South Pacific:
Savo Island, Part Two
by Mike Bennighof, Ph.D.
March 2025

It was a moonless night, with low-hanging clouds and a light breeze from the north-west. Scattered thunderstorms along with mist and rain around Savo Island also limited visibility. At 2312 Mikawa launched three cruiser floatplanes (from Chokai, Kako, and Furutaka), the first night launch for all of these aircrew. They would drop flares to backlight enemy ships, and report on Allied dispositions. But the Japanese ships had no means of recovering them without making themselves painfully vulnerable to Allied air attacks once the sun rose.

At 2400 the Japanese ships went to battle stations and increased speed to 26 knots. Flagship Chokai led the column, followed in line by the heavy cruisers Aoba, Kako, Kinugasa and Furutaka, then the light cruisers Tenryu and Yubari, and finally the destroyer Yunagi.

Japanese lookouts spotted the picket destroyer Blue at 0050 and her fellow picket Ralph Talbot a few minutes later. The uncoordinated pickets were both headed away from Mikawa’s column, which slowed slightly to slip between them while the Americans saw nothing despite their radar. “Are the Americans asleep?” Mikawa asked his flag captain, Mikio Hayakawa. One of the floatplanes spotted three heavy cruisers south of Savo Island at 1225, and Mikawa ordered his ships to load torpedoes.

American dispositions before the battle.

At 0134 the same lookouts noted the destroyer Jarvis, torpedoed during the morning air attack, limping away to the west, and at 0136 they reported three cruisers. Two minutes later, Chokai launched four torpedoes at what turned out to be Canberra; all missed and at 0143 the flagship opened fire with her main guns, followed by the rest of the column.

Aboard Canberra, Capt. Frank Getting had instantly awakened and started his ship turning starboard to place her between the oncoming Japanese and the helpless transports. Meanwhile, Lt. Cdr. George Sinclair of the destroyer Bagley apparently panicked, ordering a sharp port turn away from the Japanese and launching four torpedoes, reporting one hit, which appears to have been the blow that knocked out power on Canberra.

Starting at 0148, Canberra suffered at least two dozen shell hits in the span of two minutes. None of the nineteen Japanese torpedoes launched at her found their target. Canberra fired one 8-inch shell before the cruiser lost all power. She suffered 74 dead and 119 wounded; ten of the latter died later of their injuries, including Getting. Canberra’s captain refused medical attention and had himself propped upright to oversee damage control and care of the other wounded. Canberra finally sank the following morning. Getting died of his wounds while on his way to New Caledonia.

Aboard the other cruiser of the Southern Group, Chicago, chaos reigned as the bridge crew saw the fate of Canberra, and Furutaka hit the American cruiser with two torpedoes, one in the bow which dealt heavy damage and one amidships that failed to explode. Spotting an exchange of fire ahead (which turned out to be the American destroyer Patterson and Japanese cruiser Tenryu), the stricken Chicago limped toward the sound of the guns at 12 knots. She never fired her main battery during the engagement but did hit Tenryu with a 5-inch shell that killed 27 men aboard the Japanese ship.

Track of the Japanese ships. Open in new tab to embiggen it.

Minutes after disposing of the Southern Group, the Japanese - now inadvertently split into two columns - went after the Northern Group. Furutaka, Tenryu and Yubari steamed closer to Savo Island, while the other cruisers took a wider swing into Ironbottom Sound. The destroyer Yunagi became separated from both groups as she engaged in a firefight with the damaged American destroyer Jarvis.

At 0148, five minutes after Chokai opened fire on Canberra, she launched four torpedoes at the heavy cruiser Vincennes of the Northern Group; two minutes after that she lit up Astoria with her searchlights and opened fire, while her consorts did the same to the other two heavy cruisers of the group.

All three of the American cruisers had at least partial crews in their main battery turrets, and managed to fire several salvoes each. Quincy, initially targeted by Aoba, fired three salvoes, scoring a hit on Chokai’s bridge that almost wiped out the Japanese admiral and his staff. In return she suffered at least 54 hits from shells of various sizes, with Furutaka and Tenryu firing on her as well, and three from torpedoes. She sank at 0238, the first ship sunk in Ironbottom Sound, taking 370 of her crew with her.

Vincennes hit Kinugasa on her second salvo, but a hit from Kako ignited the American ship’s floatplanes and started a massive fire. The Japanese poured fire into the burning cruiser, which suffered at least 74 shell hits plus two from torpedoes. She sank 20 minutes after Quincy, along with 338 men killed in action.

Astoria initially opened fire, but Capt. William Greenman ordered a halt, mistaking the Japanese for American ships. She resumed fire, but initially at least scored no hits while the Japanese hit her up to 63 times. Kako blazed away with her 25mm anti-aircraft guns as well, raking her bridge and killing Astoria’s helmsman. Astoria’s last three 8-inch rounds, fired under local control in an attempt to shatter Kinugasa’s searchlights, passed well over their target but one shell struck and knocked out a turret on Chokai. Astoria finally sank at mid-day; 219 of her crew had been killed.

Quincy illuminated by Japanese searchlights during the battle.

Shortly after 0200, Chokai wandered off to the north-east, toward Tulagi where five American transports lay, defended by a pair of destroyers. It appears that Mikawa had hit a moment of indecision, and argued with his flag captain and his staff. With its surface escort destroyed, the American transport fleet lay utterly at the mercy of Mikawa’s cruisers. Their destruction would leave 1st Marine Division stranded on Guadalcanal, as the Americans had no other shipping in the theater to either supply or withdraw them.

Yet if the Japanese lingered any longer, once the sun rose, they would certainly face incessant American air attacks that would cripple if not destroy Mikawa’s little fleet. The Japanese were unaware that Fletcher had taken his carriers out of the battle zone. Mikawa also argued that it could take up to 90 minutes just to gather his force together, then another hour to dart across Ironbottom Sound to destroy the transports. Leaving just one hour of darkness to escape, far too little time to get out from under the American air umbrella.

“If we leave the large transport convoy in front of us and return,” argued Chokai’s Capt. Hayakawa, “the (Lunga Point) airbase will fall into enemy hands and it will be a disaster.” The admiral and his staff should transfer to another ship, and return to Rabaul with the rest of the fleet. “We will destroy the enemy transport convoy with Chokai alone.”

Chief of staff Shinzo Onishi argued just as vehemently for a retreat. The Americans could replace lost ships; the Japanese could not. Mikawa accepted Onishi’s argument over the valiant cruiser captain’s urge to conduct a suicide mission, and gave the order to return.

Exiting Ironbottom Sound by the northern channel, the Japanese again encountered Ralph Talbot, the picket destroyer’s lookouts having finally assessed that something was amiss. The Japanese scored six hits, most of them by Yubari, before a timely rain squall saved the destroyer from destruction. She was left a burning wreck, with a dozen dead, but would eventually be repaired and returned to service.

And with that, Mikawa departed the battle zone, having scored a crushing victory - the worst defeat the U.S. Navy had ever suffered at sea. Four heavy cruisers had been sunk, with one heavy cruiser and two destroyers damaged, One thousand and seventy-seven Allied sailors had perished. Fifty-eight Japanese sailors died, with three cruisers damaged. The Japanese floatplane crews, somewhat miraculously, all made it to the seaplane base at Shortland to refuel and ultimately returned to their ships.

Destroyer Blue unloads survivors of sunken ships at Tulagi, the morning after the battle. “This vessel took no offensive measures,” read her after-action report, “inflicted no damage to enemy and sustained no loss or damage.” She did rescue 343 men.

Mikawa ordered 30 knots, and his little fleet sped up the New Georgia Channel, soon labeled “The Slot” by American sailors. Mikawa split up his force at 0800. Chokai and Tenryu headed for Rabaul, Yubari and Yunagi for the Shortland anchorage at the south-eastern tip of Bougainville, and the four heavy cruisers of the Sixth Division for their base at Kavieng on New Ireland.

Mikawa radioed ahead with a preliminary report, including Yunagi’s encounter with a damaged ship (that the Japanese identified as a British-built Achilles-class cruiser; the Royal New Zealand Navy operated two of these during the campaign). The destroyer Jarvis had lost her radio during the air attack on the morning of 8 August, and set out alone for Australia at midnight on 9 August, just as Mikawa’s little fleet entered the area. A scout plane from Saratoga spotted her off the coast of Guadalcanal the following morning, making 7 knots and trailing a huge oil slick.

Following Mikawa’s prompt, 31 Japanese planes set out from Rabaul and found her at 1300. The destroyer could not maneuver but did put up effective anti-aircraft fire, shooting down two bombers and damaging four more. The Japanese dropped 16 torpedoes, a decided case of overkill, that blew the wreck apart. All 264 of her crew perished; 31 of them during the previous day’s engagement.

Once the Sixth Division came within range of Japanese fighter planes stationed in and near Rabaul, the squadron commander, Rear Admiral Aritomo Goto, ordered his ships to cease the “Yoji Maneuver” (what Allied sailors called “zig-zagging”) and drop their speed to 16 knots. That proved a disastrous decision, as the American submarine S44 launched four torpedoes at the cruiser column, at a range of just 700 yards. No land-based aircraft or surface escorts had been dispatched to assist the cruisers; the lone floatplane (from Aoba) apparently spotted the submarine but did not give warning in time.

Three of the torpedoes hit Kako, which rolled over and sank bow-first; Goto had also allowed his cruisers to open their portholes, which helped hasten the cruiser’s end. Prompt leadership by Capt. Yuji Takahashi got most of his crew off the ship safely, losing 68 men but saving 649. Goto would make a formal apology to Takahashi, which spoke to his personal honor if not to his judgement.

Mikawa’s failure to destroy the American transport fleet tarnished an otherwise astonishing victory. Hanging around in Ironbottom Sound would have doomed his little fleet, but would their loss have been worth the abrupt ending of the Guadalcanal campaign on its second day?

Chokai alone could have wreaked a great deal of destruction, but unknown to Hayakawa she still would have had to face the undamaged heavy cruiser Australia, which had taken up a blocking position between Savo and the transport fleet. Crutchley had called for any unengaged destroyers to join him, but his stilted phrasing sent them north-west of Savo rather than south-east. He apparently made no effort to summon American Rear Admiral Norman Scott and his cruiser-destroyer force guarding the eastern passages of Ironbottom Sound.

The U.S. Navy would investigate and determine guilt for the disaster. No fault would dampen the careers of anyone wearing admiral’s stars. Everything would be blamed on Howard “Ping” Bode of Chicago.

In Sydney, Hazel Getting was hosting a tea for the wives of Canberra’s officers when an RAN party arrived to inform her of her husband’s death. For the next hour she kept a straight face as she entertained her guests, not knowing how many did not yet know they had become widows. Canberra’s survivors returned to Sydney weeks later to be greeted by the harbor commander, British Rear Admiral Gerard Muirhead-Gould, who harangued them for their “shame” in having lost their ship without having fired a shot in return.

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Mike Bennighof is president of Avalanche Press and holds a doctorate in history from Emory University. A Fulbright Scholar and NASA Journalist in Space finalist, he has published a great many books, games and articles on historical subjects; people are saying that some of them are actually good. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama with his wife, three children, and new puppy. He misses his lizard-hunting Iron Dog, Leopold.

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