National Geographic: The Battle for Midway Page #3

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every four to five seconds

as a bomb must've hit.

Japanese survivors float hour after

hour in the water,

in silence with the dead and dying

as Kaga burns.

Most are rescued by

other Japanese ships

but not all.

We were fortunate to have been rescued

so quickly.

But there were still men left swimming

and they committed suicide.

In five short minutes Kaga, Akagi,

and Soryu have been devastated

scores of planes destroyed,

many hundreds of young men killed.

Many of the Japanese airmen are caught

in the sky above their burning ships

with nowhere to land.

In just five minutes, the cream

of the Japanese Navy is finished.

But the battle is far from over.

At first, I would like to read

a letter to my friends here.

Ballard's search for

the Japanese carriers has failed.

And the two Japanese veterans

will soon leave the Laney Chouest.

But the voyage to Midway allows Haruo

and Yuji the opportunity

to bid their fallen comrades one

last farewell

and to remember all the young men

who died in battle.

We believe that the innumerable spirits

who sacrificed their lives for their

country should be forever honored

for their distinguished service.

We are honored to have fought

alongside you in battle.

Veterans from both countries have

overcome past animosities

and have pledged a renewed peace.

Spirits, please rest in peace.

Yes, I was thinking, as Haruo and Yuji

were paying homage to their shipmates,

that I, too, lost 45 shipmates

at this very spot.

As all the planes in my squadron,

except the one I was in,

were actually shot down here among

the Japanese battle force,

so this was a very solemn moment

for me as well as for them.

Eleven a.m. on June 4th.

Admiral Nagumo regroups his

surviving planes on the deck of Hiryu

the only carrier

to escape American bombs.

There is still a chance

to emerge victorious.

The Japanese pilots take off,

heading for

the closest American carrier

Yorktown.

The enemy dive bombers score three hits

killing more than a dozen men.

But, unlike the Japanese carriers,

there are no bombs,

torpedoes or fuel on deck,

waiting to explode.

For all the smoke and fire,

Yorktown is still afloat.

Two hours later, as the Yorktown

continues to patch herself up,

a second wave of enemy planes target

the carrier.

Yorktown's fighter pilots scramble

eager to engage the enemy.

Down goes one Japanese torpedo bomber

after another.

But still the enemy comes.

I look out there and

here's this torpedo coming,

and it looks like a brand new nickel

just come shining through the water,

right beneath us. And I said,

Oh, my God, this is it.

And it goes off.

One American carrier is down.

The Japanese carrier Hiryu must

be stopped-fast.

When they find it, Lt. Dick Best

is right there, once again.

And I did look back when I was

far enough out to the west to turn,

and she was aflame,

and burning just the way the ones

in the morning had been.

I felt myself to be the Lord

of creation at the time,

the sense of accomplishment,

and fulfillment of revenge

is so sweet that

I don't think I ever felt anything

as intensely again in all my life.

Caught in the inferno on the Hiryu

is Taisuke Maruyama,

one of the torpedo pilots

who had just crippled the Yorktown.

The maintenance crews and emergency

crews who had tried

to extinguish the fire were injured

by the explosion,

and many lost their legs and hands.

The military doctor was operating

on them on the deck, soaked in blood.

The troops were burnt black,

dead bodies strewn across the deck.

Hiryu, Soryu, Akagi, Kaga.

By the end of the day, all four

Japanese carriers have been destroyed.

Hundreds of young men dead, maimed,

burned, or left to drown.

Twenty-four hours later,

the injured Yorktown is still afloat

and headed home

escorted by the destroyer Hammann.

What nobody sees is the enemy

submarine below the surface

with two sitting ducks in her sights.

Japanese torpedoes split the Hammann

in two, taking 81 men to the bottom.

And mortally wound Yorktown.

For nearly a day, the carrier lingers

on the surface, refusing to die.

Yorktown Radioman Lloyd Childers

is in sick bay, on a nearby ship,

with serious wounds to both legs.

He watches his carrier go down.

This huge ship slowly sank below the

water, the waves,

until it disappeared and we watched it

until it was completely gone.

It's very brutal business.

My other thoughts were that

it's a terrible thing

that so called civilized nations could

do things like that to each other,

convincing me that we're not really

civilized yet.

It is Day 19 of the expedition.

It has been hours since Robert Ballard

sent a robot vehicle down

nearly 17,000 feet

to find the USS Yorktown.

And half a century since Bill Surgi

has seen his carrier.

Ballard has only a left

to find the Yorktown.

After six long hours, the ATV finally

reaches bottom, over three miles deep.

All they see are rocks

that have probably rested here

undisturbed for a thousand years.

I wanna keep looking to the left.

Yet within a few moments of

touching down, they see something

something that shouldn't be there.

A smooth patch of ground clear of rock

as though something had swept across

the bottom.

Something unnatural,

something man-made.

They follow the trail.

Bingo, bingo, bingo.

Suddenly a glint

a shiny metallic glint catches

the video eye.

Dead ahead, range 150 feet.

Keep it nice and high.

I want him to look down and away.

And now the sonar on the ATV itself

is announcing something big

and oddly beautiful dead ahead.

There it is.

Stop, stop, stop, stop. Contact.

It's definitely Yorktown.

There's no question about that.

The Yorktown at last

exactly where Ballard thought it

would be.

Hold that, hold that still.

Try to hold that.

I'm lookin' up my ready room right now

this under the bridge on the island,

on the flight deck.

Too much, too much,

all the people that did their jobs.

I can see them doin' them now.

Keep coming up.

Oh, Yorktown, you're beautiful.

Okay, now I want to pivot to the right

to zero-nine-zero.

The Yorktown-1,100 miles from Hawaii,

over 3 miles below the surface.

Her 19,000 tons sunk halfway

into the mud; her bow crushed.

Yet Yorktown is still intact.

The bridge.

The flight deck.

The pilot house.

She is nearly untouched by time,

her guns still pointing skyward,

to fend off the final attack.

I walked across the deck

and I still got it.

Thanks again for finding it.

My pleasure.

And on behalf of the crew,

I'm glad to be here.

Me too.

That's the boat.

I got to see my ready room.

Maybe next time I'll get to see

where I got all this banging at.

Well, we'll be back.

That's right. It ain't gettin' away now

Thank you.

How does it feel, Bill?

I'm here, they're not.

So I'm representing the crew

and I did my job.

June 4th, 1942.

America has won the battle for Midway

and stopped Japan cold.

The Japanese Navy would never recover

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