The Battle off Samar: The Sacrifice of “Taffy 3” 25 October 1944

The Battle off Samar: The Sacrifice of “Taffy 3”

25 October 1944j

Watercolor by Commander Dwight C. Shepler, USNR, depicting an episode during the torpedo attacks by the TG 77.4.3 (“Taffy 3”) destroyer screen. Ships present are (left to right): Japanese battleships Nagato, Haruna, and Yamato, with salvo (Japanese shells contained dye for spotting purposes) from Yamatolanding in left center; USS Heerman (DD-532), USS Hoel (DD-533) sinking; Japanese cruisers Tone and Chikuma (NH 79033 KN).
Overview 

On 15 October 1944, the Japanese Imperial Navy’s First Mobile Fleet launched Operation Shō, a last-ditch attempt to engage Allied naval forces off Leyte in the central Philippines decisively. Following the 24 October Battle of the Sibuyan Sea, the powerful Japanese First Diversion Attack Force (“Center Force”) appeared to be retiring westward. However, the task force ultimately resumed its eastward passage, broke out of the San Bernardino Strait north of Samar early the following day, and headed southward toward Leyte Gulf. The Japanese Northern Force, a carrier task force, had drawn Admiral William F. Halsey’s U.S. Third Fleet to north. The heavy forces of Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid’s U.S. Seventh Fleet were engaged to the south of Leyte Gulf. This left only three Seventh Fleet escort carrier (CVE) task units on the northern flank of the Leyte operational area, where they had been providing close air support and an ASW screen for the amphibious landings. Just after sunrise on 25 October, Rear Admiral Clifton A. F. Sprague’s TG 77.4.3—call sign “Taffy 3”—the northwesterly-most task unit, made up of five small escort carriers, three destroyers, and four destroyer escorts, was stunned to confront four Japanese battleships (among them Yamato with her 18-inch main guns), six cruisers, and 12 destroyers.

The Battle 

Initial Contact 

Following its San Bernardino Strait passage, the Japanese Center Force was still in its nighttime search disposition. At 0623, shortly after sunrise and before the task force had fully shifted to its circular daytime anti-aircraft formation, Yamato made radar contact with U.S. ASW patrol aircraft. Additional air contacts followed and were fired on until 0650, when the Japanese sighted what appeared to them to be a large U.S. task force of carriers and cruisers on the eastern horizon, thought to be part of the U.S. Third Fleet (this was actually Taffy 3). Center Force’s commander, Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita, immediately ordered his ships to move into a pursuit formation. Due to still-ongoing shift from nighttime to daylight antiaircraft dispositions, this order inadvertently led to confusion. It would have the effect of committing the Japanese ships in a piecemeal fashion and dispersing their overwhelming firepower during the upcoming battle.

Taffy 3’s first contact with Kurita’s force was a visual sighting of antiaircraft fire to the northwest, immediately followed by a surface search radar “hit” and intercepted Japanese voice transmissions. Shortly after, Kurita ordered his forces to engage and Yamato, followed by other Japanese ships, opened fire. Later, Taffy 3 personnel were to remark on the brightly colored geysers thrown up by the salvos of near-misses that were caused by the spotting dye added to Japanese shells. By this time, Sprague had his carriers come about and initially followed a southeasterly course. His destroyers generated a smoke screen and, Johnston in the lead, began firing at their pursuers. At this point, Taffy 3’s sister task units, Taffy 1 and Taffy 2 (TG 77.4.1 and TG 77.4.2) were approximately 25 nautical miles to the southeast and had adopted a southeasterly course. Although its escorts were bound to protect the slow, unarmored escort carriers, Taffy 2, commanded by Rear Admiral Felix B. Stump, was able to support Taffy 3 with its aircraft as the battle progressed. Taffy 1, commanded by Rear Admiral Thomas L. Sprague, also launched some aircraft, but would be faced with other challenges as the day progressed.

Sprague also launched fighters and bombers, which, although armed for their original close air support and ASW missions, could at least harass Taffy 3’s pursuers. Sprague also began to change course toward the south; developments would ultimately force him toward the southwest. (Thus, the overall track of the Battle off Samar would come to resemble an inverted fishhook.)

USS Gambier Bay (CVE-73) and two destroyer escorts making smoke at the start of the battle off Samar, 25 October 1944. Japanese ships are faintly visible on the horizon beyond the smoke screen (80-G-288144).

USS Heerman (DD-532) and a destroyer escort lay a smoke screen to protect Taffy 3 from attacking Japanese surface ships at the beginning of the Battle off Samar, 25 October 1944. Photographed from USS White Plains (CVE-66) (80-G-288885).                      

U.S. Torpedo Attacks

At 0716, and again at 0742, Sprague ordered his screen to carry out torpedo attacks. The three destroyers, Johnston (in the lead), Heerman, and Hoel carried out the first. Johnstonmanaged to damage the heavy cruiser Kumano with a torpedo hit, but was heavily damaged by 6- and 14-inch shells. Hoel fired at, and missed, the battleship Kongo, and was also hit multiple times. For a time, she was boxed in by Japanese battleships and cruisers, all of which fired at her. Heerman entered the fray just before Sprague’s second attack order. Heerman launched torpedoes at the Japanese heavy cruiser Haguru, but she evaded them and fired multiple salvos at the destroyer, which all missed. Moving beyond the Japanese cruiser division, Heerman came upon the battleships Kongo, Yamato, and Nagato, firing her remaining torpedoes and 5-inch guns at Kongo. The destroyer then quickly came about and moved to a screening station on the starboard flank of the carriers. Despite the intensity of Japanese fire, the only damage aboard had been caused by shell fragments. The determined, aggressive attacks of the three U.S. destroyers, coupled with the ongoing air attacks on his ships, tended to confirm Kurita’s erroneous assessment that he was facing a strong carrier task force. The second U.S. torpedo attack would only strengthen this impression.

Sprague ordered his screen to make a second torpedo attack shortly after and his destroyer escorts also engaged. Samuel B. Roberts joined Heerman and the badly damaged Hoel; Dennis, John C. Butler, and Raymond followed, attacking individually. The hard-hit Johnston was also back in action. They faced not only a Japanese cruiser division, but also most of the Japanese destroyers. U.S. and Japanese ships zig-zagged, and exchanged intensive gunfire and torpedoes in the melee-like conditions. Johnston was still able to lay such a heavy fire on the Japanese cruisers Haguro and Tone that these reported her as a “heavy cruiser.” By 0820, the U.S. escorts had rejoined the escort carriers, laid smoke, and proceeded on the task unit’s southwesterly course. Shortly after, at 0830, Hoelwent dead in the water. Listing to port, with all of her engineering spaces flooded and her No. 1 magazine on fire, Hoel began settling by the stern and her crew abandoned ship. 

Splashes from Japanese shells near USS White Plains (CVE-66), during the Japanese Center Force’s pursuit of TG 77.4.3 (80-G-288886).

Crewman of USS White Plains (CVE-66) watch as Japanese shells fall near other ships of Taffy 3 (80-G-288889).

The U.S. Escort Carriers in Action

Even before Sprague had ordered the initial torpedo attack, the escort carriers found themselves under heavy fire from their pursuers. After the brief rain squall and the U.S. air attacks, Japanese battleships and heavy cruisers were gaining on the carriers from astern and enemy destroyers were approaching from starboard. Moreover, a Japanese heavy cruiser division had managed to overhaul the carrier formation’s port flank, intending to cross its “T” and cut it off. This pushed Sprague toward the southwest and forced him to launch aircraft with the added disadvantage of a following wind. The U.S. aircraft were ordered to target the heavy cruiser division to port of the carriers. Taffy 2, to the southeast, also launched aircraft at Kurita’s force. Center Force would remain under relatively uncoordinated, but heavy, U.S. air attack throughout the engagement.

With its course turning toward the southwest, the escort carriers were taken under Japanese fire from the north and east. As the range was reduced, the carriers began firing the single 5-inch guns under their fantails at their pursuers. Although this fire had little effect on the Japanese, Kalinin Bay and White Plains were actually able to score hits on the Japanese heavy cruisers. (Significantly, a chance White Plains hit on Chokai caused enough damage aboard the latter for her to fall out of formation and later fall prey to aircraft from Kitkun Bay.) More smoke was laid, but given the course and wind direction, this did little to hide the carriers. All were hit by Japanese shells, but the enemy’s gunnery during this phase was not good and the full effect of their armor-piercing shells was wasted on the unarmored U.S. vessels. However, Gambier Bay, on the exposed port flank of the formation, began receiving Japanese hits—including from Kongo—at 0810, which started fires on her flight and hangar decks. She then received hits below the waterline in her forward port engine room, which flooded. This reduced the escort carrier’s speed and she dropped behind the formation. Johnston attempted to draw fire away from Gambier Bay, but the Japanese concentrated on the carrier. Gambier Bay was dead in the water and sinking by 0840 and ordered abandoned ten minutes later.

USS Kitkun Bay (CVE-71) prepares to launch FM-2 Wildcat fighters during the action. In the center distance, Japanese shells are splashing near USS White Plains (CVE-66) (80-G-287497). 

USS Gambier Bay (CVE-73) straddled by Japanese shells and falling behind the rest of her task group, during the battle off Samar, 25 October 1944. Note Japanese cruiser, barely visible on the horizon at the right (80-G-287505).

Kurita Presses the Attack 

As the task unit proceeded toward the southwest, Samuel B. Roberts, Heerman, and Johnston continued to engage the pursuing Japanese heavy cruisers. Shortly before Hoelsank, Sprague ordered John C. Butler and Dennis to take up station on the escort carriers’ starboard quarter (where they were joined by Raymond), interposing them between the carriers and the Japanese. At this point, with the exception of John C. Butler, the escorts had expended all of their torpedoes. Given the dispositions of the two forces, it was also questionable if an advantageous firing position was even still possible. The destroyers and destroyer escorts had to resort to darting attacks at the Japanese cruisers while firing their guns, zig-zagging back and forth between the carriers and the enemy. Smoke screens partially shielded Sprague’s carriers, but the escorts were hit hard, yet remained underway and able to fight. Around 0850, Samuel B. Roberts received her first serious hit, which entered her hull under the waterline and knocked out her No. 1 fireroom. More Japanese hits followed. A massive explosion caused by several 14-inch shells tore an over 30 feet–long gash on the destroyer escort’s port side, obliterated the No. 2 engine room, ruptured fuel tanks, and started fires. All power and communications were lost, and Samuel B. Roberts was abandoned at 0910. Her commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Robert W. Copeland, USNR, was awarded the Navy Cross.

At 0845, just before Samuel B. Roberts’ waterline hit, the Japanese light cruiser Yahagi and several destroyers launched a torpedo attack on the Taffy 3, which was repulsed by Johnston’s furious fire and strafing by U.S. aircraft. However, Johnston, limping on one engine, was hit several times more as the Japanese destroyers concentrated their fire on her. Her other engine knocked out, her topsides in shambles, with no power or communications, Johnston was dead in the water at 0945 and was ordered abandoned five minutes later. Johnston’s commanding officer, Commander Ernest E. Evans, did not survive her sinking, but was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously. The Japanese destroyer squadron’s attack was to be the enemy’s last offensive action.

A Japanese heavy cruiser dead in the water (possibly Chikuma), with a destroyer standing by, during the Battle off Samar, 25 October 1944. A TBM Avenger from one of the American escort carriers is in the foreground. Note the extensive oil slick around the sinking cruiser (80-G-287538).

Explosion aboard USS St. Lo (CVE-63) after she was hit by a kamikaze off Samar, 25 October 1944 (80-G-270516).

Japanese Withdrawal

Taffy 3 might not have survived if Kurita’s ships had not been under air attack during the entire Samar engagement. As noted above, Rear Admiral Stump’s TG 77.4.2 (Taffy 2), was particularly engaged in this facet of the battle, augmenting Taffy 3 aircraft over the dispersed Center Force. Earlier that morning, just after the Japanese force had been sighted by Taffy 3, Stump had his available TBM Avengers re-armed with torpedoes or 500-pound bombs capable of damaging capital ships. As Taffy 3 was being pursued, Stump closed the distance to Sprague’s task unit and was able to launch three strikes during the battle’s roughly 90-minute duration. (At one point, Taffy 2 sighted Japanese ships, which, temporarily diverted from their pursuit of Sprague, fired on Taffy 2’s destroyers.) Rather than targeting specific vessels, Stump ordered his air group to attempt to cripple as many Japanese ships as possible. Taffy 2 and Taffy 3 aircraft contributed to the sinking of the heavy cruisers Chokai, Chikuma, and Suzuya, all of which had received some degree of damage from surface action. Additionally, aircraft damaged most of the other Japanese combatants and, combined with Sprague’s smoke screens, adversely effected Japanese gunnery and Kurita’s command and control of his dispersed force. After his last remaining scout aircraft was shot down shortly after 0900, and unaware of the proximity of his weakened and outnumbered opponent, Kurita decided to break off the surface action. Center Force, still under air attack, began to retrace its course toward the northwest.

The U.S. task units were not to have a long respite. Already at 0740 that morning, Taffy 1, in the process of launching aircraft in support of Taffy 3, had been attacked by six land-based Japanese planes from the recently constituted “Special Attack Air Corps,” the first official kamikaze unit. USS Santee (CVE-29) was hit by one, which caused flight and hangar deck fires. Other Taffy 1 escort carriers experienced near misses. The kamikaze attacks—an as-yet-unfamiliar enemy tactic— halted or slowed flight operations until after 1000.

Land-based kamikaze aircraft attacked Taffy 3 just before 1100. Kitkun Bay, Fanshaw Bay,and White Plains shot down or drove off their attackers. However, one Japanese plane, already damaged by White Plains antiaircraft fire, dove into St. Lo. The aircraft, a Mitsubishi A6M Zero (or Zeke), crashed through St. Lo’s flight deck into her hangar deck. The explosions of ready ordnance blew off the ship’s flight deck and elevator; fires raged. St. Losank in less than 30 minutes after the attack. Follow-on kamikaze targeted the other carriers. One hit Kalinen Bay’s flight deck, but the resulting fires could be extinguished. Her after stack was also hit. By 1130, the Japanese air attacks ceased and the task unit was able to concentrate on assessing damage and searching for survivors from Hoel, Gambier Bay, Samuel B. Roberts, Johnston, and St. Lo.

The initiative, aggressiveness, and outright heroism demonstrated by Taffy 3, combined with determined U.S. naval air attacks, limited Japanese situational awareness, and pure dumb luck of the Americans had stymied Vice Admiral Kurita’s intent to destroy U.S. landing forces in the Leyte Gulf. Along with the defeats in the Sibuyan Sea, the Surigao Strait, and off Cape Engaño, the Samar engagement blunted or destroyed much of the Japanese navy’s remaining offensive capabilities and turned its surviving surface forces into a “fleet in being”—a concern for Allied commanders, but never again the threat it had still posed into early 1944.

In the U.S. Navy’s history, few battles are as significant or as controversial as that of Leyte Gulf (24–26 October 1944). Among the largest naval battles ever fought,¹ Leyte involved nearly 200,000 men and 282 ships fighting in four separate engagements across 100,000 square miles of ocean. It was exactly the sort of “decisive battle” that both the Allies and the Japanese had sought since the beginning of World War II, one that pitted the waning might of the Japanese Combined Fleet against the U.S. Third and Seventh fleets. Although the Japanese hoped that this battle would revive their flagging fortunes, in the end, it would be prove to be their navy’s death knell, leaving the Allies in command of the Pacific and well situated to recapture the remainder of the Philippines. 

Beyond Leyte’s operational significance, it can be argued that no other battle fought during World War II encompassed as many facets of naval warfare nor, for that matter, the rich tableau of experiences and challenges that U.S. Navy sailors endured in service to their country during the conflict. This battle was a naval operation of an incomparable scale, the outcome of which turned on innumerable individual acts of heroism; a showcase for naval air power, which also featured the last engagement between battleships; and an unparalleled victory that came perilously close to becoming an unmitigated disaster. Even 75 years later, Leyte Gulf still has much it can teach us about planning and preparation, the evolving nature of warfare, decision-making under fire, and, above all, individual sacrifice.

“I Have Returned”: Planning for the Invasion of the Philippines

From its very inception, the invasion of the Philippines promised to be one of the most wide-ranging naval campaigns ever conducted by the U.S. Navy, one that would involve multiple fleets, raids on other Japanese-held islands, shore bombardments of enemy defenses, and, most importantly, the transportation and landing of Army troops onto the island of Leyte. Naturally, the planning that went into this undertaking was quite extensive, with Navy planners working hand-in-hand with their Army counterparts to develop a workable strategy for the upcoming invasion. The proposed undertaking was well-conceived, but, like all joint operations, it would require a high degree of cooperation and coordination among all forces involved, a task made all the more complicated by the fact that command of the naval forces would be divided between Admiral William Halsey (Third Fleet) and Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid (Seventh Fleet). While this would prove no obstacle to success initially, the divided command structure had the potential to complicate the operation, particularly if the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) decided to vigorously oppose the invasion.

Suffice to say, this is exactly what the IJN intended to do. Following the Combined Fleet’s disastrous showing at the Battle of Philippine Sea (19–20 June 1944),² its leaders recognized that time and resources were running out to blunt the Allies’ momentum and prevent them from launching attacks against the Japanese Home Islands. Believing it necessary to force the U.S. Navy into a “decisive battle” but uncertain as to where it would strike next, they developed four separate contingency plans that corresponded to potential invasion routes the Allies might take.³ Collectively known as “Shō-Go” (“Operation Victory”), each plan called for the IJN to commit the bulk of its remaining fleet to the proposed engagement in the hopes of delivering a crippling blow to its enemies.

The IJN’s plan to defend the Philippines (Shō-1) initially involved three separate forces.⁴ The first, the Task Force Main Body consisting primarily of carriers under Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa, would sortie from Japan and approach the Philippines from the north, stationing itself off the island of Luzon. Joined by Vice Admiral Kiyohide Shima’s Second Striking Force, they would attempt to draw off the ships covering the Allied landings. With the landing ships now unprotected, Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita’s First Striking Force would easily be able to swoop in and destroy the landing craft, leaving the Allied troops stranded until a counter-invasion could be launched to wipe them out.⁵

As we shall see, Shō-1 underwent some crucial revisions once the Allied invasion of the Philippines actually materialized, but even in its earliest form, it can be viewed as a product of both strategic daring and sheer desperation.  So much of the operation’s success rested on a number of different variables, not the least of which was whether or not Ozawa’s fleet could entice the U.S. Navy’s covering fleet to abandon the amphibious forces. While they publicly exuded confidence, those involved in the operation privately knew it was a desperate gambit, with Ozawa admitting to Allied interrogators after the war that he did “not have much confidence in being a lure, but there was no other way than to try.”⁶ Others were even more fatalistic, including Kurita.  In the run-up to the battle, he asked his crew, “Would it not be a shame to have the fleet remain intact while our nation perishes?”⁷

Although the U.S. Navy had some intelligence concerning Japan’s plans for a “decisive battle,”⁸ those involved in the planning of the Philippines campaign did not anticipate “that major elements of the Japanese fleet will be involved in the present operation.”⁹ While this prediction proved to be woefully inaccurate,¹⁰ it cannot be said that they were ill-prepared to defend the landings in the event that a Japanese attack did materialize. Whereas most prior operations had only utilized a single fleet, the plan for Leyte Gulf called for the involvement of both the Third and the Seventh fleets. The latter, under the command of Vice Admiral Kinkaid would operate out of Leyte Gulf, conducting bombardments of Japanese shore defenses, ferrying General Douglas MacArthur’s troops ashore, and guarding the southern approach to the gulf through the Surigao Strait. Admiral Halsey’s Third Fleet, on the other hand, would “cover and support forces of Southwest Pacific [i.e. the Seventh Fleet],” as well as destroy “enemy naval and air forces in or threatening the Philippines Area.” Crucially, Halsey’s orders also contained the important caveat that, “In case opportunity for destruction of major portions of the enemy fleet offers or can be created, such destruction becomes the primary task.”¹¹ This certainly got Halsey’s attention, as he subsequently wrote Nimitz, “My goal is the same as yours—to completely annihilate the Jap fleet if the opportunity offers.”¹²

Halsey’s enthusiastic reaction was very much in line with his overall command style and temperament.  Known for aggressive tactics and bombastic pronouncements (upon hearing a Japanese broadcast that tauntingly asked, “Where is the American fleet?” the admiral told an aide, “Send them our latitude and longitude!”),¹³ Halsey was a commander very much in the mold of Horatio Nelson. In the months following Pearl Harbor, he had led a series of daring raids against Japanese-held islands, provided naval support for the famed Doolittle Raid, and commanded the Navy’s successful operations in the eastern Solomons. Feted by the American press and revered by those who served under him, Halsey was, arguably, the face of the Navy during World War II.

His counterpart, Kinkaid, was almost the polar opposite. Although Kinkaid had developed his own well-deserved reputation as a “fighting admiral,” he was considerably more cautious and personally reserved than Halsey, once remarking to a reporter, “Please don’t say I made any dramatic statements. You know I’m incapable of that.”¹⁴ As a commander, he tended to take a more group-oriented approach, trusting in the abilities of his subordinates and collaboration with others to accomplish the tasks at hand. It was for this reason that Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander in Chief Pacific Ocean Areas (CINCPOA), had chosen him to lead joint operations with the Army, first in the Aleutians in 1943 and then in the Southwest Pacific Area (SWPA). The latter assignment placed him under Douglas A. MacArthur, the famed general who had led the defense of the Philippines in early 1942 and was now desperately seeking to return there. Despite the general’s rather mercurial temperament and his staff’s innate distrust of the Navy, Kinkaid developed a productive working relationship with them during their campaigns against the Admiralty Islands and western New Guinea.¹⁵ 

This strong relationship would pay dividends in planning upcoming invasion of the Philippines. Although planning for the operation had begun in July 1945, the decision in mid-September to move up the invasion from December to October gave Kinkaid and his staff only five weeks to come up with a workable plan. Thankfully, most of the principle staff involved were located at or near MacArthur’s headquarters in Hollandia, enabling them to resolve issues quickly and gain a greater understanding of all aspects of the operation. Indeed, the planning process was apparently so thorough that it impressed even Roger Keyes, former Royal Navy Admiral of the Fleet. Keyes, who was visiting Hollandia at the time, told Kinkaid, “I’ve been here for your briefings. I understand what is going on, I know your plan, and I think the plan is a good one and it will succeed.”¹⁶

As thorough as the planning process had been, there was one potential sticking point: the command structure. Since early in the war, Pacific operations had been divided into two separate theaters, with MacArthur in charge of the Southwest Pacific Area and Nimitz commanding the Pacific Ocean Area.  Under this arrangement, the Seventh Fleet had been placed under MacArthur’s overall command (hence, its nickname “MacArthur’s Navy”), while Third/Fifth Fleet had been under Nimitz.¹⁷ Ideally, the two commands would have merged once operations converged in a single theater, but it is unlikely that either Nimitz or MacArthur would have suffered being made subordinate to the other.¹⁸ Thus, the divided command structure remained in place, even as the Allies prepared for what be the largest, most complicated amphibious operation since the landings at Normandy earlier that year.

In Halsey’s view, the divided command structure contributed to some of the problem subsequently experienced at Leyte. As he later argued, “If we had been under the same command, with a single system of operational control and intelligence, the Battle of Leyte Gulf might have been fought differently to a different result.”¹⁹ Kinkaid, on the other hand, contended that, “One head would not have been better than two in a case of this sort, where each of us had his mission, I thought, very clearly stated.”²⁰ On this last point, the Kinkaid was arguably mistaken. Although some elements of the Third Fleet had been involved the planning process,²¹ Halsey and Nimitz’s involvement had been limited to a handful of planning sessions, largely attended by their representatives. Thus, it is not necessarily surprising the two came to have differing as perceptions as to what their respective missions were.  Whereas Kinkaid and MacArthur believed that Third Fleet’s main priority was to provide cover for the landing operation, Halsey viewed his mission as being potentially much more offensively oriented.²²

Complicating things further were the communications restrictions that MacArthur had imposed on Kinkaid.  Perhaps fearful of ceding any authority, MacArthur forbade Kinkaid from communicating directly with Nimitz or Halsey directly and required all communications through a radio station on Manus. This would greatly complicate the already difficult task of coordinating the two fleets, as the radio station proved unable to cope with the sheer number of messages that would flow through it during the battle. Consequently, some very critical messages were not delivered until many hours after they had been sent, something that would significantly affect Halsey and Kinkaid’s decision-making.²³     

It must be emphasized that, at least for now, the divided command structure and communications barriers remained only potential complications for the Leyte operation, and that the invasion plan itself was quite strategically sound. Indeed, the opening stages of the Philippines invasion went about as smoothly for the Allies as could be hoped for. On 17 October, TG 77.2 (the Fire Support and Bombardment Group) under Rear Admiral Jesse B. Oldendorf approached Leyte from the east, conducting minesweeping and shore bombardment operations off the islands of Suluan, Homohon, and Dinagat in order to secure the entrance to the gulf.²⁴ Three days later, on 20 October, Kinkaid, MacArthur, and the rest of Seventh Fleet entered the gulf and commenced the invasion of Leyte proper. Not content to watch the operation from afar, MacArthur waded ashore and famously proclaimed, “People of the Philippines! I have returned.” 

Despite the grandiloquent certainty of this pronouncement, however, the general’s return was anything but assured at this point. Although the Navy’s strategic planning had already paid considerable dividends, it remained to be seen whether or not it would hold up under pressure, particularly once the Japanese put their own plans into effect. Once that occurred, the Third and Seventh fleets would be forced to contend with not only the Japanese Combined Fleet, but also their shore-based aircraft.  It would be here, in the skies over the Philippines, that the opening stages of the Battle of Leyte would be won or lost.

Japanese battleships at Brunei, Borneo, October 1944, photographed just prior to the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Ships are, from left to right: Musashi, Yamato, a cruiser, and Nagato. At Leyte, the three battleships were components of Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita’s Center Force (NH 73090).

“Strike, Repeat, Strike!”: In the Skies Over Sibuyan Sea

Since the beginning of World War II, aviation had redefined naval warfare, indelibly linking the struggle for supremacy at sea to supremacy in the air. This remained true even as naval actions in the Pacific shifted from carrier duels in open waters to support missions for land-based operations such as the invasion of the Philippines. Indeed, air power arguably became even more important at this stage in the war, for although the Japanese had sustained irreversible losses to their naval aircraft at the Battle of Philippine Sea, they still commanded significant shore-based air power that could be brought to bear against the Navy, particularly now that the action had moved from isolated atolls to large islands in closer proximity to the Japanese mainland.²⁵ Consequently, any successful defense of the Leyte landings would depend just as much on the Navy’s ability to neutralize the Japanese aircraft as it did their ships. Fortunately, in contrast to their opponents, the Navy had both the air power and the trained personnel necessary to do just that.

One of the engagements most critical to the success of the Leyte campaign actually occurred in the weeks preceding the landings. In order to throw the Japanese off-balance and keep them guessing as to where the Allies would target next, Halsey and Third Fleet staged a series of raids against Okinawa, Formosa, and Luzon. These raids succeeded beyond all expectations, not only forcing the Japanese to partially activate Shō-1 and Shō-2 plans, but to also sortie their shore-based aircraft against Halsey’s forces. The ensuing air battles (11–16 October) absolutely decimated the Japanese air fleets, costing them an estimated 529 aircraft. Critically, at least some of these the aircraft were from Ozawa’s carrier force, leaving him with little over 110 aircraft in reserve for the Leyte operation.²⁶ This, coupled with the loss of shore-based aircraft would leave the ships of the Japanese Combined Fleet with precious little air cover heading into the upcoming engagement.²⁷ Captain Mitsuo Fuchida, air staff officer to the Commander in Chief Combined Fleet, later testified that this, essentially, doomed the Leyte operation from the start.²⁸

One other important consequence of Halsey’s raids is that it threw the Japanese completely off-balance and delayed their response until it became clear that the Allies’ primary target was not Formosa or Luzon, but Leyte. It was only on 18 October that they finally initiated the Shō-1 plan in earnest and sortied their fleets in the hopes of catching the Third and Seventh fleets at unawares. Departing from Brunei on 22 October, Kurita’s First Striking Force (referred to as the “Center Force” in U.S. Navy documents) would proceed as planned to the Sibuyan Sea in the hopes of reaching Leyte Gulf by 25 October. Upon the recommendation of Fleet HQ, he would also detach a smaller force of seven ships (two battleships, one cruiser, and four destroyers) under Vice Admiral Shōji Nishimura (the “Southern Force”) to proceed through the Sulu and Mindanao seas with the aim of approaching Leyte Gulf from the south through the Surigao Strait. They would be followed shortly thereafter by Vice Admiral Kiyohide Shima’s Second Strike Force, which had originally been slated to oversee the counter-landings at Leyte in the event of Shō-1’s success. Meanwhile, Ozawa’s Mobile Strike Force (the “Northern Force”) would proceed southwards from Japan in the hopes of luring away Halsey’s Third Fleet. If all went according to plan, the Center and Southern forces would meet in Leyte Gulf and overwhelm the landing ships of Seventh Fleet.²⁹   

Despite their best efforts, the Japanese quickly lost the element of surprise when U.S. submarines Darter (SS-227) and Dace (SS-247) espied the Center Force off Palawan on 23 October. Taking advantage of their good fortune, the two submarines launched their own surprise attack against the Japanese fleet, damaging cruiser Takao and sinking heavy cruisers Maya and Atago, Kurita’s flagship.  Humiliatingly, the admiral would be forced to spend at least part of the engagement (later dubbed the “Battle of Palawan Passage”) treading water until he could be rescued.³⁰  

As all of this was occurring, Halsey was busy preparing his own warm welcome.  Upon receiving word that the Center Force had entered the Sibuyan Sea on the morning of 24 October, he ordered his aircraft to launch at 0833 with the admonition, “Strike!  Repeat: strike!”³¹ Over the course of the day, they did just that, mercilessly pounding the Japanese Center Force with bombs and torpedoes while fending off incoming waves of Japanese aircraft launched from Luzon and other parts of the Philippines.  In a demonstration of just how profoundly air power had reshaped naval warfare, Third Fleet’s pilots fatally wounded Musashi, one of the IJN’s two Yamato-class battleships. The largest battleships ever built, the Yamato-class ships had been feted as nigh unsinkable symbols of Japan’s naval might.³² Now, lacking air support, they had become target practice for the determined squadrons of Third Fleet, with Musashi alone taking between 20 and 30 hits from bombs and torpedoes.  Despite considerable effort being made to save her, she would sink at 1900, taking 1,100 sailors into the deep with her. Tellingly, just prior to going down with his ship, Rear Admiral Toshihira Inoguchi expressed considerable regret at having placed so much faith in big guns and big ships.³³

U.S. naval air power proved just as effective against airborne foes as it did against surface ones. Over the course of the battle, the Japanese sent three waves of 50 to 60 shore-based planes, all of which were fearlessly met by aircraft from Third Fleet.  During the first wave alone, Commander David McCampbell and Ensign Roy Rushing of Essex (CV-9) were able to shoot down a combined 15 planes.  McCampbell’s nine kills alone were a record for a single engagement, one that would subsequently earn him the Medal of Honor.³⁴ Despite such heroics, at least one Japanese plane did manage to get through and bomb Princeton (CVL-23) at 0938. Although the initial damage was not fatal, a fire in the ship’s interior caused an explosion in her torpedo stowage at 1523. Unfortunately, the explosion not only mortally wounded Princeton, but also caused significant casualties (229 killed, 420 wounded) on board Birmingham (CL-62), which had pulled alongside the carrier to aid her.³⁵

This tragedy notwithstanding, the U.S. Navy’s overall successes in the air were crucial in forcing Kurita to reverse course. With the operation having lost a significant number of aircraft even before it had begun, Kurita lacked the air cover necessary to fend off the swarms of bombers that Halsey launched at his force that day. Recognizing that he was at a severe disadvantage, the Japanese admiral retired westwards at 1600, both in the hopes of avoiding further damage and giving the impression that he was in full retreat. Despite the significant loss of Musashi and cruiser Myoko, as well as the earlier losses he had sustained off Palawan, Kurita still retained a formidable force of 22 ships (four battleships, six heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and ten destroyers). Although he could not possibly hope to compete against Third Fleet, he still had sufficient numbers to attack the amphibious forces of Seventh Fleet, assuming he could make it through the San Bernardino Strait unmolested. Hoping to bolster his fatigued commander’s resolve, Admiral Soemu Toyoda, Commander in Chief of the Combined Fleet, sent Kurita a message at 1800, exhorting, “Trusting in Divine guidance, resume the attack.”³⁶

Kurita’s “retreat” marked the end of the first engagement of the Leyte campaign (the Battle of Sibuyan Sea). While the U.S. Navy had suffered some casualties, they had inflicted far more damage on the Japanese Center Force. Despite these early successes, however neither Halsey nor his staff could rest easy. To this point, most of the aircraft encountered by Third Fleet had been shore-based, leading Halsey’s air operations officer, Commander Douglas Moulton, to eloquently inquire, “Where in the hell are those goddamn carriers!?”³⁷ Such questions only intensified when two air squadrons from Enterprise (CV-6) spotted Nishimura’s Southern Force steaming through the Sulu Sea at 0820 sans any carriers.³⁸ It would not be until 1245, when Langley (CVL-27) detected fighters inbound from the north, that they realized that the Japanese carriers were approaching from the north. 

What they did not learn until much later is that this fleet (dubbed the “Northern Force”) was the decoy force outlined in the Shō-1 plan. Indeed, Vice Admiral Ozawa was actually so eager to be found that he had repeatedly broken radio silence in the hopes of getting Third Fleet’s attention. When this failed to work, he launched nearly all of his aircraft (little more than 110 in all), both in the hopes of relieving pressure on Kurita’s Center Force and attracting Halsey’s notice. On the latter account, he succeeded, as planes from TG 38.3 finally discovered the Northern Force at 1640.³⁹ Having finally found his quarry, Halsey had to decide whether to pursue them or maintain station in the Sibuyan Sea in the event that the Center Force returned. Ever eager to go on the offensive, Halsey ultimately chose the former course, a decision that would eventually come to overshadow nearly everything that had been achieved at Sibuyan Sea. 

We shall examine this decision momentarily, but for now, let us remain focused on the battle just fought. In certain respects, few naval battles of World War II demonstrate just how profoundly air power had reshaped naval warfare than Sibuyan Sea. Well before the battle had even commenced, the Japanese had been placed at a severe (perhaps even fatal) disadvantage with the loss of so many aircraft in the Philippine Sea and over Formosa. Unable to muster sufficient air support for its upcoming mission, the Center Force would be forced to rely primarily on its anti-aircraft (AA) guns to counter the threat from the skies above, a rather inadequate solution as the loss of Musashi proved. Built to go head to head with any ship afloat, the majestic battleship was nonetheless rendered impotent by the lack of air support and the repeated air attacks against it. Her rather inglorious end was not only a huge blow to the Japanese, but also seemed to send an unmistakable signal that the era of the battleship had finally come to an end. To a large extent, this was quite true, but, as we shall see, the battleships still had at least one more engagement to fight, one that would end on a decidedly more triumphant note for the U.S. Navy.

The Japanese battleship Musashi under heavy attack during the Battle of the Sibuyan Sea, 24 October 1944 (80-G-281765)

“Make All Ready for a Night Battle”: Last Clash of the Battleships in Surigao Strait

Although the Battle of Sibuyan Sea had offered yet another example of just how profoundly air power had changed naval warfare, the big guns of the battleship still had one last song to sing before their final curtain call. The stage for this final performance would be Surigao Strait; the leads, Rear Admiral Oldendorf and Vice Admiral Nishimura; the production, an updated interpretation of a maritime classic that had previously been performed at such illustrious venues as Tsushima in 1905 and Jutland in 1916. It was, to put it less poetically, a classic naval surface engagement between big-gun fleets, one which saw the combined forces of TG 77.2, 77.3, and Destroyer Squadron (DesRon) 56 absolutely decimate the Japanese Southern Force using the sort of maneuvers that could have come straight out of any war college textbook. While at least some of this outcome can be attributed to last-minute revisions to the Shō-1 plan and poor coordination among the Japanese forces, it was also a rare example of a meticulously drawn-up battle plan being executed to near perfection. 

In its earlier iterations, the Shō-1 plan had not actually called for a separate force to attack Leyte through the Surigao Strait. Instead, the strait was supposed to serve as an exit for Kurita’s force. However, at 1006 on 20 October, Vice admiral Ryūnosuke Kusaka, Admiral Toyoda’s chief of staff, recommended that Kurita detach part of his force to head through Surigao Strait so that they might attack Seventh Fleet from both the north and the south. Kurita concurred with this recommendation and detached seven ships (including battleships Fuso and Yamashiro) under the command of Vice Admiral Nishimura. Curiously, it was around this same time that Vice Admiral Shima received permission to also take the Second Striking Force through the Surigao Strait. One might assume that this force was intended to reinforce Nishimura’s, but for whatever reason, there was no actually coordination between the two.⁴⁰ Indeed, Kurita was not even aware that Shima had been assigned to the operation until after he had drawn up his plans for Nishimura.⁴¹ As a consequence, Nishimura’s Southern Force would enter the strait ahead of the Second Striking Force.

Although the U.S. Navy would soon have to deal with its own coordination and communications issues, at least when it came to defending Surigao Strait, all commanders involved were very much on the same page. Once word arrived that some of Enterprise’s planes had come into contact with Nishimura’s force, Kinkaid sent a message to Oldendorf at 1443, ordering him to “Make all ready for night battle.”⁴² Consisting of 40 ships, Oldendorf’s squadron already significantly outnumbered the seven ships of the incoming Southern Force. To further tilt the odds in their favor, Kinkaid also detached a group of torpedo boats to patrol the southern end of the strait. These would serve as forward sentries, informing Oldendorf when the Japanese Southern Force entered the strait and then harrying its ships until they came within range of his guns.

Having received his orders, Oldendorf set about developing a battle plan for the upcoming engagement.  Taking advantage of the strait’s geography, Oldendorf positioned his destroyers along both sides of the strait while his cruisers and battleships formed the main line across the strait. If all went according to plan, the incoming column of Japanese would be subjected to torpedo attacks by the destroyers and then finished off by raking gunfire from the battleships and cruisers that formed Oldendorf’s battle line. The latter’s firing range would be somewhat limited by the fact that they were mainly carrying high-capacity (HC) explosive rounds meant for shore bombardments rather than armor-piercing (AP) rounds,⁴³ but this would not be a serious impediment in the forthcoming action.

From a tactical standpoint, Oldendorf’s plan was quite sound, but, like any plan, its success would depend on those carrying it out. Wanting to make sure that his commanders had a thorough understanding of the plan and how they it was to be carried out, Olde