USS Yorktown: "The Fighting Lady" by R.G. Smith
Naval Encounters - II
BATTLE OF THE CORAL SEA: 1944
Yorktown launched in heavy rain
and solid squall at lip of dawn—
yawing heavily in roiled surf—
with winds that peaked at awesome
35 knots from south.
With full contingency of heavy
cruisers; fierce, fierce destroyers,
support ships and Oilers alike
—armored warships all—
each barbed and bristling with hot armament and the
sharp accoutrements of war—
"Lucky Y" now quick-turns to wind,
and jumps full forty-two planes to air
in mere thirty minutes of
hot-scramble on 7 May—early '42 ...
And the men and the ships, this day, were Task Force 17.
Like great floating steel chariots, Taffy 17
moves well in harm's way; with speed and sweet stealth,
sweeping the
perilous sea lanes in precision arcs of quick interception
and running cover,
each on full 360 all about.
In steely formation of tight-bracket wedge
—scout planes fanned out far ahead in tandem arcs
of tight patrol—the fleet armored gunships
tremble and roll severely;
lost in giant ocean swells of great Pacif,
now rippling starboard and port of each great ship.
First troughing—sliding in a trice down and away
from a field of vision—then jaunting heavily back up
to a view of full majesty; each ship reappearing briskly
and cresting bow first—pointing well skyward
while piercing the brackish tumble of sea—
each like so many ballast-blown subs
fast-breaking surface waters on emergency rise.
Now, Fletcher rides the "Fighting Lady" well to sea,
in tepid waters south of Solomons
near rampant wildness of far New Guinea;
with cruising Fitch patrolling well to north
and nestled all alone on Lexington in Coral Sea;
some 100 long nautical miles
off bloody Guadalcanal;
with Taffy 11 well on its way to rendezvous.
Piercing the sodden curtain of surf and damp fog,
ship-to-ship signals now flutter and click—
bright beacons knocking out
series after series of messages
in silent arrhythmia—each blinking furtively
across the undulating open sea.
To storm-shallowed Morris, a taut slinking silhouette
well a-port, the clackered warning goes out:
Off our stern. Reduce by ten knots.
To Hammann, to stern of great flagship:
Move abeam. Keep on station.
To others, simply the piping glint and glimmer
of course heading correction,
as the large rolling warships
—one following the other—
struggle to maintain good speed and
station-keeping, each to each; aligned
in tight-column array.
Well behind shrewd Fletcher's battle group,
lay pride of fleet of Imperial Japan:
great Zuikaku, Shoho, and dread Shokaku—
each like giant carrier islands
lodged in moving sea
moving quickspeed north and east
in fell pursuit
with fell purpose to hotly engage
brave Fletcher's fleet.
Heated from the bloodied taste of mild success
—itself the costly give-and-take of victory at sea—
Yorktown takes well its first draw of blood; with valiant
Lexington at her side, now in convoy string
that numbered nineteen strong—
in battle lines that stretched a long two miles;
together fielding
full ninety-three hot-spurred fighter planes
to beard and face bold Takagi's
Shoho and four heavy cruisers,
in waters south of Solomons.
In which action—in the nonce of fly-by minute—
great Shoho carrier is trounced and
trammeled stem to stern
caught in talon and taut trial of combat
this day; and harshly thus in twenty minutes
of bombardment and "steel fish",
she lists and goes down with steamy hiss
and heave of woeful sigh
from sight of all that watch in awe.
Then, half-past six dogwatch bells at sea,
destroyer Sims and Neosho tanker
shunt well off from Fletcher's boats;
sent far to south and opened now
—full and fatefully so—
to threat and airborne ravage, that all
unannounced and too much unheralded
so often comes...
Thus, spotted soon by diving brace of
sky-fallen Zeros—swift coming out of sun—
brave Sims is hit by stroke of noon,
and hammered down to Davy's Locker;
with Neosho itself then crippled well
and dead in water
where she lay
spattered by divine-wind blood of Kamikaze,
flown with fell and deadly aim
to midships mast—
with most hands lost or overboard;
drifting aimlessly to sea and
clinging fast to wretched salvage
and light debris.
By bright early of burly 8 May,
great surface ships draw nigh
—cruising well to sea at mere 200 miles apart,
and fast approaching—
each at hot battle speed;
each with glint of gun metal steel;
each with dull clank and torrid pulse of
large twin-prop engines hammering
at top speed ...
Now, the massive fleets are primed to meet—yet not;
and for awesome first time ever,
the battle would be hotly engaged
by only Carrier against Carrier.
Mighty flattops of Rising Sun are first to launch
in blazing argument; hot sorties fired off at dawn
from dread Shokaku and Zuikaku—
each with scout planes probing well to north and east.
Shielded by a lucent sun—with sharp advantage of
steep cloud and shadow—
Japan's great Navy sets the teeth to clench
and rears on haunches; with Task Force 17
spotted all too soon ...
and by quarter-time past eleven,
pummeled hotly by attack.
Fitch and Fletcher fire back with measure;
launching fourscore planes to hunt and heckle
Yamamoto's great prides-of-fleet ...
And, caught in torpor and sharp light of day,
is Shokaku spattered, ravaged;
left for dead and crippling home
—tail-tucked—all cold and out of action.
Zuikaku, too, is soon disserviced—
peppered freely, with momentous loss
of flight deck planes ... reduced in minutes
from fearsome warship to feckless cur,
or fangless serpent.
Then, Condition Red and GQuarters now sally forth on
doomed, doomed Lexington—with "inbounds"
coming in at ALL o'clocks from sun ...
Torpedo planes attack now steeply from on high,
sluicing down from "push-over points" of 5,000 feet
and dropping rapidly to three;
each quickly level out at 250 feet at 700 yards
—fast closing—before first
"open-cradle" torpedo drop is made.
Eleven metal fish in water then;
eleven tracks too quickly seen,
converging deadly silent on short run in;
with great Carrier as target.
... then...
SAINTS PRESERVE! SWEET LEXINGTON IS HIT!
LEXINGTON IS HIT!!
Torpedoes gash and rankle now—
in at shipframe 55 to 58,
with devastating hits at 103;
each a cavernous and gaping hole at waterline
blown fore and aft of great floundering ship.
Now mortally wounded, the hot incendiary
of a hundred hells flare up on board;
with minor secondary bursts
that wrack and torture
men ... and deck ... and ship,
for long and painful moments ...
By 1630, Lex is dead in water and abandoned.
Then, the great Destroyer ships of Fletcher's fleet
come in:
brave Hammann; Morris; Anderson;
each now circling crippled comrade fallen;
each on voyage of sad regard;
each ship passing in salute of last respect
for lost, lost souls—and lost, lost ship
that was Lexington.
At 1810, she is scuttled soon and sent to bottom,
with full one thousand eyes beholding sad demise.
Now, the great Carrier forces
move away and disengage from all—
move away in polarity each from other—
fevered and all smarting; licking fell and fatal
wounds of high-seas combat brought this morn.
And THUS it was one long and fateful day,
when Fletcher's ships slipped well in harm's way.
With good men lost; ships down—all serving to remind,
That well and harshly had we paid them back in kind.
High-seas dominance Japan no longer had—and none foreseen—
And Fitch and Fletcher, well to north, move on to Philippines.
But again they'd meet—like great steel chariots in fray;
And live to see another time; another place; another battle ...
called Midway.