Battle against ‘natural’ enemies marks last hours of Lexington
Blitzed from above, crew rises to second valiant fight in effort to save carrier from internal counterpart of aerial bombardment
By Stanley Johnston, Chicago Tribune foreign correspondent
Following is the sixth of a series on eyewitness reports of the Battle of the Coral Sea. The only reporter on the U.S. aircraft carrier Lexington before it was sunk tells of the bravery of the men during the Lexington’s last hours.
This is the story of the Lexington’s last hours.
It is a tale of gallantry above and beyond the valor of men in the heat of battle.
It is the story of a crew, smashed and blitzed from the air by an overwhelming enemy force, that rose to a second desperate fight when attacked from within by natural enemies that fed upon the fuels and stores within the great, valiant aircraft carrier.
The fight to save the Lexington began as soon as the attack upon her had ceased that morning of last May 8. The attack was the Japanese counterpart of a blow that the Lexington’s own force of dive bombers, torpedo bombers, and fighters had launched over the 180 miles that separated our forces from the Japs.
Five torpedoes had torn huge holes – 20-30 feet in diameter – in her port side along the waterline and below it. One heavy bomb, probably a Japanese 1,000-pounder, had hit the ship’s rail on the forward flight deck and on the port forward 5-inch gun position. Another lighter bomb had ripped holes in her smokestack and killed with its splinters several men of an anti-aircraft machine gun crew stationed there.
Near misses also effective
The Lexington had also been damaged to some extent by scores of near misses by Japanese dive bombers. The heavy bombs, exploding in the water at distances of 100 feet to 10 feet from the carrier’s sides, had rocked her and possibly had sprung certain side plates.
She had taken, in the swift air battle, a six-degree list to the port side as water poured through the torpedo holes.
Finally, the heavy bomb which struck the rail of the forward flight deck had penetrated into the living quarters below. There, a quantity of five-inch shells, which were stacked so as to be close at hand for rapid firing, had been set off. The combination of explosions had started a fire and had been responsible for heavy casualties among the Marines who formed the gun crews.
Own room damaged
These quarters also happened to be those of Rear Admiral Aubrey Fitch, whose guest I was officially. My room, my clothing, notes and typewriter, not to mention my safe in which I had $100 in currency and a wristwatch, suffered severely. Admiral Fitch’s papers and belongings were also shattered and strewn. The fire that followed the explosions burned fiercely until damage crews extinguished them with chemicals, leaving the wreckage and tattered bits of furnishings covered with a chemical foam.
The torpedoes and bombs had damaged three fire rooms of the Lexington’s engine system. This damage, however, was not sufficient to stop her. Indeed, her speed never dropped below 25 knots until hours after the attack.
Almost before the last Japanese dive bombers had flown away, Cdr. H. R. “Pop” Healy had telephoned to the bridge to tell Capt. Fred Sherman, the Lexington’s skipper (and since promoted to rear admiral):
We’ve got the torpedo damage temporarily shored up, the fires out and soon will have the ship back on an even keel. But I would suggest, sir, that if you have to take any more torpedoes, you take ‘em on the starboard side.
Aboard the Lexington, the routine of a carrier in dangerous waters was going on. Cdr. Healy was overseeing the pumping of fuel oils from port storage tanks into empty tanks on the starboard side, and the list was taken off the ship and its flight deck. As soon as this was done, our fighting planes, which had been in the air for durations ranging from one to three hours each, began coming back on board.
Plane squadron on deck
The first one in was a scout bomber that had been on anti-torpedo plane patrol. The machine had been damaged in battle and was flying erratically. When it circled, turned “into the slot” for its final approach, it was high and flying too fast, but Lt. Aquilla Dibrell, the landing officer, waved it in anyway.
The plane squashed onto the deck with its left wing low. The wingtip hit the deck, the plane bounced, struck again, and spun over the side into the water. The Lexington’s navigation officer, who saw the accident, signaled a destroyer that was trailing us by a mile or more to the rescue.
Other planes return
Now many planes of all types began returning from the attack on the Jap fleet. So normal was the Lexington’s appearance that many of them did not know she had been in a fight until they were on the deck and saw the bomb splinter scratches.
The torpedo holes had been “forgotten” by the expedient of closing off the required number of watertight compartments in the hull.
First explosion
At 12:45 p.m., there was a heavy, dull explosion inside the hull. I was standing on the flight deck and my knees buckled as the ship shook. Going below with damage parties, I found that the blast had come from deep within, and had twisted heavy steel, watertight doors from their hinges.
Fires at a number of points in the opened holds were burning fiercely.
Scuttles give way
These were being fed fresh air through bent and twisted scuttles that had given way along with the watertight compartment doors. A scuttle is a thick steel hatch which closes off entrances between decks. Ordinarily, it serves to make watertight the opening between decks in exactly the same way that watertight doors seal compartments in the same deck.
Because the hold was opened, the fires could not be isolated and smothered. All the ship’s chemical equipment was rushed into the job, but it was not enough. Water was impossible to get because the blast had smashed water mains, the auxiliary pumps, and had cut off light and power to the hold. Consequently, the flames spread swiftly.
Surgeon also hurt
About 1 p.m., we found that the first blast had killed Pop Healy, who had been working below. It had also thrown Cdr. Arthur J. White, the ship’s surgeon, through one of his hospital doors, breaking his collarbone and one ankle.
Despite these injuries, he dragged himself around for five hours tending other casualties. He quit only after the order to abandon ship.
The second explosion came about 25 minutes after the first. It was the beginning of a series that ultimately came at intervals of a few seconds. That, however, was hours later. Each explosion damaged the fuel and aviation gasoline storage tanks further and the escape of these combustible fluids grew more rapidly as the day faded.
Steering apparatus fails
After the third and fourth explosions, the navigator reported that the steering apparatus for the Lexington had failed, due to the loss of electric power for the bridge control. Men were stationed at the “trick wheel” – an auxiliary wheel situated deep inside the ship where it was operated by hand. But the greatest difficulty for the navigators was the loss of electrical communication systems to pass their order to the wheelsmen.
When the fires destroyed these systems, a line of men was formed along the deck, down from the bridge, and thence down into the ship’s bowels where the “trick wheel” was being operated. Orders were transmitted by word of mouth from man to man down this line and rudder directions were entirely dependent upon this relay system, which was slow.
With the failure of the electrical power systems came an interruption of the great blowers – the ship’s ventilating system. Heat quickly rose in the engine and fire rooms to 145-162°F. Nevertheless, the engineer’s gang stayed at their posts and kept their equipment going to give the 25-knot speed demanded.
During this time, the damage control gangs and firefighters were engaged in a desperate fight to save the ship. This fight was becoming hopeless. The flames rapidly increased their grip and extended their area. More than 25% of the below decks section was now an inferno.
Bulkheads adjoining the burning sections turned red with heat and thick layers of paint curled off and began burning – to transfer the fire into new areas.
Steel decks get hot
The steel decks above the fires grew unbearably hot and flames angrily licked their way up through the twisted open scuttles.
Then, the fire engulfed the machine shop. Twenty bombs – each weighing 1,000 pounds of which three-quarters was TNT – were stored there for loading into our heavy dive bombers. Further aft in the fire area was a stock of 48 torpedo warheads – about 550 pounds each, or a total of 26,400 pounds.
Cdr. Seligman was personally leading his firefighting squads. Smoke below became so dense that beams from electric flashlights would not penetrate. Only the familiarity of the men with the internal plan of the ship enabled them to move around at all.
Firefighters killed
Some of these firefighters were killed or burned by almost every explosion. Many of the injuries came as the blasts bounced men off the steel walls. Bones were fractured, heads broken and with it all there were critical burns.
As injured or smoke-blinded men from these gangs were brought up to the flight deck for treatment, other men stepped forward, donned the smoke helmets taken from the casualties, and went below in their places.
Several times, Cdr. Seligman was blown through open doors and out of scuttle holes. One of his men told me later:
The “exec” was continually being blown through doors and out of holes like a cork out of a bottle.
Burns take high toll
It is not possible to estimate the total number of men lost fighting the fire, but medical records for the Lexington show that at least half the casualties were those caused by explosions and burns.
One of the most violent explosions of all came at 2:45 p.m. It happened just forward of the bridge and caused much damage. It was apparent to all that the end was near and I found later I had written in my notes the time of the explosion and the one word:
End.
But I was wrong. The crew and officers did not give up even then.
The Lexington was still making headway strongly, though her steering was becoming awkward. This was due solely to the loss of time in transmitting orders. It was impossible to keep the helm steady. At this time, Admiral Fletcher signaled the other ships to disregard the movements of the Lexington.
Gyro compass fails
Next, the gyro compass failed because of a final loss of electric power. The bridge asked the chart room:
Distance to nearest land?
Then the captain asked:
Distance to nearest point of Australia?
Finally came the order to plot the course to a designated point in Australia. It was evident that the captain was considering a departure from the rest of the fleet.
At 4 p.m., Capt. Sherman ordered the engines stopped and fire rooms abandoned. Lt. Cdr. Mike Coffin, who received the order, stayed at his post passing on the word and assuring himself that every man got out. The Lexington’s speed fell off rapidly until she was drifting helplessly sideways with smoke pouring from the main deck to starboard blanketing everything on that side.
The fight against the fire continued for another hour, at which time it was evident to all aboard her that the carrier could not be saved.
Singed, his clothing half-burned off, Cdr. Seligman reported to Capt. Sherman the existing conditions below decks and the imminence of a devastating explosion of the ship’s munitions.
I heard the exchange of words, which was far from the usual conception of such a dramatic moment.
Admiral Fitch leaned over the high railing around his little bridge and spoke to Capt. Sherman, who was pacing the navigating bridge 10 feet below him. The admiral pitched his voice in a conversation tone, saying:
Well, Fred, I guess it’s time to get the men off.
End of the battle
It was 5:15 p.m., the end of the battle for the Lexington.
Her battered, exhausted, scorched, and singed crew gathered on the after end of the flight deck. Forward all was ablaze and the flight deck was too hot to put foot upon it.
Admiral Fletcher sent several destroyers alongside, and we transferred our wounded, 100 men, to the vessel. Hundreds of the other crew members also stepped aboard the destroyers.
Still other hundreds let long hemp ropes down the sides of the Lexington, slid down them, and into the limpid waters of the Coral Sea. Many life rafts were soon floating around the *Lexington’*s stern. But Navy whaleboats from cruisers and destroyers were plying back and forth. A few men struck out to swim the quarter-mile to the nearest cruisers.
Life rafts removed
Several members of flight crews removed the little yellow life rafts from fighter planes on the flight deck – planes that would never fly again. These men used the rafts to ferry themselves across to the warships standing by. It should be mentioned that 25% of the Lexington’s fighting planes – those especially picked for lack of damage were flown off her burning deck long before the fire was beyond all control and landed on her companion carrier. The number of planes this saved was limited by the capacity of the other carrier’s hangars.
Last turn on deck
I did a last turn on the deck with Lt. Cdr. Edward H. Eldredge, an air officer, after most of the crew had left. We decided to take the next favorable chance ourselves. My preparations consisted of transferring all notes to a breast pocket of my shirt, where I hoped they would stay dry. Then I picked a rope with a big knot at its end, where I might sit until picked up, and cautiously slid down. Cdr. Eldredge was a bit careless in securing his grip and he did the trip to the water in one scorching flash that left him with blistered palms and a friction burn on one leg.
In two minutes, I was picked up in a whaleboat with other men. We towed several life rafts as well, and got a number of men to a cruiser. I stayed aboard the cutter with the coxswain and we commenced to gather in men who were swimming and showing signs of exhaustion.
60 rescued
Hauling exhausted men from the water over a three-foot high gunwale while a small craft is rolling is no simple task. After pulling in about 30, one’s arms weaken. In all, we got 60 aboard. They filled the boat because so many lay on the bottom trying to cough the seawater out of their lungs.
While we were thus engaged, there came a heavy explosion aboard the Lexington that sent the amidships portion of the flight deck hurtling into the air. Flames burst through. Immediately afterward came a blinding flash, a tremendous shock, and a billowing cloud of black smoke soaring skyward as the 1000-pound bombs exploded. Bits of the steel deck and side plates showered the sea for hundreds of yards around, endangering all in the water and in the boats.
Flight deck blasted
Only a few minutes later, the after end of the flight deck was blasted away. Planes were tossed into the water when the torpedo warheads let go. Capt. Sherman and Cdr. Seligman were swimming to a cutter when this happened. Luckily, they were not harmed by the debris that fell all around them and they were rescued.
It was almost dark when our boat reached the mothership and unloaded. The whole length of the Lexington was ablaze as I climbed aboard the rescue cruiser. It was a fierce, white fire evidently consuming the 80,000 gallons of aviation fuel and million gallons of fuel oil from tanks now wide open.
Blast after blast rent the ship but she floated high and upright.
Finishing coup
A destroyer stood by to administer the finishing coup. This consisted of a salvo of four more heavy torpedoes delivered at close range. After their blasts had opened new holes, the Lexington slowly filled with water and gradually, still upright, slid with a prolonged hiss beneath the water.
As the glow of her flames died away, one of her officers exclaimed:
She was a lady to the end.