The Dash That Failed

The dashing attempt of the U.S. Navy to turn the tide in the Battle of Java became public property at last. The U.S.S. Langley, hulking old aircraft tender, was bombed and sunk Feb. 27. She was knocked out by Japanese land-based bombers as she approached Java with a cargo of U.S. fighting planes that might have won the battle and preserved the key of the Indies for the Allies. More than half of the survivors who were picked up by destroyers and transferred to the naval oiler Pecos, were lost two days later when the oiler was sunk by Jap bombers.

Of the story, as it was finally told, the Navy had nothing to be ashamed, much of high courage to remember. To bolster Java's defenses, the old Langley (born the collier Jupiter 29 years ago, transformed into the first U.S. carrier, finally reduced to a drudge's job) was loaded with fighters.

For protection, the Navy gave her the best it had--an escort of destroyers. The old "covered wagon," waddling under her sawed-off flying deck like a washwoman under a bundle, set off on the highest adventure of her career.

She almost made it. Then, near Java one morning, a single Jap reconnaissance plane circled her, took a look, streaked for home. Bright signal flags fluttered from the Langley's halyards, and her windburned skipper, Commander Robert Perche McConnell, set himself for the worst. It came just before noon.

Out of the north whipped nine Jap bombers at high altitude. Anti-aircraft slammed against the chattering of machine guns, and the convoy zigzagged in a crazy pattern. The Jap took dead aim and let go. His first salvo missed. The second took the Langley fairly. Dive-bombers bored in, slammed the old tender again & again.

In a few hours it was all over. The Langley' s crew heard the order: "Abandon ship." They left their dead and swarmed over the side, to be picked up by the faithful destroyers.

Then, after the Jap had left, the destroyers finished the job. The old covered wagon, like a crippled dog, was still on her feet. The destroyers swung alongside, sent shell after shell into her hull. Finally she was totally hit. Low in the water, she lurched, bubbled horribly, went down. Her airplanes were safe from the Jap.

Her survivors still faced death, and more than half of them met it within 48 hours. Transferred to the Pecos, they were attacked by the Jap again. Near night fall her list was so great that her gun crews had to get on hands & knees to stay aboard.

Over the side again went hundreds of sailors. The Jap potted scores of them with machine guns as they bobbed on the waves. The Pecos, down by the stern, was still fighting, and the men in the water could see her executive, Commander Lawrence J. McPeake. serving a machine gun. He went down with her as night fell.

Again a destroyer picked up what was left of the two crews. It took them to Australia. There, at Darwin, the Jap had sunk the destroyer Peary. Her crew had fought her to the last, while the water rose around them, never left her until her deck was awash.

The Jap had done a good week's work, had made the key play in a desperate game that was now his. Counting its dead, the U.S. Navy calculated it had lost 700 of the 1,156 in the complements of the three ships.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.