"At this propitious moment, the Enterprise planes arrived. They had no fighter protection but benefiting from the absence of the enemy combat air patrol, their individual attention was now concentrated on the two carriers below them and the terrible purpose for which they had been trained. The Enterprise planes divided: One group dove on the Akagi and the other group dove on the Soryu. These carriers also had their decks virtually littered with bombs and torpedo's ready to be slung under fueled and waiting planes. Two bombs exploded on the Akagi's flight deck and she became fiery with flames. the Red Castle turned into the 'doomed castle'. Three bombs hit the Soryu and the Green Dragon became a burning dragon rocked and torn by internal explosions. A watery grave would become their final harbor. But the Hiryu still lurked undetected, and it was this dragon whose hot breath would scorch the Yorktown.

Back aboard, our flight deck cleared and ready, we waited to retrieve our planes, now fleeing the burning wreckage that had once been three proud Japanese carriers. Before landing any planes, however, Fletcher sent ten SBD's out to find the elusive Hiryu. Seven planes were then landed, but before the seventeen still aloft could follow suite, radar picked up Hiryu's incoming attack only forty-six miles away. Having hugged the water they evaded early detection and were now climbing for a dive-bombing attack. Our huge battle flad now defiantly climbed the mast and our seventeen SBD's still circling the ship were warned to stay well out of range our guns. The Yorktown was ready.

While still in Pearl Harbor, the engineers had said that our ship would steam no faster than twenty seven knots because of her damaged boilers. But our 'black gang' outdid themselves and our engines were now driving us at thirty knots.

Being on the verge of battle produces mixed psychological emotions. On the one hand, the fear of dying compels one to find safety somewhere. Some will pray or seek the protection of shields of gun positions or even below deck if possible. On the other hand, one's self-respect demands that you do nothing of which to be ashamed later. My solution to this mental turmoil was a complete muddle but it worked our just find. At first, I thought of watching the battle from the after island structure but gave up the idea. What if some officer wanted to know what I was doing there? I'm glad I changed my mind, too, because a bomb landed on the deck near there and wiped out a gun crew. I thought of going astern, but remembered that bombs often hit our wake and sprayed the fantail with molten fragments. And that is exactly what did happen. I decided to return to the 'gas shack' which was my general quarters station anyway and where I was during the Coral Sea action. 'Slef-respect' kept me from wearing my life jacket. I had never worn it yet - so far. This was just foolish bravado and really stupid. A person could easliy be blown over the side and even if not wounded or unconscious would need a life-jacket to survive. I was still naive enough to think it was unseemly for a sailor to wear one. But I did stow it in a recess under the flight deck from where it was readily available.

Our fighters harried the attacking planes and almost immediately six Hiry dive bombers fell out fo the sky. Five more were downed before they could begin their attack. Our pilots would have gotten more, now doubt, but our new folding wing plans F4's carried less wing ammunition than our old stiff wings did. Each of these new planes house three 50 caliber machine guns in each wing as over against two in each wing for the older F4F's. But more guns added more weight and resulted in a deficit of 360 rounds for every new fighter. Multiply this by twelve planes, and one wonders how many more kills might have been made with 4300 more rounds. However that may be, of the 270 planes with which the Japanese began the battle only eleven had reached an American ship so far, and the Yorktown now faced these eight dive bombers and their three accompanying Zero's. The Zero's could do us no harm, but the eight Vals each carrying a 550lb bomb were to inflict unexpected damage.

The attack began, as had the others, with Gunner Officer Davis blaring 'Air Department take cover, gunnery department!' The dragon's fearsome furies after evading our fighters, were not about to back off from the hellish fire we now threw at them. I watched what appeared to be black and orange colored planes in steep dives coming closer and closer. Records state that these Vals were painted a muddy brown on their top surfaces and silver underneath. That may be so but to me that appeared to be black and orange. For many years I couldn't look at a checker board without a sense of dread. Even billboards having those colors invoked fear. The guns of our task force opened fire first. The sky became peppered with black puffs and two bombers were hit, one disintegrating before our very eyes. By now the six remaining bombers were flying through our hail of concentrated fire. Five inch, one point one, twenty millimeter and fifty caliber bullets and tracers were creating a curtain of stell around us. One plane was repeatedly hit and crashed into the sea but not before he dropped his bomb as did the other five. Within a few minutes, the Yorktown was dead in the water.

In hardly the time it takes to tell it, three bombs hit home. First came a near miss off the ship's stern closely followed by two more. These tremendous blasts lifted the ship out of the water enabling our escorts to see our giant propellers whirling in the air. Men on the fantail were killed by flying shrapnel and slugs from a strafing plane. The first bomb to hit wiped our the after 1.1 gun crew from among whom only our much respected Peter Montolvo survived. The second hit followed immediately and mortally wounded our ship. It penetrated the boilers rooms and after exploding knocked out all the engines. Our great ship began to lose way; she gave a little shudder and was dead in the water by 12:20pm. But before she stopped, bomb number three hit the forward elevator, exploded below decks and the attack was over. The Yorktown had survived, but this was only a respite. The Flying Dragon would strike again and her sharp 'long lance' teeth would tear us open.

Being on a ship dead in the water gives one a strange and eerie feeling. A ship is a vibrant, dynamic, living thing. with her great power plant knocked out and her throbbing heartbeat stopped, the Yorktown, in motionless silence, sprawled listlessly in the sea. There was no power to work the big guns or ammunition hoists; no power to lift or lower elevators; no power to work the radio or radar. No one can be expected to command three task forces under these conditions, and so Admiral Fletcher transferred his flag to the Astoria. he made the mistake however, of transferring responsibility to Admiral Spruance. And this is not because Spruance was incapable of handling overall command, but because there was no real need for such a change in command to be made.

The Astoria or one of her planes could easily have taken Fletcher to one of the other carriers and re-establish him in full dignity. Admiral King had already accused Fletcher of leaving the 'scene' in the presence of the enemy. This was a reference to our first stop at Tongatabu to replace gas tank linings and was certainly undeserved. By transferring command as he now did, a feeling grew that he was half-hearted and lacked boldness. Withdrawing his carriers when they were so critically needed off Guadalcanal several months later not only lost his Medal of Honor winner his sea command but cast a shadow that would follow him the rest of his life. Perhaps Fletcher deserved better than this. When Spruance was hesitant, he was said to be rightfully cautious. When Halsey carelessly lost both lives and ships in a typhoon, he was not relieved of command but even went on to five star rank. Political considerations may have determined in Halsey's case and the necessities of war in Fletcher's. I leave it to a higher jury; perhaps to the admirals assembled in Davey Jones' locker.

Our ships plight motivated men of all ranks to extra-oridinary efforts and among the Chief Klensmith's was outstanding. Below in the fireroom #1, he and his men managed to reignite a boiler. As steam produced electricity, fans came to life and cleared the other fireooms of stack gases and the lights came on. As more boilers came on line, the Yorktown, like a sleeping giant, shook off her lethargy and began moving, even if only at 17 knots. Our escorts gain took up screening positions to protect their wounded charge. And it was none too soon, either, because at 2:26pm., the Asotria's radar again picked up the Hiryu's planes. This second wave was only 33 miles away. Hugging the wave tops, the Japanese pilots again avoided early detection. We were going to be plastered once more but this time by torpedo planes in a scenario right out of Hollywood. Overhead none Yorktown fighters aided by three Wildcats from the Enterprise hoped to be joined by ten more now being refueled on our deck. But this refueling was halted abruptly when word came that the twelve fighters in the air were already tangling with the enemy planes. Seven of the incoming Nakajima's were shot down but ten others were boring in at 180 knots. Our screening ships were now concentrating their firepower on these harbingers of death and our defending Wildcats had to break off action or be shot down by our own escorts. The Yorktown's own defensive armaments now went into action as four of our pilots thundered down the flight deck and roared away with only 25 gallons of gas in their tanks. In these desperate straits, our pilots had no choice but to engage the enemy under the hail of our own bullets. One of them John Adams, had no sooner become airborne, rolled up his wheels, charged his guns and banked to port when a torpedo bomber crossed his sights. The Japanese torpedo bombers always seem to attack in pares. Adams shot down the plane in his sights and hit the wing man too, but not before the 'long lance' was dropped. Both Japanese planes as well as the pursuing Adams were racing within a torrent of destroyer fire. But even with the two Nakajima's out of the action, the destroyer continued to fire at Adams! He survived but was livid with anger for a long time afterward and almost came to blows with the destroyer's gunnery officer whom he later encountered ashore in Pearl. Ensign Tootle also took off from a deck which must have seemed like the bottom of a canyon the sides of wich were red-hot tracers rising from 20mm guns along both catwalks. Needing three hands, as never before, he was banking and firing even before the wheels were retracted. His flight lasted only 36 seconds but time enough to riddle an incoming plane so close to a destroyer that his ejected casings littered its deck below him.

Incredibly, our engines hand been cranked up to 10.5 knots by now but it wasn't enough. Ten attackers hand broken through and although our late launched fighters and ship's guns between them downed six, their torpedoes wasted, four planes still remained. Two were coming in very fast toward our port beam and two off our port bow. Captain Buckmaster, woh knew how to fight a ship if anyone did, swung hard left to comb the torpedoes and two passed harmlessly by. One of these daring pilots now banked to the left off our port bow, close enough it seemed to be hit by a thrown ball and his second seat man rose up and vigorously shook his fist at us. He had good cause to be angry; three of their carriers were doomed and his own would soon suffer the same fate. And yet at the time, I wondered why he was taken it so personally. The two remaining planes began their runs farther out off our port bow. Now they were coming directly at our beam. I watched with disbelief as two parallel wakes approached. I leaned over the catwalk railing for a better look and thought for a moment that they would pass right under the ship. And then they hit and exploded. I never imagined the power of a torpedo. As heavy as the Yorktown was, the explosions rocked her as violently as a car running over a poorly paved railroad crossing or when hitting a pot-hole at high speed. We came that close to surviving the Battle of Midway. Only tow planes were left, but they got us. Perhaps we would have evaded their long lances at 30.5 knots but not at 20.5. for the want of ten knots, our ship was lost.

By Andy Mikus - From 'A Clear Day at Midway'