6/20/44: Mission Beyond Darkness
- Oystera6
- Jun 22
- 14 min read
All men are brothers, like the seas throughout the world; So why do winds and waves clash so fiercely everywhere? — Emperor Hirohito, 6 September 1941, Imperial Military Conference. Paraphrasing a poem written by Emperor Meiji, his grandfather, prior to the start of the Russo-Japan war in 1904
As Princeton’s pilots reflected on the previous days’ momentous events, excitement and perhaps a measure of anxiety regarding what the coming day would hold, competed with their need for physical and mental rest.
Chief among the unknowns was the fact that early on the 19th, 500 miles to their west, American submariners had opened the battle by targeting Japanese carriers Taiho and Shōkaku.
At approximately 0900, U.S. submarine Albacore (SS-218) was able to achieve a firing position and send 6 torpedoes at Taiho as she was launching what the Task Force FDO’s would label Raid II. According to Clark G. Reynolds in his book The Fast Carriers:
At 0910 Warrant Officer Saki Komatsu, taking off from flagship Taiho, spotted a torpedo heading straight toward his ship, whereupon he immediately crash-dived into it, taking his own life but exploding the “fish.”
One of Albacore’s torpedoes hit Taiho slightly forward of her starboard elevator which caused it to jam halfway between the flight deck and hangar bay and, more significantly, cracked open an aviation gasoline storage tank, flooding lower compartments with a mixture of fuel, oil and seawater. Damage control teams quickly repaired the elevator and flight operations were resumed.
Three hours later, around mid-day on the 19th, USS Cavalla (SS-244), which had been shadowing the Japanese fleet as it approached the Marianas, loosed a spread of torpedoes at Japanese carrier Shōkaku. The message sent later from Cavalla to Admiral Nimitz at Pearl Harbor and logged in the Greybook stated:
“CAVALLA reports 3 hits from 6 torpedoes fired in [sic] a SHOKAKU Class carrier at…position 11-50 N, 137-52 E (about 500 miles W. of GUAM). The CV was accompanied by 2 ATAGO Class cruisers, and at least 3 DD’s; course 115, speed 25. CAVALLA reports hearing 4 terrific explosions in direction of attack 2 1/2 hours later; believed CV was sunk.”
What the Greybook does not include is the incredible bravery of Cavalla and her crew. Her torpedo wakes had been spotted by IJN escorts, which swarmed to the attack:
Meanwhile, Cavalla was being hammered by over 106 depth charges from three Japanese destroyers over a three-hour period, several causing serious damage. In her emergency dive, the sub actually exceeded her test depth by 100 feet before recovering, at which point the main air induction trunk flooded, adding about 15 tons of water to the boat, along with additional flooding in her forward torpedo room bilges, making her difficult to control. Three of her four sonar sets were flooded, leaving her with limited ability to track the destroyers.
It was just as well that Japanese pilots continued to be martyred by American Naval Aviators, because thanks to Cavalla and Albacore the ships they hoped to return to were rapidly ceasing to exist.
Cavalla’s report was indeed accurate and upon return the few Shōkaku pilots who had survived the initial clash with the American navy found the ship they had launched from only a few hours before on fire and listing to port. After about an hour of attempting to fight fires, Shōkaku, veteran of Pearl Harbor, Coral Sea and Santa Cruz, rolled over and disappeared, taking her flight deck and 1272 men out of the fight.
Meanwhile, after 6 hours of attempting to isolate and repair fuel leaks, Taiho suffered a massive, fuel vapor-induced detonation* which blew apart a significant portion of the starboard side of her forward hangar deck and, more seriously, opened a gaping hole in the ship’s bottom. For a time fires were isolated in her bow but after approximately and hour they progressed aft, sealing her fate. Most reports indicate the loss of some 1500 of her 2200 men. Interestingly, Taiho’s sinking would only be confirmed after the interrogation of a Japanese POW almost 2 months later.
By late afternoon on the 19th, 5th Fleet Commander Admiral Spruance aboard USS Indianapolis, had made the decision to keep TG 58.4 tethered to Saipan in support of Marine invasion forces, but delegating to Admiral Mitscher responsibility of pursuing the Japanese fleet as he saw fit.
And so, on 20 June the War Diary records that “At 0400 ComTaskForce 58 ordered all carriers to hold strike groups on deck until search aircraft make contact with enemy surface units.”
At 0524 all carriers turned east into the wind and commenced launching search and patrol aircraft. Princeton contributed 4 Avengers which would proceed west and 4 Hellcats for overhead CAP. Just prior to local sunrise at 0608, and with the launch complete, Task Groups 58.1, 58.2 and 58.3 completed a starboard turn to fleet course 260˚, speed 18 knots, their views transitioning from the peaceful glory of an actual rising sun to the determined pursuit of its opposite.
As the American fleet churned west, Japanese snoopers continued to sacrifice themselves in order to send position reports back to their fleet commanders before being destroyed by American combat air patrols.
“At 0725 USS LEXINGTON search plane reported having shot down one Japanese type “JAKE” seaplane.”
“At 1115 CAP from USS CABOT reported having shot down one Japanese VMB, type BETTY.”
“At 1258 CAP from USS BATAAN reported having shot down one Japanese VMB, type BETTY.”
In the midst of this high stakes game of cat and mouse, from morning to late afternoon Princeton would conduct 4 launch and recovery cycles consisting of 8 fighters for overhead defense and 4 bombers for search to the west. This allowed her to maintain roughly 17 Hellcats and 5 Avengers in a ready condition to attack what remained of the Japanese fleet, per Admiral Mitscher’s direction.
As the 65-ship American armada plowed on, watch standers remained vigilant.
“At 1425 Task Group 58.2 reported sighting a periscope in the water bearing 240˚, distant 2 miles from USS BUNKER HILL and at 1432 reported sighting a white object in the water bearing 290˚, distant 18 miles from this Task Group.”
And as always, operational accidents were ever present.
“At 1452 one VT from USS SAN JACINTO crashed into water on launching.”
The War Diary notes at 1525 that fleet course was adjusted from due west to 320˚ and fleet speed increased to 23 knots. Someone knew something and sure enough, it appeared the Japanese fleet was attempting to cut its losses and make a getaway.
“At 1545 received word from PBM search plane that units of the Japanese fleet had been sighted in Latitude 15˚ 02’ N, Longitude 135˚ 25’ E, on course 270, speed 20 knots.”
Recall that at this point in the war, the Navy had trained and qualified only a select few pilots for night carrier operations.
Recall also that a mere 3 months ago, while Princeton was anchored at Espiritu Santo, Air Group 23 had received 11 replacement pilots, straight from stateside training units, each of whom had a grand total of ZERO carrier landings.
There is a saying — generally accepted to have originated in the European trenches of WWI — that military life is months of boredom punctuated by moments of terror. Imagine you are one of these young men and you now have three months of operations, a smattering of combat hops and perhaps a few dozen day carrier landings in your logbook. You are getting more comfortable flying around the boat, but you understand you still have an awful lot to learn. Today you have been sitting in the Ready Room on alert status smoking, playing cards or “acey deucey” and wondering if, despite your efforts to hide it, your peers have the same pit in their stomachs. The more experienced guys however, are impatient, some even eager, to get cracking and go after “the Japs.” While bantering between mugs of coffee, you anxiously anticipate the click of a microphone on the squawk box through which will come the shouted words: “Pilots man your airplanes!” You can’t stop looking at the clock, dismayed with each glance that only a few minutes have passed since your previous look. Ever so slowly, you begin to entertain the possibility — maybe even the hope — that it may be getting too late in the day and the strike will be delayed until tomorrow, or perhaps not take place at all. Because surely, we will not be sent against an entire Japanese fleet only to be expected to face the equally terrifying reality of landing on this little boat at night!ss
Within minutes of the PBM location report a message was received from ComTaskForce 58 and noted in the bridge log:
“All carriers in this task group were ordered to stand by to launch deck load strikes which would probably be recovered after dark (my emphasis).”
With that statement, one of Naval Aviation’s most famous, some say infamous, episodes began to unfold.
“At 1552 received information that Japanese fleet was disposed in three groups and consisted of battleships, carriers, cruisers, destroyers, and oilers. ComTaskForce 58 ordered enemy carriers as priority targets for attack.”
Just prior to 1600 hours, Princeton was ordered to ready its strike package to launch with the second attack group. The first wave began launching shortly after the fleet turned into the wind at 1623. By 1637 TG 58.3 strikers from Enterprise, Lexington and San Jacinto were airborne “at which time fleet course changed left to 315˚ and fleet speed changed to 24 knots in order to close the enemy and lessen the distance for returning strike aircraft.”
Between the three Task Groups, 58.1, 58.2 and 58.3, a total of 411 airmen in 226 aircraft had been launched in the first wave and sent to attack the Japanese fleet, thought to be approximately 230 miles to the northwest. The time of launch and the distance, which actually turned out to be almost 300 miles, guaranteed that surviving aircraft would be extremely low on fuel and returning in darkness.
In the Ready Room aboard Princeton, tension mounted. Second wave pilots began to mentally prepare for combat while coming to grips with the proposition that they may have to find, and then attack, what would be a blacked out enemy fleet, and then return and land back aboard ship. They would have to accomplish these feats, none of which had ever been attempted by even one of them, while enveloped in the the ink-black void** only a night on a lightless ocean can produce.
And then, proof that the boredom/terror maxim was real:
“At 1658 received orders from ComTaskGroup 58.3 that second strike was cancelled and that all VT and VB should be struck below and debombed.”
Admiral Mitscher realized that it was one thing to ask the first wave to attack the Japanese in daylight and return in the dark, but an entirely different prospect to ask the second wave to do the near impossible.
With this message, while there was likely a feeling of disappointment for some, I suspect there was also a subtle exhale of deliverance among the aviators of Air Group 23. Whether they outwardly acknowledged it or not, they must have known they had dodged a bullet.
Despite Air Group 23 not taking direct part in the action Princeton had an important role to play. At 1923, 5 minutes after local sunset, Admiral Mitscher spread the Task Groups out in preparation for facilitating the expected night recoveries. Simultaneously, the War Diary records that “the returning attack groups were reported to be bearing 295˚, distant 70 miles. At 2008 DesDiv 90 (Destroyer Division) was ordered to fall astern of the formation and rescue any pilots making water landings. At 2010 went to General Quarters. All ships turned on truck lights.”
As the Commanding Officer of USS Hornet at the Battle of Midway two years earlier, then Captain Mitscher had “turned on the lights” to assist his pilots’ return from a strike. It had worked then but this effort involved a significantly larger number of aircraft.
At 2036, as first wave aircraft began to come within sight of the fleet, Commander of TG 58.3 Admiral Reeves ordered the destroyer screen to turn on white truck lights while cruisers and carriers illuminated red.
“At 2045 fleet course changed right to 090˚ for recovery operations; all airborne pilots were instructed to land on any carrier available. Commenced respotting deck forward in order to land aircraft in emergency.”
Samuel J. Cox, Director of the Naval History and Heritage Center describes the scene:
The return flight by the strike group was epic. Not only was it night, it was as black as it could get with a new moon and an overcast, a situation ripe for vertigo. Some pilots were flying damaged planes, some were also wounded, all were critically low on fuel, and all were tired, on a long flight home. The YE-ZB homing beacon on the carriers was good out to 70 nautical miles when working properly, but that still left over 150 nautical miles navigating in the blind, although TF 58 had been able to close 90 nautical miles during the time of flight.
Radio discipline broke down as pilots chattered, desperate to remain in contact with anyone in the dark. As planes ran low on fuel, pilots had to make a decision whether to ditch on purpose while they had fuel to make a controlled approach, or gamble that they had enough to reach a carrier. There would be multiple cases of planes recovering on board with only a gallon of gasoline, as well as a number that didn’t quite make the last few yards.
As returning aircraft desperately searched for any available flight deck, Princeton proved to be a savior for three Avengers. “At 2130 recovered one VT from USS LEXINGTON, at 2133 1 VT from USS YORKTOWN, and at 2203 1 VT from USS ENTERPRISE.”
Nine men safe and dry.
In the midst of the chaos, the War Diary noted “Many aircraft made water landings in and around formation and destroyers proceeded to rescue personnel.”
Just prior to 2300 radar showed no further aircraft in flight. The formation was then turned back to the west and was “steaming back through the waters where recoveries had been made in an effort to locate and rescue all personnel possible.”
The final entry in Princeton’s 20 June War Diary describes the scene:
“At 2320 sighted search light on the horizon; truck lights of destroyers were still visible all around the horizon as ships continued rescue efforts.”
After its losses at Midway, the Japanese Navy had spent two years rebuilding its carrier aviation capability only to have it utterly devastated by American Naval Aviation on 19 June. That decisive victory had evolved into an opportunity to destroy a large portion of the Japanese fleet itself. With it’s air cover almost completely destroyed, the Imperial Navy itself now became the prey and the generally conservative Spruance gave Mitscher free reign to go hunting.
The “Mission Beyond Darkness” on the 20th didn’t deal as significant a defeat to the Japanese fleet as the aggressive Mitscher had hoped, but it did sink three irreplaceable aircraft carriers, two oilers and a submarine.
Samuel J. Cox tallies the box score:
Of 226 TF 58 carrier aircraft launched against Ozawa’s carrier force on 20 June, 140 recovered aboard a U.S. aircraft carrier, not necessarily their own, and 86 were lost; 172 pilots and aircrew went into the water. Ninety pilots and aircrew were rescued the first night in the vicinity of the carriers. Eventually all but 16 pilots and 33 aircrewmen would be rescued. Combined with 14 Hellcat pilots killed during the “Turkey Shoot” and 13 other pilots and aircrew lost during searches and over Guam on 19 June, 76 pilots and aircrewmen were killed and 42 aircraft lost in combat in the two-day Battle of the Philippine Sea. Aboard ship, 33 sailors were killed by Japanese bombs or “friendly” anti-aircraft fire.
On the eve of the battle, Vice Admiral Ozawa had nine carriers with 430 carrier aircraft and 43 floatplanes. At the end, he had six carriers with 35 operational carrier aircraft and 12 floatplanes. Including Guam-based aircraft, the Japanese had lost 476 planes and 445 pilots and aircrewmen. How many Japanese sailors died is unknown, but is probably close to 3,000, roughly the same as the Battle of Midway. The largest carrier battle in history was also one of the most lopsided naval defeats in history. Ozawa probably played his bad hand as well as anyone could, but the code of bushido was no match for U.S. Navy Hellcats.
While the fighting for control of the Marianas Islands would continue — the battle for Saipan alone would last until 9 July and claim 23,000 Japanese and 5,000 American lives — Japan’s self-proclaimed Outer Defense Barrier had been penetrated, the American Navy controlled the seas, and American air power controlled the skies. Within a couple months B-29s would be flying from Saipan, Tinian and Guam to bring the war to Japanese homeland.
What history knows as “The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot” had dealt the Japanese a blow from which they would not recover.
NNNN
* Make a mental note of this as we will see a very familiar, and much more personal, situation take place a few months from now.
ss Sea Story: I can’t recall the exact date, but I remember other details as if they happened yesterday. In the days before the Berlin Wall came down, we — and by “we” I mean the Navy — did crazy things because the Soviets were out there and they needed to know that we weren’t scared of nuthin’ and would do insane things that they couldn’t hope to comprehend, let alone match. We were operating in the Northern Pacific, somewhere up west of the Aleutians. The weather, no surprise, was horrible and had been for days. Snow, huge ocean swells, bitter cold. I was scheduled to fly a night training mission in the mighty Intruder. As my Bombardier Navigator and I sat in the Ready Room, I think we both began to hope against hope that maybe leadership would take a look at conditions and decide that cancelling night flight operations might be the smart decision. Oh how young and naive we were!
I remember all too clearly getting on all my gear — long johns, anti-exposure/“poopy” suit, flight suit, torso harness, SV-2 survival vest, gloves, helmet — and waddling my way to the base of “Mount Otis”*** for the herculean climb to the flight deck.
Upon opening the hatch on the starboard side of the island we were immediately assaulted by howling winds, darkness and the blur of horizontal snowflakes in the murky amber hues of the flight deck’s sulfur lighting. As I preflighted the jet I kept repeating to myself: “What is happening? How did I get here! Surely there is no way they are going to shoot me off this tub in these conditions?” As I climbed the boarding ladder I continued to convince myself it was an exercise in futility. Our Plane Captain gave us the hand signals to start engines and I thought “how stupid to waste gas for no reason.” Good grief, I was now receiving the signal from the yellow shirt that our tiedown chains were being removed in preparation for taxi to the catapult. I assured myself that this was simply part of the evening respot of aircraft in preparation for tomorrow’s flight schedule. Wait. What? Why are they actually taxiing us to the catapult! What is going on? Who is in charge of this flying circus? As we were guided onto the cat, I was still in denial. Surely, they aren’t going to shoot us. Wait. Why is the shooter now giving me the run up the engines signal? Why am I turning on my lights to indicate I am ready to be flung off into lord knows which of Dante’s infernal Nine Circles? Slam! Zinnnnnggg-zinnnnngg-zinnnnngg! Off into the wild black yonder we went. I have no idea how we got back aboard, only that I lived to sweat about it.
*** Little known fact: aircraft carriers have escalators, in this case, USS Constellation’s went from the 2nd deck up several levels to the flight deck. Because I too often remember inconsequential minutiae, I know that it was made by the Otis Escalator Company because the baseplate at the bottom said so. I remember this because, more often than not it was inoperative, and whenever I was confronted with climbing it with all my flight gear on I began referring to it as “Mount Otis.”
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