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H. PAUL BREHM
WWII VETERAN
INTERVIEW |
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The Hyuga Strike Mission: An Eyewitness
Account
All day the 23rd of July, 1945 the Task Force re-armed and re-
fueled. Toward evening, with all the fuel bunkers topped off, the force cut
loose from the oilers, and jockeyed into task force positions: carriers and
battleships in the center, ringed by cruisers, and finally an outer screen of
destroyers.
Blinker messages flashed from ship to ship. The course was
set for 340 degrees, and at 1900 the Task Force began the run in toward the
July 24th Strike position. A total of four Task Groups comprised Task Force
38.0 and was under the command of Admiral Halsey. Task Group 38.3 was a part of
this force, composed of the Carriers, USS Ticonderoga, USS Essex, USS Randolph,
USS Monterey and the USS Bataan. The Battleships USS North Carolina, and USS
Alabama. Also there were four light cruisers, two anti-aircraft cruisers and a
screen of destroyers. Air Group Eighty-Seven was aboard the USS Ticonderoga
(CV-14) with a complement of F6F fighters, F6F fighter-bombers, TBM torpedo
planes and SB2C dive bombers. At the 2100 briefing in the bombing squadron's
ready room, tension and speculation began to build as strike information came
over the 2JG talker from Flag Plot. The code names of the ships began to be
listed. The Ticonderoga ("T") was Ginger Base. Then came the various
frequencies for the strike leaders, for air sea rescue and for the picket
destroyers. Taking down the information which was needed, we waited for the
formal briefing to start by Lt. Lyndon McKee, the squadron's Air Combat
Officer. He had remained in the background, not saying much.
"Gentlemen," he said clearing his throat, "Bombing Eight-Seven's target for
tomorrow's strike is the Japanese Battleship/Carrier Hyuga", and he began to
hand to each of us, packets of target overlay maps.
Continuing, "For
your information the Hyuga is one of the Ise class ships which has been
converted to a combination battleship-carrier by the addition of a flight deck
on her stern. As you study your overlays you will note that this is a
formidable target by reason of its own firepower as well as the fact that her
position off the small island of Nasake Shima, just south of Kure, places her
under the protection of numerous shore batteries on the coast. Also there are
guns on the hills to the east, north and west of her. So, on your run in, dive,
and retirement, expect to come under heavy anti- aircraft fire."
After
this brief statement and looking at the overlays I reflected on the fact that I
had been on 58 combat missions; against airfield installations, supply depots,
and more gun emplacements than I wanted to remember, but this was the first
opportunity in my naval career to dive on a capital ship and it would also be
an excellent opportunity to become a casualty of war. A dead one at that. This
was like flying into a shooting gallery, and I was the clay pigeon. The
skipper, Lcdr. Franz Kanaga, was leading the Bombing Squadron in the composite
makeup of the first strike. I was designated as his section leader. My call
sign was 3-307 GINGER. After the briefing, I went back to my state-room, wrote
a few letter and went to bed, but sleep this night was elusive. At 0400,
"GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS", came
as relief from the sleepless hours lying there in the smothering darkness. The
ready-room was bedlam, with everyone on the first strike getting into their
flight gear, asking questions, making notations on their plotting boards, and
getting last minute weather data. Weather was reported as being marginal, and
the task force had not reached its pre-arranged launch position. We were over
one hundred miles short of the original proposed launch position. This meant a
longer flight in distance, time, and fuel consumption.
Finally the bomb
loading information came in from Flag Plot. Each SB2C would be carrying a one
thousand pound GP bomb in the bomb bay, plus a two hundred and sixty pound
fragmentation bomb on one wing, which was to partially compensate for the
droppable wing tank (weighing about 680 pounds), on the other wing. We were
cautioned that this unequal loading might cause problems on take off.
Then came the call over the 2JG talker, "PILOTS, MAN YOUR PLANES."
Waddling out of the ready room in all my gear, I paused on the walkway
and looking down, could see the blue-green water flashing by the hull. Could
hear the sound of tractors on the deck as they made last minute plane moves.
The air was warm, and the sun was shining through patches of light fluffy
clouds.
Threading my way through the planes, I tried to find my number,
206. As usual the spot was mixed, and we were not going to be able to take in
formation sequence. We would just have to rendezvous on join up. The stack let
off a shower of smoky cinders. The air was acid tasting, stinging my eyes and
burning my tongue.
My gunner, ARM2C William (Tommy) Thompson, met me
at the plane. Together we checked the bomb loading, fuel tanks, and armament. I
climbed up on the wing, put my plotting board in its slot, threw a leg over,
and climbed into the cockpit. I adjusted the seat height and moved the rudder
pedals closer, so that I could really stand on them when diving vertically. I
cinched my shoulder straps one more time as the bull horn announced, "STAND BY
TO START ENGINE. STAND CLEAR OF PROPELLERS. START THE FIGHTERS ON THE
CATAPULTS."
The Fox flag which had been at the dip was two blocked.
The ship began turning into the wind, the semaphore on the bridge went from red
to green and the order boomed out, "LAUNCH AIRCRAFT." I looked at my watch. It
was 0724.
USS Ticonderoga seen from the destroyer USS Ault |
Not completely into the wind, the first of the Fighters
was shot off the catapults, and went clawing up into the sun. At 15 second
intervals, the launch proceeded. My plane captain gave me the "Start Engine"
signal. Activating the starter switch and turning on the ignition, the blades
of the propeller began turning, slowly. There was a cough of white smoke, and
the engine died. I tried it again. Ahead of me the first of the SB2C's were
getting into take off position.
A trouble shooter came back, jumped on
the wing and yelled, "Hit her again!" This time with him pumping the throttle,
and me holding the starter switch down, the engine began to run. Ragged at
first, then settling down to smooth revolutions. Throttling back to let the
trouble shooter off the wing, I pushed the throttle up to 800 RPM's to let the
engine warm up. The plane in front of me began to move forward, the deck
handler turned to me next, motioning with his hands overhead, to taxi forward.
I came out of my slot, unfolded my wings at his signal, shoved the wing locking
handle into the "lock" position and at his command, set the flaps down 20
degrees.
Lt. Al Matteson was first off. His plane got to the bow, his
wing loading was unbalanced. He started going into a tight right turn and the
cameras began rolling. Momentarily flight operations were secured; the
semaphore on the bridge went to red. Matteson hit the water hard and the plane
just disintegrated. I saw only one person getting out of the crash debris. The
bridge ordered the Plane Guard Destroyer to pick up the survivor. The semaphore
on the bridge went back to green and the order of "LAUNCH AIRCRAFT" proceeded
as if nothing had happened. Not more than 25 seconds had lapsed, All I could
think of was, Hell, we've lost our first plane for today's strike and we
haven't even completed the launch".
VB87 in
flight |
The next plane, following Matteson, got a little more
deck run, but he too dropped off the bow in a right turning arc. But, moments
later was climbing skyward. Next in line, Fly One looked at me. Nodding my
head, I indicated that I was ready for take off. He looked forward to see that
the deck was clear, and started winding up his checkered flag. I gave the
engine full throttle. Pointing forward, he dropped to the deck on one knee. I
was cleared for take off. Releasing the brakes, I started lumbering down the
deck. The controls were sluggish. I passed the forward gun turrets and then,
there was no more deck, just air, and below, water. I went straight off, not
trying to make the usual turn to clear my slipstream from the deck for the next
plane. Number 206 began to tilt hard to starboard (the side that had the
external wing tank), and it took both hands on the stick to keep the plane half
way level. I kept settling, and as much as I wanted to pull up my wheels, it
was as if I was frozen in time. I could not take the pressure off the stick.
Settling toward the water, the air had a little more compression, and
the prop finally began to bite its way through the air. The pressure on the
stick eased, I jerked up the wheels, throttled back, reduced pitch and RPMs,
switched to the auxiliary wing tank and started buckling on my chute.
I was airborne.
I cut inside the traffic pattern and joined up on the
Skipper who was zooming up and down. Lt. Vaughn was on his starboard, and I had
Lt. Pucci on my port side as our section closed in on him. Our four plane
section was soon joined by Lt. Johnson's four planes, and Lt. Hearn's three
plane section. Hearn was short one plane in his section: Lt. Al Matteson's.
Our formation was strung out loosely as we headed toward the target
area. The weather enroute to the target area was marginal, and the formation
was continually dodging in and out of the clouds. Everywhere I looked I could
see planes. The attack today was an all out effort against any target of
opportunity whether on land, in the air or on the sea. Crossing over the island
of Shikoku, our flight was cruising at about 11,000 feet when the first "OK,
here we go!" came over the air.
In the distance I could see the planes
starting to slant down beginning their runs, while at the same time I could see
the black puffs of smoke as the anti-aircraft shells started exploding. I
remembered the gun count on the Hyuga and scrunched down in my seat a little
more.
Closing formation I watched as the torpedo squadron slid off and
started down. The plan was for the bombers to dive bomb the ship, (taking out
the guns and possibly sinking the ship) while the torpedo planes were to make
glide bombing runs (Since the water was too shallow for a torpedo attack). The
fighters were to give us cover on the run-in and our departure from the target
area.
Crossing over Hiihama airfield, the Skipper started a swinging
turn to the north west so that we could break off and after the attack, retire
to the south west. After the pull out we still had a lot of land over and
around to fly which had concentrated shore batteries. The actual attack on the
Hyuga was just one small part of the hazard's involved.
An
anti-aircraft shell exploded off my port wing with a thunder like clap. While
the round was a little wide, it was evident that the gunners had our range.
I split off from the Skipper, Pucci closing in tight on me. I didn't
want to be bunched up with other planes in case of a direct hit on any one of
our section. With our bomb loads, one hit could blow us all out of the air. I
still had not had a chance to see the target even when I saw the Skipper nose
over, and saw Black, his gunner, open his hatch. I felt a blast of air as Tommy
opened his hatch. I opened my bomb bay doors, checked the bomb arming switch
one more time, turned on my cannon switches and charged the first shell into
the chamber. I waited for the signal to dive.
The air was now crackling
with bursts of anti-aircraft fire. The gunners were now zeroing in on our
altitude. The Skipper wagged his wings, I saw a flash of red as his dive flaps
began to open.
"Step on it, dammit," I muttered as Vaughn hesitated
before cracking his flaps. Flack was now bursting all around us.
Vaughn started down. I popped my flaps and rammed the stick forward, hard. The
plane stood on its nose, throwing me against my seat belt. I held onto the
instrument cowl with my left hand to give me more leverage in holding the stick
forward.
Now, for the first time I got a good look at the target. The
Skipper had put us right on top of the Hyuga. We were diving bow to stern, but
I could hardly see the ship. It was wreathed in a mass of smoke from all the
guns firing at our diving planes. I could see gun muzzle flashes from every
part of the ship and watched the tracers from the shells as they arced up. The
heavier gun's projectiles looked like fiery red baseballs. I could swear that
every one of them was headed directly at me.
"This is ridiculous," I
thought to myself. At that instant I closed my dive flaps, deciding not only to
dive clean, but to add throttle besides. Anything to get this dive over: to
give the gunners a fast and as small a target as possible.
The
altimeter was unwinding furiously. The entire ship filled my gunsight. I kept
diving down, wanting to be sure that there was no way my bomb could not make a
direct hit on the Hyuga.
Suddenly, coming out from under me, I saw
Vaughn. His plane kept going...straight down, and crashed along side the Hyuga,
disappearing into a geyser of white sea foam. One minute the plane was intact.
The next moment it was gone. His bomb did not go off, if it was still aboard.
I jabbed my bomb release button and felt the bomb leave the bomb-bay.
I snapped the stick back. The windshield fogged over. I momentarily blacked out
and I felt the kick from my bomb blast since I had pulled out so low. Closing
my bomb-bay I called Tommy;
| Hyuga firing AA guns |
 |
"My God, did you see that? Mr. Vaughn went straight in.
He didn't even try to pull out!"
"No sir, I didn't see it." Something
made me aware of the sound of my engine. Looking at the gages, the propeller
RPM's were dropping----1900---1800---1700. Something was wrong.
"Tommy,
did we take a hit somewhere? We are losing RPM's.
"No, I don't see
anything, and I didn't feel us take a hit."
Suddenly I thought to check
the propeller circuit breakers. One had popped out, probably from the excessive
"G" forces I had pulled. I punched it back in and saw the RPM's climb back to
2100. Banking around, looking back, I could see what appeared to be multiple
bomb blast columns of smoke rising from the ship. Our attack had hit her square
on. Meantime, all around, planes were streaking for the rendezvous position.
Distress calls were now coming in over the strike frequency.
The
rendezvous point was in the general area to the east of Yashiro Shima, and it
was in this area that I found the remnants of our flight. I pulled up along
side the Skipper and found that his plane had a huge hole in his port wing, and
one in the fuselage. He was leaking hydraulic fluid and his radio was gone.
Fortunately neither he nor Black had been seriously wounded. Tommy and Black
went to work with the blinker, and control was transferred to Lt.. Johnson, the
second division leader, who still had radio communication with the Force. Two
other planes joined up showing no battle damage. The rest of the Squadron's
planes were just not accounted for.
The flight back to the pickets was
a slow torturous affair with the main elements not able to go faster than the
slowest plane. When planes could no longer fly, or when they ran out of fuel,
they simply ditched. Those of us who were still airborne checked in with the
picket ships and got our vector to the task force. Looking at my watch, I noted
that I had been in the air a little over four hours.
Arriving at the
task force, I looked for the Ticonderoga, but could not locate her. In the
meantime, the Skipper and the other damaged planes made emergency landings on
any of the ships which had ready decks.
To the southeast , in a rain
squall, I noticed another group of ships and went racing in that direction.
After a 15 minute search, in the cover of rain squalls, was Task Force 38.3 and
the Ticonderoga. Getting into the landing pattern, I got a "Charlie" just in
time to see Lt. JG Wheeler catch a barrier, tear it up, and chew up the plane
in front of him, which had just landed. I circled twice more, but got a
wave-off each time because of a fouled deck.
It was now raining hard
and visibility was poor. Planes were zooming around, criss-crossing the landing
flight pattern in their frantic search for any ship with a ready deck.
With a growing sense of frustration, I picked up my mike and called,
"GINGER Base. This is 3-307 GINGER. Queen 10, Queen 10" (Indicating
that I only had about 10 gallons of fuel left.)
"I will relay your
message. Standby GINGER 3-307," came the calm voice from the ship.
I
made another pass at the deck, but the barrier was still torn up, so I banked
off to try and find any other carrier with a ready deck which would take me
aboard. I called the USS Randolph for permission to land, but was advised that
the landing signal officer was not at the ramp and was not available. Other
ships had ready decks but would still not take me aboard.
It was
pouring rain now, and over the air came the terse message,
"This is
GINGER base calling all GINGER planes. Circle above the ship. We are changing
course, trying to get out of this rain."
"Well, that does it", I told
Tommy over the intercom. "We don't have enough gas to circle, and I'm not going
down into that mess again. I'd rather take my chances on a water landing than
take a chance on a mid-air collision."
In resignation, I radioed,
"GINGER Base. This is 3-307 GINGER. I'm ditching.
"Roger, GINGER 3-307.
You are ditching. I will relay your message
 |
| Further
into the attack, the Hyuga is now suffering multiple hits from 1000 pound
bombs. Note the condition of the water around the ship. |
With my fuel gages now reading zero, I picked out a
destroyer in the outer screen and told Tommy, "Get out your Aldis lamp and send
the destroyer an SOS and get ready for ditching." I dipped my starboard wing so
Tommy could get a clear message to the bridge of the destroyer and then I
called back to him, "This is it, get ready for landing, I hope it's a soft one.
Pull your headset so you don't get tangled, and get out of your chute. See that
your straps are tight. Here we go. I'm pulling my headset."
I chopped
the throttle and put down full landing flaps. I was paralleling the course of
the destroyer but had too much speed. Instead of dropping in along side, I was
almost three quarters of a mile ahead of the ship when the plane slammed into
the ocean. For a moment I was in a state of panic. The plane tilted up on its
nose, but still had forward momentum. Water was pouring into the cockpit as I
struggled to release my safety belt. Then, like a cork bobbing out of the
depths, the plane returned to the surface and floated on top of the water.
Snapping off my safety belt and shoulder harness I jumped out onto the
wing. Tommy, already out, wanted to know if I wanted to inflate the raft.
"No", I said looking at the jagged edge of the flaps. "Let's go out on
the edge of the wing and wait until the plane sinks out from under us and we'll
cast off from there so that we won't inadvertently tear a hole in it."
The plane was now settling low in the water. The blades of the
propeller were bent back over the cowling. Tommy and I walked to the tip of the
wing, inflated the raft and waited until the plane started to sink out from
under us. Then, we simply stepped into the raft as the plane sunk, nose first.
The last thing I saw was the huge rounded tail, the painted white triangle
insignia, and the number, 206.
| Hyuga sunk at her mooring |
 |
By this time the destroyer was bearing down on us
hard. A group of sailors at the bow were standing by and threw us a line, but
neither of us could hang onto it. We had better luck with a line thrown to us
from mid ship. But in catching it, I was almost pulled out of the raft.
However, between Tommy and I, we finally managed to secure the line to the
raft. A cargo net was thrown over the side to assist us in climbing to the
deck, but neither of us had the strength to do so. Two sailors quickly climbed
over the railing and down the net to help us up to the deck. Then quickly
pulling up the cargo net, the USS Chauncey (DD-667) resumed its position in the
screen. Once aboard the USS Chauncey, we met the skipper and were then both
taken below where we were given a cursory examination and found to have
suffered no injuries. Only my shoulders hurt where the straps had cut into me
when we hit. A radioman came in for our names and other information to notify
the Squadron and the ship that we had been rescued and were alright.
The ship's log indicates that a total of 2 minutes 45 seconds had lapsed from
the time we crashed and were logged aboard the USS Chauncey.
Two days
later, Tommy and I were high-lined to the Ticonderoga for de-briefing. At this
time we found that the Hyuga had indeed been sent to the bottom (Even though
its decks were awash and she was still sitting upright, so shallow was its
anchorage. Later on a survey team inspected the bombed hulk and noted that
because of all of the holes, it had "...lost buoyancy... and sunk...").
So only five of the original thirteen planes that went to the target
made it back to the ship, and two of these were damaged in landing. Lost also
were two pilots and one crewman. The cost had been high, but the results had
been spectacular. |
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