<p>Unlike the battleships the enemy
had caught moored on Battleship
Row, <i>Pennsylvania</i> (BB-38), the fleet
flagship, lay on keel blocks, sharing
Dry Dock No. 1 at the Navy Yard
with <i>Cassin</i> (DD-372) and <i>Downes</i>
(DD-375)—two destroyers side-by-side
ahead of her. Three of <i>Pennsylvania</i>’s
four propeller shafts had been
removed and she was receiving all
steam, power, and water from the
yard. Although her being in drydock
had excused her from taking part in
antiaircraft drills, her crew swiftly
manned her machine guns after the
first bombs exploded among the PBY
flying boats parked on the south end
of Ford Island. “Air defense stations”
then sounded, followed by “general<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span>
quarters.” Men knocked the locks off
ready-use ammunition stowage and
<i>Pennsylvania</i> opened fire about
0802.</p>
<div id="ip_11" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 40em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_011.jpg" width-obs="627" height-obs="840" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p><i>Close-up of the forward
superstructure of</i> Nevada
(<i>BB-36</i>) <i>taken a few
days after the Japanese
attack as the battleship lay
beached off Waipio Point. In
the upper portion of this view
can be seen the forward
machine gun position with its
four .50-caliber water-cooled
Brownings—the ones manned
by Gunnery Sergeant Douglas
and his men during the battle
on 7 December. Note the extensive
fire damage
to the superstructure
below. In the lower
portion of the picture
can be seen one of the
ship’s 5-inch/51s, of
the type manned by
Corporal Driskell at
the start of
the action.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The fleet flagship and the two destroyers
nestled in the drydock ahead
of her led a charmed life until dive
bombers from <i>Soryu</i> and <i>Hiryu</i> targeted
the drydock area between 0830
and 0915.<SPAN name="FNanchor_B" href="#Footnote_B" class="fnanchor">B</SPAN> One bomb penetrated
<i>Pennsylvania</i>’s boat deck, just to the
rear of 5-inch/25 gun no. 7, and
detonated in casemate no. 9. Of
<i>Pennsylvania</i>’s Marine detachment,
two men (Privates Patrick P. Tobin
and George H. Wade, Jr.) died outright,
13 fell wounded, and six were
listed as missing. Three of the
wounded—Corporal Morris E. Nations
and Jesse C. Vincent, Jr., and
Private First Class Floyd D.
Stewart—died later the same day.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><SPAN name="Footnote_B" href="#FNanchor_B" class="fnanchor">B</SPAN> For what became of the two destroyers, and the
Marines decorated for bravery in the battle to try
to save them, see <SPAN href="#Page_28">page 28–29</SPAN>.</p>
</div>
<div id="ip_11b" class="bboxleft figleft" style="min-width: 12em; max-width: 33%;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_012.jpg" width-obs="182" height-obs="238" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="dc al"><span class="smcap1">Lieutenant</span> Colonel Daniel
Russel Fox, USMC, as the
Division Marine Officer on the
staff of Rear Admiral Isaac C. Kidd,
Commander, Battleship Division
One, was the most senior Marine
officer to die on board <i>Arizona</i> on
the morning of 7 December 1941. Fox
had enlisted in the Marine Corps in
1916. For heroism in France on 4 October
1918, when he was a member
of the 17th Company, Fifth Marines,
he was awarded the Navy Cross. He
also was decorated with the Army’s
Distinguished Service Cross and the
French Croix de Guerre. Fox was
commissioned in 1921 and later
served in Nicaragua as well as China.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>As the onslaught descended upon
the battleships and the air station,
Marine detachments hurried to their
battle stations on board other ships
elsewhere at Pearl. In the Navy Yard
lay <i>Argonne</i> (AG-31), the flagship of
the Base Force, the heavy cruisers
<i>New Orleans</i> (CA-32) and <i>San Francisco</i>
(CA-38), and the light cruisers
<i>Honolulu</i> (CL-48), <i>St. Louis</i> (CL-49)
and <i>Helena</i> (CL-50). To the northeast
of Ford Island lay the light cruiser
<i>Phoenix</i> (CL-43).</p>
<p>Although <i>Utah</i> was torpedoed and
sunk at her berth early in the attack,
her 14 Marines, on temporary duty
at the 14th Naval District Rifle
Range, found useful employment
combatting the enemy. The Fleet
Machine Gun School lay on Oahu’s
south coast, west of the Pearl Harbor
entrance channel, at Fort Weaver.
The men stationed there, including
several Marines on temporary duty
from the carrier <i>Enterprise</i> and the
battleships <i>California</i> and <i>Pennsylvania</i>,
sprang to action at the first
sounds of war. Working with the
men from the Rifle Range, all hands
set up and mounted guns, and broke
out and belted ammunition between
0755 and 0810. All those present at
the range were issued pistols or rifles
from the facility’s armory.</p>
<p>Soon after the raid began, Platoon
Sergeant Harold G. Edwards set
about securing the camp against any
incursion the Japanese might attempt
from the landward side, and also supervised
the emplacement of
machine guns along the beach. Lieutenant
(j.g.) Roy R. Nelson, the
officer in charge of the Rifle Range,
remembered the many occasions
when Captain Frank M. Reinecke,
commanding officer of <i>Utah</i>’s Marine
detachment and the senior instructor
at the Fleet Machine Gun School
(and, as his Naval Academy classmates
remembered, quite a conversationalist),
had maintained that the
school’s weapons would be a great
asset if anybody ever attacked
Hawaii. By 0810, Reinecke’s gunners
stood ready to prove the point and
soon engaged the enemy—most likely
torpedo planes clearing Pearl Harbor
or high-level bombers approaching
from the south. Nearby
Army units, perhaps alerted by the
Marines’ fire, opened up soon thereafter.
Unfortunately, the eager gunners
succeeded in downing one of
two SBDs from <i>Enterprise</i> that were
attempting to reach Hickam Field.
An Army crash boat, fortunately,
rescued the pilot and his wounded
passenger soon thereafter.</p>
<p>On board <i>Argonne</i>, meanwhile,
alongside 1010 Dock, her Marines
manned her starboard 3-inch/23 battery
and her machine guns. Commander
Fred W. Connor, the ship’s
commanding officer, later credited
Corporal Alfred Schlag with shooting
down one Japanese plane as it
headed for Battleship Row.</p>
<p>When the attack began, <i>Helena</i> lay
moored alongside 1010 Dock, the
venerable minelayer <i>Oglala</i> (CM-3)
outboard. A signalman, standing
watch on the light cruiser’s signal
bridge at 0757 identified the planes
over Ford Island as Japanese, and the
ship went to general quarters. Before
she could fire a shot in her own
defense, however, one 800-kilogram
torpedo barrelled into her starboard
side about a minute after the general
alarm had begun summoning her
men to their battle stations. The explosion
vented up from the forward
engine room through the hatch and
passageways, catching many of the
crew running to their stations, and
started fires on the third deck. Platoon
Sergeant Robert W. Teague, Privates
First Class Paul F. Huebner, Jr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span>
and George E. Johnson, and Private
Lester A. Morris were all severely
burned. Johnson later died.</p>
<div id="ip_13" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 35em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_013.jpg" width-obs="556" height-obs="429" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>National Archives Photo 80-G-32854</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Beneath a leaden sky on 8 December 1941, Marines at NAS
Kaneohe Bay fire a volley over the common grave of 15 officers
and men killed during the Japanese raid the previous
day. Note sandbagged position atop the sandy rise at right.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>To the southeast, <i>New Orleans</i> lay
across the pier from her sister ship
<i>San Francisco</i>. The former went to
general quarters soon after enemy
planes had been sighted dive-bombing
Ford Island around 0757.
At 0805, as several low-flying torpedo
planes roared by, bound for Battleship
Row, Marine sentries on the
fantail opened fire with rifles and
.45s. <i>New Orleans</i>’ men, meanwhile,
so swiftly manned the 1.1-inch/75
quads, and .50-caliber machine guns,
under the direction of Captain William
R. Collins, the commanding
officer of the ship’s Marine detachment,
that the ship actually managed
to shoot at torpedo planes passing
her stern. <i>San Francisco</i>, however,
under major overhaul with neither
operative armament nor major
caliber ammunition on board, was
thus restricted to having her men fire
small arms at whatever Japanese
planes came within range. Some of
her crew, though, hurried over to
<i>New Orleans</i>, which was near-missed
by one bomb, and helped man her
5-inchers.</p>
<p><i>St. Louis</i>, outboard of <i>Honolulu</i>,
went to general quarters at 0757 and
opened fire with her 1.1 quadruple
mounted antiaircraft and .50-caliber
machine gun batteries, and after getting
her 5-inch mounts in commission
by 0830—although without
power in train—she hauled in her
lines at 0847 and got underway at
0931. With all 5-inchers in full commission
by 0947, she proceeded to
sea, passing the channel entrance
buoys abeam around 1000.
<i>Honolulu</i>, damaged by a near miss
from a bomb, remained moored at
her berth throughout the action.</p>
<p><i>Phoenix</i>, moored by herself in
berth C-6 in Pearl Harbor, to the
northeast of Ford Island, noted the
attacking planes at 0755 and went to
general quarters. Her machine gun
battery opened fire at 0810 on the attacking
planes as they came within
range; her antiaircraft battery five
minutes later. Ultimately, after two
false starts (where she had gotten underway
and left her berth only to see
sortie signals cancelled each time)
<i>Phoenix</i> cleared the harbor later that
day and put to sea.</p>
<p>For at least one Marine, though,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span>
the day’s adventure was not over
when the Japanese planes departed.
Search flights took off from Ford Island,
pilots taking up utility aircraft
with scratch crews, to look for the
enemy carriers which had launched
the raid. Mustered at the naval air
station on Ford Island, <i>Oklahoma</i>’s
Sergeant Hailey, still clad in his oil-soaked
underwear, volunteered to go
up in a plane that was leaving on a
search mission at around 1130. He
remained aloft in the plane, armed
with a rifle, for some five hours.</p>
<p>After the attacking planes had retired,
the grim business of cleaning
up and getting on with the war had
to be undertaken. Muster had to be
taken to determine who was missing,
who was wounded, who lay dead.
Men sought out their friends and
shipmates. First Lieutenant Cornelius
C. Smith, Jr., from the Marine Barracks
at the Navy Yard, searched in
vain among the maimed and dying
at the Naval Hospital later that day,
for his friend Harry Gaver from <i>Oklahoma</i>.
Death respected no rank.
The most senior Marine to die that
day was Lieutenant Colonel Daniel
R. Fox, the decorated World War I
hero and the division Marine officer
on the staff of the Commander, Battleship
Division One, Rear Admiral
Isaac C. Kidd, who, along with Lieutenant
Colonel Fox, had been killed
in <i>Arizona</i>. The tragedy of Pearl
Harbor struck some families with
more force than others: numbered
among <i>Arizona</i>’s lost were Private
Gordon E. Shive, of the battleship’s
Marine detachment, and his brother,
Radioman Third Class Malcolm H.
Shive, a member of the ship’s
company.</p>
<p>Over the next few days, Marines
from the sunken ships received reassignment
to other vessels—<i>Nevada</i>’s
Marines deployed ashore to set up
defensive positions in the fields adjacent
to the grounded and listing
battleship—and the dead, those who
could be found, were interred with
appropriate ceremony. Eventually,
the deeds of Marines in the battleship
detachments were recognized by appropriate
commendations and advancements
in ratings. Chief among
them, Gunnery Sergeant Douglas,
Sergeant Hailey, and Corporals
Driskell and Darling were each
awarded the Navy Cross. For his
“meritorious conduct at the peril of
his own life,” Major Shapley was
commended and awarded the Silver
Star. Lieutenant Simensen was
awarded a posthumous Bronze Star,
while <i>Tennessee</i>’s commanding officer
commended Captain White for the
way in which he had directed that
battleship’s antiaircraft guns that
morning.</p>
<p>Titanic salvage efforts raised some
of the sunken battleships—<i>California</i>,
<i>West Virginia</i>, and <i>Nevada</i>—and
they, like the surviving Marines,
went on to play a part in the ultimate
defeat of the enemy who had begun
the war with such swift and terrible
suddenness.</p>
<h3><i>They Caught Us Flat-Footed</i></h3>
<p>At 0740, when Fuchida’s fliers had
closed to within a few miles of Kahuku
Point, the 43 Zeroes split away
from the rest of the formation,
swinging out north and west of
Wheeler Field, the headquarters of
the Hawaiian Air Force’s 18th Pursuit
Wing. Passing further to the south,
at about 0745 the <i>Soryu</i> and <i>Hiryu</i>
divisions executed a hard diving turn
to port and headed north, toward
Wheeler. Eleven Zeroes from
<i>Shokaku</i> and <i>Zuikaku</i> simultaneously
left the formation and flew east,
crossing over Oahu north of Pearl
Harbor to attack NAS Kaneohe Bay.
Eighteen from <i>Akagi</i> and <i>Kaga</i> headed
toward what the Japanese called
<em>Babasu Pointo Hikojo</em> (Barbers Point
Airdrome)—Ewa Mooring Mast
Field.</p>
<p>Sweeping over the Waianae Range,
Lieutenant Commander Shigeru
Itaya led <i>Akagi</i>’s nine Zeroes, while
Lieutenant Yoshio Shiga headed
another division of nine from <i>Kaga</i>.
After the initial attack, Itaya and Shiga
were to be followed by divisions
from <i>Soryu</i>, under Lieutenant Masaji
Suganami, and <i>Hiryu</i>, under Lieutenant
Kiyokuma Okajima, which
were, at that moment, involved in attacking
Wheeler to the north.</p>
<div id="ip_14" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_014.jpg" width-obs="366" height-obs="222" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Author’s Collection</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Ewa Mooring Mast Field, later a Japanese target, is seen hazily through the windshield
of a Battleship Row-bound Kate shortly before 0800 on 7 December 1941.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>In the officers’ mess at Ewa, the
officer-of-the-day, Captain Leonard
W. Ashwell of VMJ-252, noticed two
formations of aircraft at 0755. The
first looked like 18 “torpedo planes”
flying at 1,000 feet toward Pearl Harbor
from Barbers Point, but the second,
to the northwest, comprised
about 21 planes, just coming over the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span>
hills from the direction of Nanakuli,
also at an altitude of about 1,000
feet. Ashwell, intrigued by the sight,
stepped outside for a better look. The
second formation, of single-seat
fighters (the two divisions from <i>Akagi</i>
and <i>Kaga</i>), flew just to the north
of Ewa and wheeled to the right.
Then, flying in a “string” formation,
they commenced firing. Recognizing
the planes as Japanese, Ashwell burst
back into the mess, shouting: “Air
Raid ... Air Raid! Pass the word!”
He then sprinted for the guard house,
to have “call to arms” sounded.</p>
<div id="ip_15" class="bbox b2 figcenter" style="max-width: 35em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_015.jpg" width-obs="554" height-obs="560" alt="" />
<div class="caption"><p class="center larger"><i>Browning Machine Gun Drill On Board Ship</i></p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p class="dc"><span class="smcap1">Marines</span> man a water-cooled, .50-caliber
Browning M2 machine gun during a drill
on board the gunnery training ship <i>Wyoming</i>
(AG-17) in late 1941. The M2 Browning weighed
(without water) 100 pounds, 8 ounces, and measured
five feet, six inches in length. It fired between 550 and
700 rounds per minute to a maximum horizontal range
of 7,400 yards. The two hoses carry coolant water to
the gun barrel. The gun could be fired without the
prescribed two and a half gallons of cooling water—as
Gunnery Sergeant Douglas’s men did on board <i>Nevada</i>
(BB-36) on 7 December 1941—but accuracy
diminished as the barrel heated and the pattern of
shots became more widely dispersed. Experience
would reveal that a large number of .50-caliber hits
were necessary to disable a plane, and that only a
small number of hits could be attained by any single
ship-mounted gun against a dive bomber.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>That Sunday morning, Technical
Sergeant Henry H. Anglin, the
noncommissioned-officer-in-charge
of the photographic section at Ewa,
had driven from his Pearl City home
with his three-year-old son, Hank, to
take the boy’s picture at the station.
The senior Anglin had just positioned
the lad in front of the camera
and was about to take the photo—the
picture was to be a gift to the
boy’s grandparents—when they
heard the “mingled noise of airplanes
and machine guns.” Roaring down to
within 25 feet of the ground, Itaya’s
group most likely carried out only
one pass at their targets before moving
on to Hickam, the headquarters
of the Hawaiian Air Forces 18th
Bombardment Wing.</p>
<div id="ip_15b" class="figright" style="max-width: 12em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_016.jpg" width-obs="180" height-obs="189" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Prange</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>LCdr Shigeru Itaya, commander of</i> Akagi’<i>s
first-wave fighters, which carried out
the initial strafing attacks at Ewa Field.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Thinking that Army pilots were
showing off, Sergeant Anglin stepped
outside the photographic section tent
and, along with some other enlisted
men, watched planes bearing
Japanese markings strafing the edge
of the field. Then, the planes began
roaring down toward the field itself
and the bullets from their cowl and
wing-mounted guns began kicking
up puffs of dirt. “Look, live ammunition,”
somebody said or thought,
“Somebody’ll go to prison for this.”</p>
<p>Shiga’s pilots, like Itaya’s, concentrated
on the tactical aircraft lined up
neatly on Ewa’s northwest apron
with short bursts of 7.7- and
20-millimeter machine gun fire. Shiga’s
pilots, unlike Itaya’s, however,
reversed course over the treetops and
repeated their blistering attacks from
the opposite direction. Within
minutes, most of MAG-21’s planes sat
ablaze and exploding, black smoke
corkscrewing into the sky. The enemy
spared none of the planes: the
gray SBD-1s and -2s of VMSB-232
and the seven spare SB2U-3s left behind
by VMSB-231 when they embarked
in <i>Lexington</i> just two days
before. VMF-211’s remaining F4F-3s,
left behind when the squadron
deployed to Wake well over a week
before, likewise began exploding in
flame and smoke.</p>
<p>At his home on Ewa Beach, three
miles southeast of the air station,
Captain Richard C. Mangrum,
VMSB-232’s flight officer, sat reading
the Sunday comics. Often residents
of that area had heard gunnery
exercises, but on a Sunday morning?
The chatter of gunfire and the dull
thump of explosions, however, drew
Mangrum’s attention away from the
cartoons. As he looked out his front
door, planes with red ball markings
on the wings and fuselage roared by
at very low altitude, bound for Pearl
Harbor. Up the valley in the direction
of Wheeler Field, smoke was
boiling skyward, as it was from Ewa.
As he set out for Ewa on an old country
road, wives and children of Marines
who lived in the Ewa Beach
neighborhood began gathering at the
Mangrum’s house.</p>
<div id="ip_15c" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_016b.jpg" width-obs="367" height-obs="154" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Author’s Collection</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>A Mitsubishi A6M2 Zero, flown by PO2 Masao Taniguchi in the 7 December attack
on Ewa Mooring Mast Field, takes off from the carrier</i> Akagi, <i>circa spring 1942.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="ip_17" class="figleft" style="max-width: 12em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_017.jpg" width-obs="182" height-obs="176" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Prange</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Lt Yoshio Shiga, commander of</i> Kaga’<i>s
nine Zeroes which strafed Ewa soon after
Itaya, was assigned the task of reducing
the “Barbers Point Airdrome.”</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Elsewhere in the Ewa Beach community,
Mrs. Charles S. Barker, Jr.,
wife of Master Technical Sergeant
Barker, the chief clerk in MAG-21’s
operations office, heard the noise and
asked: “What’s all the shooting?” Barker,
clad only in beach shorts, looked
out his front door, saw and heard a
plane fly by at low altitude, and then
saw splashes along the shoreline from
strafing planes marked with red
<em>hinomaru</em>. Running out to turn off
the water hose in his front yard, and
seeing a small explosion nearby
(probably an antiaircraft shell from
the direction of Pearl), Barker had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span>
seen enough. He left his wife and
baby with his neighbors, and set out
for Ewa.</p>
<p>The strafers who singled out cars
moving along the roads that led to
Ewa proved no respecter of persons.
MAG-21’s commanding officer, Lieutenant
Colonel Claude A. “Sheriff”
Larkin, en route from Honolulu, was
about a mile from Ewa in his 1930
Plymouth when a Zero shot at him.
He momentarily abandoned the car
for the relative sanctuary of a nearby
ditch, not even bothering to turn
off the engine, and then, as the
strafer roared out of sight, sprinted
back to the vehicle, jumped back in,
and sped on. He reached his destination
at 0805—just in time to be
machine gunned again by one of Admiral
Nagumo’s fighters. Soon thereafter,
Larkin’s good fortune at
remaining unwounded amidst the attack
ran out, as he suffered several
penetrating wounds, the most painful
of which included one on the top
of the middle finger of his left hand
and another on the front of his lower
left leg just above the top of his
shoe. Refusing immediate medical attention,
though, Larkin continued to
direct the defense of Ewa Field.</p>
<div id="ip_17b" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 23em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_017b.jpg" width-obs="368" height-obs="456" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Jordan Collection, MCHC</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>TSgt Henry H. Anglin, the noncommissioned officer in charge of Ewa’s
Photography Section, stands before the mooring mast field’s dispensary on 8
December 1941, solemnly displaying the slug that wounded him on the 7th.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Pilots and ground crewmen alike
rushed out onto the mat to try to save
their planes from certain destruction.
At least a few pilots intended to get
airborne, but could not because most
of their aircraft were either afire or
riddled beyond any hope of immediate
use.</p>
<p>Captain Milo G. Haines of
VMF-211 sought safety behind a
tractor, he and the machine’s driver
taking shelter on the side opposite to
the strafers. Another Zero came in
from another angle, however, and
strafed them from that direction.
Spraying bullets clipped off Haines’
necktie just beneath his chin. Then,
as a momentarily relieved Haines put
his right hand at the back of his head
a bullet lacerated his right little finger
and a part of his scalp.</p>
<p>In the midst of the confusion, an
excited three-year-old Hank Anglin
innocently took advantage of his
father’s distraction with the battle
and wandered toward the mat. All of
the noise seemed like a lot of fun.
Sergeant Anglin ran after his son, got
him to the ground, and, shielding
him with his own body, crawled
some 35 yards, little puffs of dirt
coming near them at times. As they
clambered inside the radio trailer to
get out of harm’s way, a bullet made
a hole above the door. Moving back
to the photo tent, the elder Anglin
put his son under a wooden bench.
As he set about gathering his camera
gear to take pictures of the action, a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span>
bullet went through his left arm.
Deprived of the use of that arm for
a time, Anglin returned to the bench
under which his son still crouched
obediently, to see little Hank point
to a spent bullet on the floor and hear
him warn: “Don’t touch that, daddy,
it’s hot.”</p>
<div id="ip_18" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 35em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_018.jpg" width-obs="557" height-obs="261" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Larkin Collection, MCHC</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>One of the seven Vought SB2U-3s destroyed on the field at
Ewa. All of VMSB-231’s spares (the squadron was embarked
in</i> Lexington, <i>en route to Midway, at the time) were thus destroyed.
In the background is one of VMSB-232’s SBDs.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Private First Class James W. Mann,
the driver assigned to Ewa’s 1938 Ford
ambulance, had been refueling the
vehicle when the attack began. When
Lieutenant Thomas L. Allman, Medical
Corps, USN, the group medical
officer, saw the first planes break into
flames, he ordered Mann to take the
ambulance to the flight line. Accompanied
by Pharmacist’s Mate 2d
Class Orin D. Smith, a corpsman
from sick bay, they sped off. The
Japanese planes seemed to be attracted
to the bright red crosses on the
ambulance, however, and halted its
progress near the mooring mast.
Realizing that they were under attack,
Mann floored the brake pedal
and the Ford screeched to a halt.
Rather than leave the vehicle for a
safer area, Mann and Smith crawled
underneath it so that they
could continue their mission as
quickly as possible. The strafing,
however, continued unabated. Ironically,
the first casualty Mann had to
collect was the man lying prone beside
him. Orin Smith felt a searing
pain as one of the Japanese
7.7-millimeter rounds found its mark
in the fleshy part of his left calf. Seeing
that the corpsman had been hurt,
Mann assisted him out from under
the vehicle and up into the cab.
Despite continued strafing that shot
out four tires, Mann pressed doggedly
ahead and delivered the wounded
Smith to sick bay.</p>
<div id="ip_18b" class="figright" style="max-width: 12em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_018b.jpg" width-obs="182" height-obs="227" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Larkin Collection, MCHC</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Col Claude A. “Sheriff” Larkin, Commanding
Officer, Marine Aircraft Group
21, photographed circa early 1942.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>After seeing that the corpsman’s
bleeding was stopped and the painful
wound was cleaned and dressed,
Private First Class Mann sprinted to
his own tent. Grabbing his rifle, he
then returned to the battered ambulance
and, shot-out tires flopping,
drove toward Ewa’s garage. There,
Master Technical Sergeant Lawrence
R. Darner directed his men to replace
the damaged tires with those from a
mobile water purifier. Meanwhile,
Smith resumed his duties as a member
of the dressing station crew.</p>
<p>Also watching the smoke beginning
to billow skyward was Sergeant
Duane W. Shaw, USMCR, the driver
of the station fire truck. Normally,
during off-duty hours, the truck sat
parked a quarter-mile from the landing
area. Shaw, figuring that it was
his job to put out the fires, climbed
into the fire engine and set off. Unfortunately,
like Private First Class
Mann’s ambulance, Sergeant Shaw’s
bright red engine moving across the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>
embattled camp soon attracted strafing
Zeroes. Unfazed by the enemy
fire that perforated his vehicle in
several places, he drove doggedly
toward the flight line until another
Zero shot out his tires. Only then
pausing to make a hasty estimate of
the situation, he reasoned that with
the fire truck at least temporarily out
of service he would have to do something
else. Jumping down from the
cab, he soon got himself a rifle and
some ammunition. Then, he set out
for the flight line. If he could not put
out fires, he could at least do some
firing of his own at the men who
caused them.</p>
<p>With the parking area cloaked in
black smoke, Japanese fighter pilots
shifted their efforts to the planes
either out for repairs in the rear areas
or to the utility planes parked north
of the intersection of the main runways.
Inside ten minutes’ time,
machine gun fire likewise transformed
many of those planes into
flaming wreckage.</p>
<p>Firing only small arms and rifles
in the opening stages, the Marines
fought back against <i>Kaga</i>’s fighters
as best they could, with almost reckless
heroism. Lieutenant Shiga
remembered one particular Leatherneck
who, oblivious to the machine
gun fire striking the ground around
him and kicking up dirt, stood transfixed,
emptying his sidearm at Shiga’s
Zero as it roared past. Years later,
Shiga would describe that lone, defiant,
and unknown Marine as the
bravest American he had ever met.</p>
<p>A tragic drama, however, soon unfolded
amidst the Japanese attack.
One Marine, Sergeant William E.
Lutschan, Jr., USMCR, a truckdriver,
had been “under suspicion” of espionage
and he was ordered placed under
arrest. In the exchange of gunfire
that followed his resisting being
taken into custody, though, he was
shot dead. With that one exception,
the Marines at Ewa Field had fought
back to a man.</p>
<div id="ip_19" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 35em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_019.jpg" width-obs="557" height-obs="408" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Larkin Collection, MCHC</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Ewa’s 1938 Ford ambulance, seen after the Japanese raid, its Red Cross status violated, took over 50 hits from strafing planes.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>As if <i>Akagi</i>’s and <i>Kaga</i>’s fighters
had not sown enough destruction on
Ewa, one division of Zeroes from
<i>Soryu</i> and one from <i>Hiryu</i> arrived
on the scene, fresh from laying waste
to many of the planes at Wheeler
Field. This second group of fighter pilots
went about their work with the
same deadly precision exhibited at
Wheeler only minutes before. The
raid caught Master Technical Sergeant
Darner’s crew in the middle of
changing the tires on the station’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span>
ambulance. Private First Class Mann,
who by that point had managed to
obtain some ammunition for his rifle,
dropped down with the rest of
the Marines at the garage and fired
at the attacking fighters as they
streaked by.</p>
<p>Lieutenant Kiyokuma Okajima led
his six fighters down through the rolling
smoke, executing strafing attacks
until ground fire holed the forward
fuel tank of his wingman, Petty
Officer 1st Class Kazuo Muranaka.
When Okajima discovered the
damage to Muranaka’s plane, he
decided that his men had pressed
their luck far enough, and began to
assemble his unit and shepherd them
toward the rendezvous area some 10
miles west of Kaena Point. The retiring
Japanese in all likelihood then
spotted incoming planes from <i>Enterprise</i>
(CV-6), that had been launched
at 0618 to scout 150 miles ahead of
the ship in nine two-plane sections.
Their planned flight path to Pearl
was to take many of them over Ewa
Mooring Mast Field, where some
would encounter Japanese aircraft.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, back at Ewa, after
what must have seemed an eternity,
the Zeroes of the first wave at last
wheeled away toward their rendezvous
point. Having made a shambles
of the Marine air base, Japanese pilots
claimed the destruction of 60 aircraft
on the ground: <i>Akagi</i>’s airmen
accounted for 11, <i>Kaga</i>’s 15, <i>Soryu</i>’s
12, and <i>Hiryu</i>’s 22. Their figures were
not too far off the mark, for 47 aircraft
of all types had been parked at
the field at the beginning of the onslaught,
33 of which had been fully
operational.</p>
<p>Although the Japanese had
wreaked havoc upon MAG-21’s complement
of planes, the group’s casualties
seemed miraculously light.
Apparently, the enemy fighter pilots
in the first wave maintained a fairly
high degree of discipline, eschewing
attacks on people and concentrating
their attacks on machines. Many of
Ewa’s Marines, however, had parked
their cars near the center of the station.
By the time the Japanese departed,
the parking lot resembled a junk
yard of mangled automobiles of various
makes and models.</p>
<p>Overcoming the initial shock of
the first strafing attack, Ewa’s Marines
took stock of their situation. As
soon as the last of Itaya’s and Shiga’s
Zeroes had departed, Marines went
out and manned stations with rifles
and .30-caliber machine guns taken
from damaged aircraft and from the
squadron ordnance rooms. Technical
Sergeant William G. Turnage, an armorer,
supervised the setting up of
the free machine guns. Technical Sergeant
Anglin, meanwhile, took his
little boy to the guard house, where
a woman motorist agreed to drive
Hank home to his mother. As it
would turn out, that reunion was not
to be accomplished until much later
that day, “inasmuch as the distraught
mother had already left home to look
for her son.”</p>
<p>Master Technical Sergeant Emil S.
Peters, a veteran of action in
Nicaragua, had, during the first attack,
reported to the central ordnance
tent to lend a hand in manning a gun.
By the time he arrived there,
however, there were none left to
man. Then he saw a Douglas SBD-2,
one of two spares assigned to
VMSB-232, parked behind the squadron’s
tents. Enlisting the aid of Private
William G. Turner, VMSB-231’s
squadron clerk, Peters ran over to the
ex-<i>Lexington</i> machine that still bore
her USN markings, 2-B-6, pulled the
after canopy forward, and clambered
in the after cockpit, stepping hard on
the foot pedal to unship the free
.30-caliber Browning from its housing
in the after fuselage, and then
locking it in place. Turner, having obtained
a supply of belted ammunition,
took his place on the wing as
Peters’ assistant.</p>
<p>Elsewhere, nursing his painfully
wounded finger and leg, Lieutenant
Colonel Larkin ordered extra guards
posted on the perimeter of the field
and on the various roads leading into
the base. Men not engaged in active
defense went to work fighting the
many fires. Drivers parked what
trucks and automobiles had remained
intact on the runways to prevent
any possible landings by
airborne troops. Although hardly
transforming Ewa into a fortress, the
Marines ensured that they would be
ready for any future attack.</p>
<p>Undoubtedly, most of the men at
Ewa expected—correctly—that the
Japanese would return. At about
0835, enemy planes again made their
appearance in the sky over Ewa, but
this time, Marines stood or crouched
ready and waiting for what proved
to be Lieutenant Commander Takahashi’s
dive bombing unit from
<i>Shokaku</i>, returning from its attacks
on the naval air station at Pearl Harbor
and the Army’s Hickam Field,
roaring in from just above the
treetops. Initially, their targets appeared
to be the planes, but, seeing
that most had already been destroyed,
the enemy pilots turned to
strafing buildings and people in a
“heavy and prolonged” assault.</p>
<div id="if_i_021" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 35em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_021.jpg" width-obs="559" height-obs="445" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Lord Collection, USMC</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>At their barracks, near the foundation of a swimming pool
under construction, three Marines gingerly seek out good vantage
points from which to fire, while two peer skyward, keeping
their eyes peeled for attacking Japanese planes. Headgear
varies from Hawley helmet to garrison cap to none, but the
weapon is the same for all—the Springfield 1903 rifle.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Better prepared than they had been
when Lieutenant Commander Itaya’s
Zeroes had opened the battle, Ewa’s
Marines met Takahashi’s Vals with
heavy fire from rifles, Thompson
submachine guns, .30-caliber
machine guns, and even pistols. In
retaliation, after completing their
strafing runs, the Japanese pilots
pulled up in steep wing-overs, allowing
their rear seat gunners to take advantage
of the favorable deflection
angle to spray the defenders with
7.7-millimeter bullets. Marine observers
later recounted that <i>Shokaku</i>’s
planes also dropped light
bombs, perhaps of the 60-kilogram
variety, as they counted five small
craters on the field after the attack.</p>
<p>In response to the second onslaught,
as they had in the first, all
available Marines threw themselves
into the desperate defense of their
base. The additional strafing attacks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span>
started numerous fires within the
camp area, adding new columns of
dense smoke to those still rising from
the planes on the parking apron. Unfortunately,
the ground fire seemed
far more brave than accurate, because
all of <i>Shokaku</i>’s dive bombers
repeatedly zoomed skyward, seemingly
unhurt. Even taking into account
possible damage sustained
during attacks over Ford Island and
Hickam, only four of Takahashi’s
planes sustained any damage over
Oahu before they retired. The departure
of <i>Shokaku’</i>s Vals afforded Lieutenant
Colonel Larkin the
opportunity to reorganize the camp
defenses. There was ammunition to
be distributed, wounded men to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span>
succored, and seemingly innumerable
fires burning amongst the tents,
buildings, and planes, to be extinguished.</p>
<div id="ip_22" class="figleft" style="max-width: 11em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_021b.jpg" width-obs="171" height-obs="184" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Marine Corps Historical Collection</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>Sgt William G. Turnage enlisted in the
Corps in 1931. Recommended for a letter
of commendation for his “efficient action”
at Ewa Field on 7 December, he
ultimately was awarded a Bronze Star.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>However, around 0930, yet
another flight of enemy planes
appeared—about 15 Vals from <i>Kaga</i>
and <i>Hiryu</i>. Although the pilots of
those planes had expended their
250-kilogram bombs on ships at
Pearl Harbor, they still apparently retained
plenty of 7.7-millimeter ammunition,
and seemed determined to
expend much of what remained upon
Ewa. As in the previous attacks by
<i>Shokaku</i>’s Vals, the last group came
in at very low altitude from just over
the tops of the trees surrounding the
station. Quite taken by the high
maneuverability of the nimble dive
bombers, which they were seeing at
close hand for the second time that
day, the Marines mistook them for
fighter aircraft with fixed landing
gear.</p>
<p>Around that time, Lieutenant
Colonel Larkin saw an American
plane and a Japanese one collide in
mid-air a short distance away from
the field. In all probability, Larkin
saw <i>Enterprise</i>’s Ensign John H. L.
Vogt’s Dauntless collide with a Val.
Vogt had become separated from his
section leader during the Pearl-bound
flight in from the carrier, may
have circled offshore, and then arrived
over Ewa in time to encounter
dive bombers from <i>Kaga</i> or <i>Hiryu</i>.
Vogt and his passenger, Radioman
Third Class Sidney Pierce, bailed out
of their SBD, but at too low an altitude,
for both died in the trees when
their ’chutes failed to deploy fully.
Neither of the Japanese crewmen escaped
from their Val when it crashed.</p>
<div id="ip_22b" class="figright" style="max-width: 12em;">
<ANTIMG src="images/i_021c.jpg" width-obs="180" height-obs="182" alt="" />
<div class="captionr"><p>Naval Historical Center Photo NH 102278</p>
</div>
<div class="caption">
<p><i>TSgt Emil S. Peters, seen here on 11 October
1938, was a veteran of service in
Nicaragua and a little more than three
weeks shy of his 48th birthday when
Japanese bombers attacked Ewa Field.</i></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Fortunately for the Marines,
however, the last raid proved comparatively
“light and ineffectual,”
something Lieutenant Colonel Larkin
attributed to the heavy gunfire
thrown skyward. The short respite
between the second and third strafing
attacks had allowed Ewa’s
defenders to bring all possible
weapons to bear against the
Japanese. Technical Sergeant Turnage,
after having gotten the base’s
machine guns set up and ready for
action, took over one of the mounts
himself and fired several bursts into
the belly of one Val that began trailing
smoke and began to falter soon
thereafter.</p>
<p>Turnage, however, was by no means
the only Marine using his
weapon to good effect. Master Technical
Sergeant Peters and Private
Turner, from their improvised position
in the lamed SBD, had let fly at
whatever Vals came within range of
their gun. The two Marines shot
down what witnesses thought were
at least two of the attacking planes
and discouraged strafing in that area
of the station. However, the Japanese
soon tired of the tenacious bravery
of the grizzled veteran and the young
clerk, neither of whom flinched in
the face of repeated strafing. Two
particular enemy pilots repeatedly
peppered the grounded Dauntless
with 7.7-millimeter fire, ultimately
scoring hits near the cockpit area and
wounding both men. Turner toppled
from the wing, mortally wounded.</p>
<p>Another Marine who distinguished
himself during the third
strafing attack was Sergeant Carlo A.
Micheletto of Marine Utility Squadron
(VMJ) 252. During the first
Japanese attack that morning,
Micheletto proceeded at once to
VMJ-252’s parking area and went to
work, helping in the attempts to extinguish
the fires that had broken out
amongst the squadron’s parked utility
planes. He continued in those
labors until the last strafing attack
began. Putting aside his firefighting
equipment and grabbing a rifle, he
took cover behind a small pile of
lumber, and heedless of the heavy
machine-gunning, continued to fire
at the attacking planes until a burst
of enemy fire struck him in the head
and killed him instantly.</p>
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