The next plane, following Matteson, got a little more deck run, but he, too, dropped off the bow, turning in a right arc. But moments later, he was climbing skyward.

I was next in line for takeoff, and Fly One, the officer in charge of launching the planes, looked at me. I nodded my head, indicating that I was ready for takeoff. 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 takeoff.

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 water. I went straight off, not trying to make the usual turn to clear my slipstream from the deck for the next plane.

The plane 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 Helldiver close to level. The plane kept dropping lower, and as much as I wanted to pull up my wheels, it was as if I were frozen in time. I could not take the pressure off the stick.

The plane settled toward the water, but the air nearer the water had a little more compression, and the prop finally began to bite its way through the air. The pressure on the stick eased, and 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 with Lieutenant Kanaga, who had taken off and was trying to slow down his plane while he waited for the others to take off. Lieutenant Vaughn was on his starboard, and I had Lieutenant Pucci on my port side as our section closed in. Our four-plane section was soon joined by Lieutenant Johnson’s four planes and Lieutenant Hearn’s three-plane section. Hearn was short one plane in his section, Lieutenant Matteson’s.

Our formation was strung out loosely as we headed toward the target area, and we were 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.

Our flight was cruising at about 16,000 feet, passing over the island of Shikoku, when the first ‘OK, here we go!’ came over the radio. I could see planes in the distance starting to slant down into their dive-bombing runs and the black puffs of smoke as anti-aircraft shells started exploding. I remembered the gun count on 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 battleship-carrier–taking out her guns and possibly sinking her–while the torpedo planes made glide-bombing runs, since the water was too shallow for a torpedo attack. The fighters were to give us cover during the run-in and departure from the target area.

Crossing over the Hiihama airfield, the skipper started a swinging turn to the northwest so that we could break off after the attack and retire to the southwest. After pulling out, we still had a lot of land and anti-aircraft batteries to fly over. The actual attack on Hyuga was just one of the hazards to be faced during this mission.

An anti-aircraft shell exploded off my port wing with a thunderlike clap. The round was a little wide of our position, but 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 anyone in our section. With our bombloads, one hit could blow us all out of the air. I still had not sighted the target, even when I saw the skipper nose over and Black, his gunner, open the hatch.

I felt a blast of air as Tommy opened our hatch. I opened my bomb-bay doors, checked the bomb-arming switch one more time, turned on my cannon switches and loaded 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 zeroing in on our altitude. The skipper wagged his wings, and I saw a flash of red as his dive flaps began to open. ‘Step on it, damn it!’ I muttered as Vaughn hesitated before cracking his flaps. Flak 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 to hold 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 Hyuga. We were diving bow to stern, but I could hardly see the ship. She was wreathed in a mass of smoke from all her guns firing at our diving planes.

I could see muzzle flashes from every part of the ship and watched the tracers from the shells as they arced up. The heavy guns’ projectiles looked like fiery red baseballs. It appeared to me as if every one of them was headed directly at me.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I told myself. At that instant I closed my dive flaps, deciding not only to dive clean but to add throttle besides. Anything to get this difficult dive over with, to give the anti-aircraft gunners as 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 miss making a direct hit on Hyuga.

Suddenly, coming out from under me, I saw Vaughn. His plane kept going straight down and crashed alongside 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.

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