firing. Some of them never did, and Aoba and Furutaka were battered repeatedly and set ablaze.

Nine minutes before midnight Scott ordered: “Resume firing!”

Once again shock waves went rolling over black water and Marines crouching in Guadalcanal’s sodden holes heard again those familiar iron tongues of midnight.

Captain Charles (“Soc”) McMorris of San Francisco heard the order just as his lookouts sighted a strange warship on a parallel course three quarters of a mile to the west. Frisco’s searchlights leaped alight to illuminate a destroyer with a white band around her second stack. American gunners, now trained, knew her as Fubuki.

They opened up from all sides. They poured a horrible punishing fire into the enemy ship, and she blew up and sank at seven minutes before midnight.

Now all the American ships were pursuing fleeing Aoba and Furutaka. They pummeled them by turns. But now Kinugasa was fighting back.

With destroyer Hatsuyuki, the big Japanese cruiser had misread Goto’s orders and had turned left rather than right. The mistake saved them. It took them out of the fight, and it gave Kinugasa the chance to open up on Boise at eight thousand yards.

Eight-inch shells straddled the American and a spread of torpedoes came running toward her. Captain Mike Moran ordered hard right rudder and Boise swung around to comb the wakes.

Then Boise spotted Aoba and put her searchlights on her. Aoba fired back, and Kinugasa made a bull’s-eye of the American’s light. For three minutes Boise took a fearful pounding, until heroic Salt Lake City interposed her own bulk between her and the enemy, while silencing Aoba and driving Kinugasa off.

And now it was the twelfth of October. Furutaka was dragging herself toward her watery grave twenty-two miles northwest of Savo, Fubuki was gone, Aoba was so badly damaged she would have to limp all the way home to Japan for repairs, while slightly damaged Kinugasa and unscathed Hatsuyuki were streaking north for sanctuary.

Behind them destroyer Duncan, fired on by both sides, was also in her death throes: she would take the plunge at two o’clock in the morning.

And Boise was ablaze. Her gallant crew was struggling to quench the flames that streamed off her tail as she joined up with the victorious American column and sailed south for Noumea. Aided by sea water which flowed through her pierced sides to flood the magazines, Boise made it.

The Battle of Cape Esperance was over. It was an American victory, and though it was not as decisive as Savo, it was at least some measure of vengeance for that defeat. Moreover, it made it clear to the enemy that The Slot was no longer a Japanese channel, and it heartened the Marines on Guadalcanal to know that the Navy was coming out fighting again.

But the Battle of Cape Esperance did not prevent Pistol Pete from coming ashore. The enemy supply ships went boldly about unloading Hyakutake’s big guns, his tanks, his shells and his medical supplies. They paid dearly for their insouciance: that same October 12 Dauntless dive-bombers from Henderson Field caught destroyers Murakumo and Natsugumo in The Slot and sent them to the bottom loaded with survivors from Goto’s stricken ships.

In all, Japan had lost one heavy cruiser and three destroyers against one American destroyer sunk. And Henderson Field had been spared bombardment.

But not for long.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE JAPANESE did not consider the Battle of Cape Esperance to be an unmitigated defeat. Rather, they regarded the outcome as salutary: Admiral Scott had sailed his ships south and the way was now clear for heavier bombardment of Henderson Field.

Much, much heavier—for Combined Fleet was now ready.

On October 9 the big converted carriers Hiyo and Junyo with smaller Zuiho sailed into Truk lagoon, and Vice-Admiral Kakuji Kakuta—a Japanese giant standing six feet tall and weighing two hundred pounds—left his flagship, Hiyo, to report to Admiral Yamamoto aboard Yamato.

With Kakuta’s arrival, Yamamoto now had five carriers, five battleships, fourteen cruisers and forty-four destroyers—backed up by about 220 land-based airplanes to deploy against the enemy. On October 10 most of these ships sortied from Truk as part of the Guadalcanal Supporting Forces commanded by Vice-Admiral Nobutake Kondo. Yamamoto, remaining behind, watched them go.

As always, it was a stirring sight. Out of the reef passages they sailed, battleships leading—standing to sea in a stately column of ships. Then they were in open water and the escort ships broke column, heeling over with strings of signal flags tautening in the wind, while the queens of the fleet—the carriers—steamed majestically into position surrounded by protecting rings of cruisers and battleships.

They sailed south to take up supporting positions north of the Solomons, and to carry out Yamamoto’s instructions: “…   apprehend and annihilate any powerful forces in the Solomons area, as well as any reinforcements.”

A few days after they departed Truk, their own reinforcements began going aboard six fast transports in the Shortlands. These were the last of the Sendai and some of the soldiers of the 38th Division: about ten thousand men in all. They were to arrive at Guadalcanal the night of October 14–15, joining General Hyakutake’s 17th Army in time for the big push now scheduled for October 20. Before they sailed, Henderson Field would be knocked out to guarantee them safe passage.

That was why, a few days after the grand sortie from Truk, battleships Kongo and Haruna under Vice-Admiral Takeo Kurita peeled off from Kondo’s forces and made for Guadalcanal. Each carried five hundred horrible fourteen-inch bombardment shells, plus ammunition of smaller sizes. Both were escorted by seven destroyers and flag cruiser Isuzu carrying Tanaka the Tenacious back to The Slot. These ships were also loaded to bombard, as were four heavy cruisers scheduled to deliver later attacks.

But The Night of the Battleships would be first: on October 13.