It was then that the Yamato Yamato exploded. exploded.

There she blows!" someone yelled over the tactical frequency. Every pilot saw it, including Herb Houck, who had positioned his h.e.l.lcat so that his aerial camera could record the battleship's last minutes. He'd been watching Yamato Yamato capsize, settling beneath the waves, with crewmen still clinging like ants to her red-bottomed hull. In the water around her he saw rafts, flotsam, floating bodies, and the heads of swimmers. capsize, settling beneath the waves, with crewmen still clinging like ants to her red-bottomed hull. In the water around her he saw rafts, flotsam, floating bodies, and the heads of swimmers.

And then at 1423, she blew up. The fireball looked like a volcanic eruption, soaring a thousand feet above the surface. As the fireball dissipated, a black, mushroom-shaped cloud took its place, billowing a mile into the sky. The smoke column was seen by coast watchers more than a hundred miles away on the sh.o.r.e of Kyushu.

Later it would be theorized that Yamato Yamato's 90-degree list caused the sh.e.l.ls for her main batteries to slide in their magazine, hitting their fuses and exploding. The explosion sent thousands of pieces of shrapnel into the air, and the rain of debris killed most of the unlucky sailors swimming on the surface. The underwater concussion killed those near the submerged main deck. The swimmers unlucky enough to be near Yamato Yamato's raked smokestack were caught in the ma.s.sive suction created by the huge open funnel as the ship went under.

Kazuhiro f.u.k.u.moto's timing was perfect. Yamato Yamato exploded precisely in the tiny sliver of time while he was dropping to the sea. Many who had just splashed into the water were killed, their internal organs crushed by the concussion. Those close to the side of the ship died in the blast. f.u.k.u.moto hit the water, stunned but alive. exploded precisely in the tiny sliver of time while he was dropping to the sea. Many who had just splashed into the water were killed, their internal organs crushed by the concussion. Those close to the side of the ship died in the blast. f.u.k.u.moto hit the water, stunned but alive.

He had no time to rejoice. The sunken ship was moving slowly forward, and he was sucked into the whirlpool created by the still-revolving 16-foot-long bronze propeller blades.

f.u.k.u.moto couldn't free himself from the tug of the whirlpool. For the second time in ten minutes, he was about to drown. He tried to take a breath, but sucked in a lungful of seawater. With darkness closing around him, f.u.k.u.moto knew he was doomed.

Mitsuru Yoshida was clawing his way up from the depths. Because he'd gone into the water from the bridge, he had been shielded from the worst of the blast. The bodies of the men on the surface absorbed most of the falling debris, but Yoshida received a gash in his head from underwater shrapnel. In shock, his lungs nearly bursting, he clawed his way to the surface.

Naoyoshi Ishida leaped from the starboard rails as Yamato Yamato was capsizing. He was sucked into one of the whirlpools, struggling to breathe, unable to claw his way to the surface. As he was suffocating, knowing that he was being dragged to the bottom along with the battleship, he had a vision. He saw the face of his newborn son, whom he had cradled for the first and last time during his visit before the was capsizing. He was sucked into one of the whirlpools, struggling to breathe, unable to claw his way to the surface. As he was suffocating, knowing that he was being dragged to the bottom along with the battleship, he had a vision. He saw the face of his newborn son, whom he had cradled for the first and last time during his visit before the Yamato Yamato left Kure. Ishida had been unable to say farewell to his wife and child. Now it was too late. left Kure. Ishida had been unable to say farewell to his wife and child. Now it was too late.

The vision gave him new strength. Clawing madly, he fought his way up through the debris and gushing whirlpool and popped to the surface. The underwater explosion had burst an eardrum, and a piece of shrapnel had snapped a tendon in Ishida's hip. Floating in the oil slick, he dodged machine gun bullets and clung to floating objects, all the while keeping the image of his newborn son firmly fixed in his mind.

Another one still alive was Kazuhiro f.u.k.u.moto. Somehow the eighteen-year-old sailor had been spat out of the whirlpool around Yamato Yamato's giant propeller blade. Submerged and barely conscious, he had sensed light and air above him and thrashed his way to the surface. In a daze, he found that he could breathe and still swim. He spotted a wooden timber floating nearby, and he clung to it while he gathered his senses.

The Yamato Yamato was gone. There was nothing in sight except an immense column of smoke. As far as f.u.k.u.moto could tell, he was the only one still alive in the tossing sea. Then a wave raised him up, and he saw other heads bobbing on the surface. For nearly two more hours f.u.k.u.moto clung to his timber until he heard an officer calling for the survivors to come together. f.u.k.u.moto was able to climb onto an emergency raft with a couple dozen others. With the overloaded raft nearly submerged, the exhausted survivors had to turn away other struggling swimmers. was gone. There was nothing in sight except an immense column of smoke. As far as f.u.k.u.moto could tell, he was the only one still alive in the tossing sea. Then a wave raised him up, and he saw other heads bobbing on the surface. For nearly two more hours f.u.k.u.moto clung to his timber until he heard an officer calling for the survivors to come together. f.u.k.u.moto was able to climb onto an emergency raft with a couple dozen others. With the overloaded raft nearly submerged, the exhausted survivors had to turn away other struggling swimmers.

As an officer, Mitsuru Yoshida took charge of a party of ten swimmers, ordering them to gather pieces of flotsam to fashion a raft. The oil-slicked water stung their eyes and clogged their throats and windpipes. Many had used all their strength to escape the whirlpools and explosions. Now they were unable to hang on to the floating objects. They gave up and slipped beneath the waves.

The Yamato Yamato might be gone, but the enemy was still there. The sprawling oil slick served as a marker on the ocean for where the ship had sunk-and where her surviving crewmen were floating. The warplanes came swooping back down, one after the other, leaving long white tracks of .50-caliber machine gun fire spurting across the water. For twenty minutes they raked the survivors of might be gone, but the enemy was still there. The sprawling oil slick served as a marker on the ocean for where the ship had sunk-and where her surviving crewmen were floating. The warplanes came swooping back down, one after the other, leaving long white tracks of .50-caliber machine gun fire spurting across the water. For twenty minutes they raked the survivors of Yamato Yamato and and Yahagi Yahagi and the sunken destroyers. and the sunken destroyers.

Ducking bullets, watching the heads of their comrades splattering like melons, the swimmers felt a mixture of terror and hatred. It was not a surprise that the enemy would shoot them in the water. Given the chance, they would do the same. For some, the hail of bullets had an energizing effect. Hating the Americans gave them the spark to stay alive.

The destroyer Fuyutsuki Fuyutsuki hove into view, signaling with a flag that the men in the water should hold out just a little while longer. The enemy airplanes were still in the area. Finally the destroyer slid up to them and put down rope ladders. The men in the water were black with oil, barely able to maintain a grip on the ropes. Several made it to the top, only to lose consciousness, fall back into the water, and drown. hove into view, signaling with a flag that the men in the water should hold out just a little while longer. The enemy airplanes were still in the area. Finally the destroyer slid up to them and put down rope ladders. The men in the water were black with oil, barely able to maintain a grip on the ropes. Several made it to the top, only to lose consciousness, fall back into the water, and drown.

Mitsuru Yoshida was one of the last to climb aboard Fuyutsuki Fuyutsuki. Smeared with blood and oil, he summoned his last ounce of strength to haul himself up the rope ladder.

With darkness coming, another still-intact destroyer, Yukikaze Yukikaze, joined the search for survivors. One of those hauled aboard was Lt. Naoyoshi Ishida, nearly delirious from his injuries. Another was the young sailor Kazuhiro f.u.k.u.moto. Faltering at the top of the rope ladder, f.u.k.u.moto was slapped on both cheeks by an officer to keep him conscious long enough to climb over the side. The sailor stumbled belowdecks, where the crew gave him blankets and warm wine.

Four hours had pa.s.sed since Yamato Yamato blew up. Nearly 4,000 men who had sailed aboard the battleship and her escorts were dead. Of blew up. Nearly 4,000 men who had sailed aboard the battleship and her escorts were dead. Of Yamato Yamato's crew, only 269 had been saved, and Kazuhiro f.u.k.u.moto was one of them. He would spend the rest of his life wondering why.

Of the ten warships that had set out with the Second Fleet task force, six were still afloat, but barely. The destroyers Isokaze Isokaze and and Kasumi Kasumi were shattered hulks, dead in the water and awash with blood. were shattered hulks, dead in the water and awash with blood.

At 1655, after removing 15 officers and 270 men from Kasumi, Fuyutsuki Kasumi, Fuyutsuki put two torpedoes into the destroyer and sent her to the bottom. Later that evening, put two torpedoes into the destroyer and sent her to the bottom. Later that evening, Yukikaze Yukikaze came alongside the wreck of came alongside the wreck of Isokaze Isokaze. After off-loading the still-living crew members, she tried to scuttle the destroyer with a torpedo, but it pa.s.sed beneath the hull without exploding. Isokaze Isokaze finally pumped sh.e.l.ls at point-blank range, leaving the derelict with her dead crewmen blazing like a torch on the darkened ocean. finally pumped sh.e.l.ls at point-blank range, leaving the derelict with her dead crewmen blazing like a torch on the darkened ocean.

Meanwhile, another destroyer, Suzutsuki Suzutsuki, had gone missing during the aerial attack and was presumed sunk. Not until the next morning did the shattered destroyer appear off the coast of Kyushu, laboriously steaming backward to protect her destroyed bow.

The search for survivors ended, and the remaining warships of the task force threaded their way back through the picket line of American submarines to the base at Sasebo. Yukikaze Yukikaze suffered the indignity of two more torpedo hits from lurking American submarines. Neither torpedo exploded, but the thunk of the weapons slamming into the ship only further tw.a.n.ged the nerves of the traumatized survivors. suffered the indignity of two more torpedo hits from lurking American submarines. Neither torpedo exploded, but the thunk of the weapons slamming into the ship only further tw.a.n.ged the nerves of the traumatized survivors.

That night the message reached the Combined Fleet Headquarters: Operation Ten-Go was officially ended.

23

DUMBO AND MIGHTY MOUSE DUMBO AND MIGHTY MOUSE EAST CHINA SEA

APRIL 7, 1945

Their call signs were "Dog Eight" and "Dog Ten." Lieutenants d.i.c.k Simms and Jim Young were the pilots of the two Martin PBM Mariners of VPB-21 that had been shadowing the j.a.panese task force. Since early morning the big flying boats had flitted in and out of the clouds, radioing position reports, staying just out of range of the antiaircraft guns on the ships below. When the strike planes showed up to hit the task force, the PBMs remained on station as "Dumbos"-search and rescue aircraft-so named from the Walt Disney cartoon featuring a baby flying elephant.

The Mariner was a gull-winged, two-engine flying boat with a crew of seven and an on-station time of fourteen hours. It was both a lethal weapons platform-it could carry 8,000 pounds of bombs and torpedoes and had eight .50-caliber guns-and a sitting duck. Like all flying boats, the lumbering PBM was slow and easy to hit.

In the hierarchy of military aviation, being a Dumbo pilot didn't carry the same cachet as flying a fighter. Dumbo duty was tedious and often dangerous. When the PBM crew located an air-crewman in the water, they would keep a vigil overhead, dropping a float light or a raft, flying cover until a destroyer or submarine showed up. When necessary, they made an open ocean landing, a high-risk maneuver in heavy seas. After hauling the airman aboard, the Dumbo pilot would coax the flying boat back into the air, slamming through waves and troughs, praying that the hull didn't split apart.

Dog Eight and Dog Ten were ringside witnesses to the epic sea battle playing out beneath them. Their greatest danger was collision with the strike planes buzzing in and out of clouds and rain showers. They had watched the grand finale-the pulsing fireball that leaped up from the dying Yamato Yamato. The cruiser Yahagi Yahagi was already gone, and so were several of the destroyers. The Mariner crews could see j.a.panese survivors in the oil-slicked water clinging to pieces of flotsam. was already gone, and so were several of the destroyers. The Mariner crews could see j.a.panese survivors in the oil-slicked water clinging to pieces of flotsam.

As the strike planes withdrew, a Yorktown Yorktown h.e.l.ldiver pilot radioed that he had spotted a yellow life raft-the kind used by American airmen. He didn't know if anyone was in it or not. h.e.l.ldiver pilot radioed that he had spotted a yellow life raft-the kind used by American airmen. He didn't know if anyone was in it or not.

Simms and Young, the Dumbo pilots, went down to take a look. At first they saw only the heads of j.a.panese sailors. Nearby were three enemy destroyers, still afloat and presumably able to fire their guns. Crewmen inside each Dumbo scanned the water with binoculars.

Then someone spotted it. There was was a yellow raft, and a lone figure was in it, waving like crazy. While d.i.c.k Simms, flying Dog Eight, made a decoy pa.s.s by the nearest destroyer, drawing fire but taking no hits, Young set up for the water landing in Dog Ten. a yellow raft, and a lone figure was in it, waving like crazy. While d.i.c.k Simms, flying Dog Eight, made a decoy pa.s.s by the nearest destroyer, drawing fire but taking no hits, Young set up for the water landing in Dog Ten.

The sea conditions were on the ragged edge of what the PBM could handle-wave crests 25 feet apart, with a heaving swell. If the PBM smacked directly into a wave, the hull could be crushed or a wing would snap. There would be eight men in the water instead of one.

Young leveled out over the waves, floated for a moment while he looked for the right place between crests, then settled the flying boat into the churning sea. Still in one piece, Dog Ten wallowed through the water toward the tiny figure in the yellow raft.

Bill Delaney had been afraid they were going to leave him. Numb from the frigid water, he kept waving until, to his immense relief, he saw one of the Dumbos turn back and land. Now it was plowing like a great seabird toward him, rising into view on the tops of the swells, disappearing between them. Delaney had broken open a second dye marker. Now the stuff was spread around his raft like fluorescent goo. n.o.body could miss it, including the j.a.panese.

The Dumbo made two pa.s.ses at the raft. Each time the wind and waves caused the pilot to miss. On the third try, the pilot cut the engines and let the seaplane drift toward the raft. When the PBM had floated to within twenty yards, Delaney took matters into his own hands. He dived off the raft and tried to paddle the rest of the way.

He couldn't make it. Before he drowned, two Dumbo crewmen managed to snag the floundering pilot with a boat hook and drag him aboard.

Meanwhile, the closest j.a.panese destroyer was taking a renewed interest in the operation. Plumes of sh.e.l.lfire were working their way toward the Dumbo.

Firing up Dog Ten's engines, Jim Young swung the Mariner into the wind. Normally, an open-sea takeoff in a heavily loaded Mariner was a close contest between machine and nature. But Dog Ten had just been equipped with a new device called JATO-jet-a.s.sisted takeoff. Two pairs of solid-fuel rocket bottles were installed on either side of the aft fuselage.

Young shoved up the throttles and ignited the JATO bottles. Spewing a comet's tail of fire and smoke, the big seaplane surged through the swells, slamming into each wave, finally skipping off the top of a swell and rocketing into the air.

Bill Delaney was one of the lucky ones. Several parachutes had been observed descending in the battle zone, but only a few airmen had been found alive. Tilley and Mawhinney, the crewmen Delaney had last seen bailing out of his Avenger, were never found.

The warbirds headed back to their carriers. The only ones to miss the party were the airmen from Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k. Delayed in getting airborne, they hadn't joined the ma.s.sed force from Ess.e.x, Bunker Hill, Bataan Ess.e.x, Bunker Hill, Bataan, and Cabot Cabot. Heading off on their own, they milled around the East China Sea, never finding the Yamato Yamato task force. task force.

The strike group from Intrepid Intrepid didn't bother trying to rejoin in a ma.s.s formation. The Corsairs, h.e.l.ldivers, and Avengers segregated themselves into separate flocks, each flying at its best fuel-conserving speed for the long trip home. didn't bother trying to rejoin in a ma.s.s formation. The Corsairs, h.e.l.ldivers, and Avengers segregated themselves into separate flocks, each flying at its best fuel-conserving speed for the long trip home.

Droning southward over the gray ocean, the pilots had time for reflection. By some miracle, Intrepid Intrepid's group had made it through the strike without a single loss. And each of them had been a witness to history: they had watched the great battleship Yamato Yamato go to her grave. go to her grave.

For Ens. Jim Clifford, Will Rawie's wingman, there was no chance to savor the moment. Thirty feet away, his skipper was giving him urgent hand signals. Rawie's radio had failed. He was signaling that he wanted Clifford to lead them back to the carrier.

The twenty-four-year-old ensign's heart sank. Bombing battleships was one thing; leading a formation back to the ship was another. In the rush to launch for the Yamato Yamato mission, Clifford hadn't paid any attention to the navigational details of the briefing. h.e.l.l, he was a wingman, not a leader. Clifford had no idea where the mission, Clifford hadn't paid any attention to the navigational details of the briefing. h.e.l.l, he was a wingman, not a leader. Clifford had no idea where the Intrepid Intrepid was. was.

Neither, as it turned out, did the other flight leaders. Clifford could hear them on the tactical frequency asking for a heading back to the carrier. Then through the chatter came the voice of someone who sounded like he knew what he was doing. A good heading would be about 165 degrees.

It was good enough for Clifford. Off he went, his commanding officer on his wing, the rest of Intrepid Intrepid's Corsairs in trail. Weaving through the clouds, peering down at the vastness of the Pacific, Jim Clifford prayed that the heading would get them close enough to spot the fleet. If not, they were all screwed. They would run out of gas and ditch in the ocean.

Two hours pa.s.sed. Clifford's b.u.t.t hurt. His arms and legs were stiff. There was no sign of the sprawling task force that they had left behind nearly five hours ago. Clifford sweated and prayed while the fuel gauge continued a relentless decline toward zero. He could feel Rawie's silent gaze from the c.o.c.kpit thirty feet away.

After what seemed an eternity, he heard something in his headphones-a faint dash-dot signal. It was the ship's YE homing transmitter. The signal couldn't be picked up at a range of more than about sixty miles. It was the most glorious sound Jim Clifford had ever heard in his life. Intrepid Intrepid was dead ahead, ten minutes' flying time away. was dead ahead, ten minutes' flying time away.

Each of the Corsairs plunked safely back down on Intrepid Intrepid's deck. Minutes later, the fatigued but adrenaline-charged pilots were jabbering and gesturing with their hands in the ready room, reliving the dramatic mission. They had been airborne five hours and fifty minutes, longer than most had ever flown in a single sortie. Will Rawie was telling everyone who would listen how his wingman, a lowly ensign, had led them back to the ship with such uncanny skill. It was amazing.

Jim Clifford had the sense to smile and shut up. It was was amazing. He wasn't about to tell them that it was pure blind luck. amazing. He wasn't about to tell them that it was pure blind luck.

While the battle for Yamato Yamato was playing out in the East China Sea, the skies around Okinawa were filled with kamikazes. It was the second wave of Admiral Ugaki's initial was playing out in the East China Sea, the skies around Okinawa were filled with kamikazes. It was the second wave of Admiral Ugaki's initial kikusui kikusui, but on a diminished scale.

Like their brethren of the day before, the tokko tokko warriors of the second wave were drawn to the same targets-the destroyers on the picket stations. And as they had before, the carrier-based CAP fighters pounced on them, splashing five before they could reach the picket ships. warriors of the second wave were drawn to the same targets-the destroyers on the picket stations. And as they had before, the carrier-based CAP fighters pounced on them, splashing five before they could reach the picket ships.

One kamikaze managed to slip through the gunfire and crash into the destroyer Bennett Bennett, killing three men and wounding eighteen. Another slammed into the destroyer escort Wesson Wesson on her screening station north of Ie Shima. on her screening station north of Ie Shima.

To the northwest of Okinawa, another handful of kamikazes found Task Force 58's fast carriers. Only one, an Aichi D4Y Judy dive-bomber, survived the CAP fighter screen and then the antiaircraft fire from the surface. Spotting the great gray shape of the carrier Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k, the kamikaze swept in on the carrier's bow at such a low angle that the propeller chewed through the port catapult before the crash. The Judy's 250-kilogram bomb detached, smashing into the flight deck just aft of the forward mid-deck elevator.

What happened next was becoming a familiar scenario. The bomb punched straight through Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k's wooden flight deck, exploding in the forward hangar bay, killing every man in the s.p.a.ce. Fueled and armed warplanes in the bay burst into flame and exploded. Topside, the hulk of the shattered dive-bomber caromed down the flight deck and slammed into a pack of nineteen parked airplanes, setting three ablaze and starting an inferno on the windswept deck.

Hanc.o.c.k was engulfed in flames belowdecks and topside. Her skipper, Capt. Robert F. Hickey, ordered a hard turn to starboard in a desperate attempt to slide the burning airplanes over the side. The fires on the hangar bay extinguished all the carrier's lights and filled the darkened compartments with deadly smoke. was engulfed in flames belowdecks and topside. Her skipper, Capt. Robert F. Hickey, ordered a hard turn to starboard in a desperate attempt to slide the burning airplanes over the side. The fires on the hangar bay extinguished all the carrier's lights and filled the darkened compartments with deadly smoke.

By 1345-a little more than an hour after the attack-Hanc.o.c.k's crews had the blazing airplanes shoved overboard and the fires extinguished. It was eloquent testimony to how the U.S. Navy's damage control skills had evolved in the past three years.

The kamikaze strike wasn't the only indignity that Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k would endure that day. While the ship's crew was fighting the blazes, her air group was groping through the clouds over the East China Sea, searching for the would endure that day. While the ship's crew was fighting the blazes, her air group was groping through the clouds over the East China Sea, searching for the Yamato Yamato. They never found her. At the end of their fuel, they were forced to jettison their bombs and torpedoes and return to Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k.

But instead of a ready deck for landing, the airmen were greeted with a gaping hole in the flight deck and an ominous cloud of smoke. They orbited overhead, conserving their last gallons of fuel, praying that the damage control crews could patch the hole.

They did. At 1630, after a down-to-the-wire feat of damage repair, Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k was bringing her aircraft back aboard. was bringing her aircraft back aboard.

There was no celebrating aboard Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k that evening. Smoke and the smell of death wafted through the pa.s.sageways. Sixty-three crewmen were dead and eighty-two more wounded, mostly from burns. that evening. Smoke and the smell of death wafted through the pa.s.sageways. Sixty-three crewmen were dead and eighty-two more wounded, mostly from burns.

Hanc.o.c.k was able to continue operations for another day, but the port catapult was demolished and the forward elevator inoperable. The damage could not be repaired on station. was able to continue operations for another day, but the port catapult was demolished and the forward elevator inoperable. The damage could not be repaired on station. Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k was detached from her task group and sent to Ulithi, then further eastward to Pearl Harbor. was detached from her task group and sent to Ulithi, then further eastward to Pearl Harbor.

One more carrier was out of the fight. By the time Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k returned, the battle for Okinawa would be history. returned, the battle for Okinawa would be history.

It was a bitter pill for Intrepid Intrepid's ambitious air group commander, Johnny Hyland, to miss the historic Yamato Yamato strike. That morning when the mission was being hurriedly put together, Hyland was already airborne on a fighter sweep over Tokuno, in the north Ryukyus. By default, group command of the strike. That morning when the mission was being hurriedly put together, Hyland was already airborne on a fighter sweep over Tokuno, in the north Ryukyus. By default, group command of the Yamato Yamato attack had fallen to Will Rawie. attack had fallen to Will Rawie.

But the day wasn't a complete loss for Hyland. While he was covering the Corsairs strafing the j.a.panese airfield, he glimpsed the silhouette of a low-flying Val dive-bomber headed south. Pouncing like a hawk, Hyland gunned the Val down with a single burst from his .50-calibers, chalking up his second air-to-air victory of the campaign.

The CAG wasn't the only one in the group to score. Ens. Raymond "Freddie" Lanthier, while strafing a target at Tokuno, spotted an incoming Nakajima Tojo fighter. The Tojo was a fast mover, nearly as capable at climbing and diving as the Corsair. Attacking from below, Lanthier put enough rounds into the Tojo's engine to send the fighter flaming into the sea.

Another senior officer who missed the Yamato Yamato battle was Lt. Cmdr. Wally Clarke, skipper of the VF-10 Grim Reapers. Clarke had led another twelve-plane strike on the airfields in the northern Ryukyus. Despite heavy antiaircraft fire, Clarke's fighters strafed the field, destroyed eight parked airplanes, and withdrew to the south without losing an airplane-until they were en route home. battle was Lt. Cmdr. Wally Clarke, skipper of the VF-10 Grim Reapers. Clarke had led another twelve-plane strike on the airfields in the northern Ryukyus. Despite heavy antiaircraft fire, Clarke's fighters strafed the field, destroyed eight parked airplanes, and withdrew to the south without losing an airplane-until they were en route home.

Clarke's wingman was one of the Tail End Charlies, a short, youngish-looking ensign named Don Croy, whom the squadron nicknamed "Mighty Mouse." A few days earlier, Mighty Mouse had had a close call. On a strike over Minami, he'd taken a hit and ditched his Corsair dangerously close to the enemy island. After several hours in his raft, he had been rescued by a daring OS2U floatplane pilot.

Now Croy was flying close formation on Clarke's wing while the skipper weaved through the towering c.u.mulus that obscured most of the East China Sea. In a moment of inattention, Croy didn't see Clarke's Corsair banking into him.

What happened next was never clear. Clarke's propeller chewed into Croy's wing. An instant later Mighty Mouse was spinning uncontrollably toward the sea. Clarke's broken propeller was shaking his airplane so violently he had to shut the engine down. He glided to a water landing 4,000 yards behind a destroyer. Minutes later, the tin can crew was hauling him aboard.

But not his wingman. The destroyer sailors told Clarke they had witnessed the whole thing-the collision, the Corsairs dropping to the ocean-but no one saw a parachute. Mighty Mouse had disappeared without a trace.

Still slumped in his padded chair in Bunker Hill Bunker Hill's flag plot, Mitscher received the reports from the strike groups. When the strike was finished and the last warplanes had landed safely aboard their carriers, the Bald Eagle scribbled a message of congratulations to all the air groups. They had achieved a glorious victory, he wrote. He was proud of them.

Each strike group had brought back rolls of film doc.u.menting the attack. As quickly as the film could be processed, prints were being rushed to the flag bridge on Bunker Hill Bunker Hill. With his ever-present cigarette dangling from his mouth, the admiral peered at the still-wet black-and-white images.

It was all there in the photos. Mitscher's gamble had paid off. The grainy images provided the ultimate proof of the airplane's dominance not only of the sky but of the sea. The age of the battleship was over. Mitscher should have been reveling in his moment of triumph.

But he wasn't. The Bald Eagle was not his old self. His face was more haggard than ever, his eyes red-rimmed from the undiagnosed medical event of the night before. Mitscher took one more look at the photos, then rose from his chair. Without comment, he returned to his cabin and went back to bed.

Aboard New Mexico New Mexico, Adm. Raymond Spruance was also digesting the reports. Although he'd gotten over the disappointment at missing out on a last great sea battle, he wasn't ready to recall Deyo's surface force, which was still steaming northward to engage the enemy. Four destroyers from the j.a.panese task force were still afloat, leaving the remote possibility that there might still be a surface action.

Rear Adm. Mort Deyo, on his flagship Tennessee Tennessee, was accepting the fact that the d.a.m.ned airedales had again stolen the glory. That night, when the recall order finally came from Spruance, he sent off a jovial note to Mitscher. It was too bad, he wrote, that the surface sailors wouldn't have "j.a.panese scrambled eggs for breakfast."

A battle with the Yamato Yamato task force would have been a glorious last hurrah for Deyo and his beloved battlewagons. The next day they would go back to their sh.o.r.e bombardment duties off Okinawa. task force would have been a glorious last hurrah for Deyo and his beloved battlewagons. The next day they would go back to their sh.o.r.e bombardment duties off Okinawa.

For Mitscher's airedales, the destruction of the Yamato Yamato and five of her screening ships had not come without a price. Ten warplanes-four h.e.l.ldivers, three Avengers, and three h.e.l.lcats-had been lost. Four pilots and eight aircrewmen were missing and presumed dead. Several, including eyewitness Bill Delaney, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the enemy's midst by daring Dumbo crews. Still, the losses were minuscule when measured against those of the previous great air-sea battles. Mitscher's airmen had won a spectacular victory. and five of her screening ships had not come without a price. Ten warplanes-four h.e.l.ldivers, three Avengers, and three h.e.l.lcats-had been lost. Four pilots and eight aircrewmen were missing and presumed dead. Several, including eyewitness Bill Delaney, had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the enemy's midst by daring Dumbo crews. Still, the losses were minuscule when measured against those of the previous great air-sea battles. Mitscher's airmen had won a spectacular victory.

Now Spruance could return his attention to the bigger picture. The Yamato Yamato encounter was dramatic, satisfying, perhaps even historically significant. But the pragmatic admiral knew the truth: it was a side show. The real battle for Okinawa was just beginning. encounter was dramatic, satisfying, perhaps even historically significant. But the pragmatic admiral knew the truth: it was a side show. The real battle for Okinawa was just beginning.

Aboard Eldorado Eldorado, Kelly Turner was in an ebullient mood. A week had pa.s.sed since the landings on Okinawa, and as far as the Alligator was concerned, things were going exceedingly well. The Yamato Yamato and five of her entourage lay at the bottom of the East China Sea. The greatest wave of kamikazes ever seen had been gunned down like coveys of quail. Buckner's Tenth Army was meeting only sporadic resistance in its march across Okinawa. and five of her entourage lay at the bottom of the East China Sea. The greatest wave of kamikazes ever seen had been gunned down like coveys of quail. Buckner's Tenth Army was meeting only sporadic resistance in its march across Okinawa.

Turner couldn't resist sending a jocular message to his boss, the Pacific Fleet commander in chief. "I may be crazy," he signaled Nimitz, "but it looks like the j.a.panese have quit the war, at least in this sector."

Nimitz wasn't buying it. From his Guam headquarters, he signaled back, "Delete all after 'crazy.'"

As it turned out, Nimitz's instincts were correct.

Ens. Donald "Mighty Mouse" Croy, killed in a midair collision, April 7, 1945. (U.S. NAVY)