Kevin Miller’s account of the Battle of Midway told from numerous viewpoints on both sides of the battle places him in illustrious company. His story is only the second version to have me weeping actual tears as I followed the emotions of the participants in the battle.
The only other narrative which had me in tears was “War and Remembrance”: The Battle of Midway by Herman Wouk
Before Midway, for all the missed chances and miscalculations of Adolf Hitler and the Japanese leaders, the war still hung in the balance. Had the United States lost this passage at arms, the Hawaiian Islands might well have become untenable. With his West Coast suddenly naked to Japanese might, Roosevelt might have had to reverse his notorious “Germany first” policy. The whole war could have taken a different turn.
—from “World Holocaust” by Armin von Roon
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Spruance hit out. It was hardly a “calculated risk.” It was the steepest and gravest of gambles with the future of his Navy and his country. Such decisions—only such once-in-a-lifetime personal decisions—test a Commander. Within the hour his far more experienced and stronger opponent, Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, would face much the same hard choice.
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It was a perfect coordinated attack. It was timed almost to the second. It was a freak accident.
Wade McCluskey had sighted a lone Japanese destroyer heading northeast. It must be returning from some mission, he had guessed; if so, it was scoring a long white arrow on the sea pointing toward Nagumo. He had made the simple astute decision to turn and follow the arrow.
Meantime, the torpedo attacks of Waldron, Lindsey, and Massey had followed hard upon each other by luck. McCluskey had sighted the Striking Force at almost the next moment by luck. The Yorktown’s dive-bombers, launched a whole hour later, had arrived at the same time by luck.
In a planned coordinated attack, the dive-bombers were supposed to distract the enemy fighters, so as to give the vulnerable torpedo planes the chance to come in. Instead, the torpedo planes had pulled down the Zeros and cleared the air for the dive-bombers. What was not luck, but the soul of the United States of America in action, was this willingness of the torpedo plane squadrons to go in against hopeless odds. This was the extra ounce of martial weight that in a few decisive moments tipped the balance of history.
So long as men choose to settle the turns of history with the slaughter of youths—and even in a better day, when this form of human sacrifice has been abolished like the ancient, superstitious, but no more horrible form—the memory of these three American torpedo plane squadrons should not die. The old sagas would halt the tale to list the names and birthplaces of men who fought so well. Let this romance follow the tradition. These were the young men of the three squadrons, their names recovered from an already fading record.
[At this point Wouk listed all 68 aircrew killed, and all 14 surviving aircrew from Torpedo Three, Torpedo Six, and Torpedo Eight, along with their home towns from Amherst, Texas to Webster City, Iowa. However, Wouk neglected to include the names of the 16 killed and the 2 survivors of the Torpedo Eight detachment that operated six TBF Avengers from Midway itself, in the Grumman torpedo bomber’s combat debut.]