A TURN TOO FAR

Reconstructing the End of the Battle of the Java Sea

© 2011 by Jeff Cox

While in modern military history there is little that can compare to the stand of the “300”
Spartans (if you ignore their 1300 or so troops from other Greek allies) against the invading
Xerxes and his 100,000 Achaemenid Persian troops at Thermopylae, a very good case can be
made that the Java Sea Campaign in the early days of World War II in the Pacific does just that.
This three-month campaign to defend Malaya (now Malaysia) the Netherlands East Indies (now
Indonesia) from the Japanese with a combined force of American, British, Dutch and Australian
(ABDA) forces culminated in the disastrous Battle of the Java Sea, in which organized naval
resistance to the Japanese advance was swept away. While there were no dramatic speeches, no
tossing of insults, no troops fighting in their underwear, no trolls, no orcs dressed as Immortals –
not that there were actually trolls or orcs at the original Thermopylae – no convenient betrayal
by a treacherous goat farmer, and ultimately there was not nearly the same effectiveness as
Leonidas and his Lakedaemonians, there was every bit the courage in the face of hopeless odds
and the determination in the face of death to do everything they could to stop or at least delay
the enemy until reinforcements – this time in the form of ships and planes produced by
American industrial might – could take the offensive.

The Java Sea campaign has gotten little in the way of analysis in the English-speaking press, and
what coverage it has gotten has largely focused on the role of the crews of individual ships such
as the US cruiser Houston, the Australian cruiser Perth and the British cruiser Exeter,
particularly in their futile efforts to escape the Java Sea, James Hornfischer=s excellent book
Ship of Ghosts being a case in point. This relative silence is understandable for several reasons.
First of all, we lost. Unless the defeat can be used to bash the United States like Vietnam is,
defeats tend to get less play in the media. Furthermore, the territory being defended was a Dutch
colony, which, since the Dutch mainland was under Nazi-occupation, was effectively serving as
their homeland, and thus meant much more to the Dutch than the Anglos, who found the
campaign small in comparison to their overall war effort in the Pacific.

But a major reason why it has not gotten much examination is simply because of a lack of
information, which is exemplified no better than in the ending of the Battle of the Java Sea.
This decisive action that took over seven hours ended in what amounted to a midnight fog. The
last ditch effort of the ABDA Combined Striking Force under Dutch schout-bij-nacht (rear
admiral) Karel W.F.M. Doorman, now down to only four ships, was literally torpedoed by a
Japanese force under Rear Admiral Takagi Takeo just before midnight on February 27, 1942.
Most histories simply state that Takagi=s cruisers Nachi and Haguro torpedoed and sank the
Dutch light cruisers De Ruyter and Java, while the Perth and the Houston sped off “into the
night.” They usually say “into the night,” too. 1 That is usually where the narrative of the battle
ends.

Takagi did not survive the war, losing his life on Saipan in 1944, possibly a suicide. For the
Allied ships present for that late-night action, neither Karel Doorman, nor the captains of the
remaining ships – Eugene E.B. Lacomblé of the De Ruyter, Hector Waller of the Perth, Albert
Rooks of the Houston and Ph.B.M. van Straelen of the Java – nor their respective staffs would
survive the following 26 hours.

The only reasonably contemporaneous after-action report and the best source for these last hours
of the battle was filed by Captain Waller. But it was filed on February 28, 1942, as the Perth was
moored up with the Houston in Tanjoeng Priok (now Tanjung Priok), the port of Batavia
(Jakarta). Because Waller, who due to the death of Doorman had become senior officer of the
Combined Striking Force and was thus commanding both the Perth and the Houston, had much
more pressing responsibilities such as trying to get provisions, ammunition and fuel; and
planning their escape through the Soenda (Sunda) Strait. With all this going on, it is quite
understandable that Waller=s report on the battle was necessarily rushed and incomplete. 2
Consequently, though it is the best source for the end of the battle, the report is in many
instances missing information, vague and subject to varying interpretations.

The US Navy=s Office of Naval Intelligence (“ONI”) produced a narrative of the Java Sea
Campaign in 1943 (“ONI Narrative”), but it was also missing crucial information. For instance
– counterintuitively – the ONI report had better information on the conduct of the Dutch in this
last phase of the battle than it did on the US forces, as US Navy personnel on the De Ruyter,
assigned to Dutch flagship as communications liaisons, were recovered by the US submarine S-
37 the day after the battle and were subsequently debriefed, while Captain Rooks and the
American crewmembers of the Houston had not been fully debriefed before their ill-fated sortie
into the Soenda Strait.

With so little to go on, the result has been a fuzzy narrative. When histories attempt to get into
more detail about the last hours of the battle, questions, some perhaps unanswerable, emerge:

• Most of the survivors have the Allied ships operating in a column going, from front to
back, De Ruyter, Perth, Houston and Java. However, the survivors of the Houston,
debriefed after the war, are consistent in insisting that the Houston was immediately
behind the De Ruyter, with the Perth somewhere behind the Houston.3

• Both the Allied and Japanese columns were headed north. The Japanese cruisers both
used the same firing solution for their torpedoes. But the lead Japanese cruiser, Nachi,
torpedoed the last Allied cruiser, Java, while the trailing Japanese cruiser, Haguro,
torpedoed the lead Allied cruiser De Ruyter.

• Some histories have the Java being torpedoed before the De Ruyter; others have that
order reversed.

• The Perth had to take evasive action to avoid colliding with the stricken De Ruyter. The
Houston then had to take evasive action to avoid the Perth. The histories insist that the
Perth had to swerve to port to avoid the De Ruyter, while the Houston swerved to
starboard to avoid the De Ruyter. Yet, the Houston had to swerve to port to avoid the
Perth. This set of maneuvers is contradictory and simply does not make sense.
What I have tried to do here is reconstruct these last hours of the Battle of the Java Sea,
attempting to accommodate the differing and sometimes contradictory testimonials while
answering or at least addressing these lingering questions. What follows is that version of
events. I am putting this out there for comment and critique. Unlike supporters of the theory of
anthropogenic global warming, I will try to identify all the source material I can to facilitate
review and see where this theory withstands scrutiny and where it may not.

This reconstruction has gone through numerous rewrites, in an effort to both present a coherent,
readable story and the underlying factual support within that narrative. In the end, it became
apparent that such an arrangement was too awkward and unreadable. For that reason, only the
reconstruction itself is presented here in, not surprisingly, narrative form for readability
purposes. The supporting evidence, or statement as to a lack thereof, is presented as endnotes.
Anyone reading the narrative is encouraged to read the endnotes to determine if they agree with
the conclusions.

Wherever possible, the reconstruction is based original source materials like:

• Waller=s report4;
• the ONI Narrative;
• The Fleet the Gods Forgot and The Ghost That Died at Sunda Strait, both by Walter
Winslow, a survivor of the Houston;
• survivors of the Houston quoted in Duane Schultz=s Last Battle Station;
• survivors of the De Ruyter and Java quoted in J. Daniel Mullin=s Another Six Hundred
and A. Kroese=s The Dutch Navy at War;

Apparent holes are filled in with strong secondary sources such as:
• Samuel Eliot Morrison=s History of United States Naval Operations in World War II,
Volume 3: The Rising Sun in the Pacific (based on US Navy records);
• Hara Tameichi=s Japanese Destroyer Captain (commanded the Japanese destroyer
Amatsukaze during the battle);
• Paul Dull=s A Battle History of the Imperial Japanese Navy (1941-1945) (ranking
Western review of original Japanese navy records);
• A. Kroese=s The Dutch Navy at War (commanded the Hr. Ms. Kortenaer during the
battle, and was one of the last to see the four cruisers of the Combined Striking Force
pass for the last time on their way to destiny);
• F.C. van Oosten=s Battle of the Java Sea and the Dr. Ph.M. Bosscher=s De Koninklijke
Marine in de Tweede Wereldoorlog (both review original Dutch sources; van Oosten also
reviewed Japanese sources);
• Tom Womack’s The Dutch Naval Air Force Against Japan: The Defense of the
Netherlands East Indies, 1941-1942 (reviewed original Dutch naval air force and some
navy records);
• John Prados’ Combined Fleet Decoded (reviewed Japanese communications in the
context of the Pacific War);
• Playing for Time: War on an Asiatic Fleet Destroyer, by Lodwick H. Alford
• J. Daniel Mullin=s Another Six Hundred; and
• Australia in the War of 1939-1945, Series Two: Navy; Volume I: Royal Australian Navy
 1939-1942, by G. Hermon Gill.

Also of note are websites such as:

• Hyperwar: World War II on the Worldwide Web (where the ONI Narrative and other
documents are available): http://www.ibiblio.org/hyperwar/
• The Imperial Japanese Navy Page (tabular records of movement and design specs for IJN
ships): www.CombinedFleet.com
• Royal Netherlands Navy Ships in World War II (histories, design specs and damage for
the De Ruyter and Java): http://www.netherlandsnavy.nl/
• The Dutch East Indies Campaign 1941-42 (currently offline);
• US Asiatic Feet site (with a thorough narrative of the Java Sea campaign, “Naval Alamo”
by Anthony P. Tully): http://www.asiaticfleet.com/;
• The Australian War Memorial (“AWM”): http://www.awm.gov.au/; and
• The US Naval History and Heritage Command (“USNHHC;” formerly US Naval
Historical Center): http://www.history.navy.mil/index.html.

In reading this the reader will see a lot of words of ambiguity such as “probably,” “likely,”
“seemingly” and “apparently.” This is because the answers to certain questions are unknown and
perhaps unknowable, but such holes can perhaps be filled with deduction or at least informed
speculation. Others might be filled with records which I have not yet been able to access (such
as most Japanese records). Such holes can perhaps have more than one filling, and I am
interested in hearing what those other possibilities might be.

So, with those disclaimers aside, please sit back, relax and enjoy the following piece of detective
work about the end of the Battle of the Java Sea.

Background

In a supreme bit of irony, the Japanese had started World War II in the Pacific by attacking Pearl
Harbor thousands of miles away in order to end their war in next-door China. Their objective
was to secure the so-called “Southern Resources Area” – the Netherlands East Indies; now called
Indonesia – to obtain the natural resources they needed to not so much win the war in China but
to end that war while saving “face.” By the end of February 1942, the Japanese were on the
verge of seizing the Netherlands East Indies, with only the island of Java, the most populous
island of the Indies and its commercial and political center, remaining to be conquered – and
Java was cut off and ready to fall.

The Allies – the United States, Britain and the Netherlands – had always believed that defense of
the Far East against the Japanese was an iffy proposition at best, but the speed of the Japanese
advance was still surprising. An attempt was made to pool their slender resources available into
an organization called ABDACOM – the American-British-Dutch-Australian Command. The
naval component – comprised of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet, elements of the British Far Eastern
Fleet, the Dutch East Indies Squadron and elements of the Royal Australian Navy operating
under Royal Navy command – was known as ABDA-Float, which by mid-February 1942 was
commanded by Dutch Admiral Conrad E. L. Helfrich.
A fully-integrated multinational force, like ABDACOM was then and the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization is today, was a relatively new-fangled thing. From its inception, ABDA-Float was
crippled by three major issues:

1. Communications – Integrating sailors from four different countries and three different navies
who spoke two different languages was never going to be easy. The additional pressures of a
fast and relentless Japanese advance made it next to impossible.

2. A complete lack of air power – The loss of the US Far Eastern Air Force (caught on the
ground and destroyed by the Japanese due to the incompetence of US General Douglas
MacArthur) and the British Malaya air force crippled ABDA air efforts, denied ABDA-Float
necessary air protection and hampered intelligence gathering.

3. Operational accidents and mechanical breakdowns – The speed of the Japanese advance
and the lack of air protection denied ABDA-Float the necessary time and security for
maintenance and repair of their ships and rest for the crews. Facilities for such maintenance and
repair in the Indies were basically limited to the principal Dutch naval base at Soerabaja
(Surabaya)5, which became a major target for Japanese air attacks, and one floating drydock at
Tjilatjap (Cilacap)6, inconveniently located on Java=s southern coast. The results further crippled
Allied efforts.7

These factors would show themselves again and again.

By the end of February, ABDACOM had proven to be

ineffective and was dissolved, with the remaining
ABDA forces placed under Dutch command for the
last ditch defense of Java. Defense was more akin to
leaving one’s head in a noose, however, as by then
Java had been cut off by the losses of the islands of
Malaya and Sumatra to the west, and the islands of
Bali and Timor to the east.

Tactical command of the ABDA naval forces was

Dutch Admiral Karel W.F.M. Doorman
(A. Kroese, The Dutch Navy at War).
placed in the hands of the aforementioned Karel
Doorman. Time and again, Doorman would sortie out
to challenge the Japanese advance, only to be turned
back by Japanese air attacks. So often did this happen
that Doorman=s courage was questioned and he was
nearly relieved of duty several times.8 After the Battle
of the Java Sea, questions about his courage seemed to
vanish. Not coincidentally, so did he.9

The Afternoon Action of the Battle of the Java Sea

By the last few days of February 1942, Java itself was now under imminent threat. It was do or
die for the Allies. The remaining ABDA warships – heavy cruisers HMS Exeter and USS
Houston; light cruisers Hr. Ms. De Ruyter, Hr. Ms. Java and HMAS Perth; and destroyers HMS
Electra, HMS Encounter, HMS Jupiter, Hr. Ms. Kortenaer, Hr. Ms. Witte de With, USS John
D. Edwards, USS Alden, USS John D. Ford and USS Paul Jones – were combined into the
appropriately-named Combined Striking Force.10 Doorman met with the ship captains on
February 26 to plan their action, but with little time or intelligence information, only a limited
amount of planning could be done. So desperate were the Allies that, in the event a ship was
disabled or sunk, Doorman ordered that it was “to be left to the mercy of the enemy;” the few
ships they had were too needed to fight to spare any for rescue missions.11

On February 26, two Japanese invasion convoys, with warship escort, were reportedly
descending on Java, one consisting of 56 transports for the western end of the island, the other of
41 transports for the eastern end. The Combined Striking Force was sent out under Admiral
Doorman, with orders from Helfrich “to continue your attacks until the enemy is destroyed,” 12 in
spite of utterly inadequate intelligence, to intercept the eastern convoy. The hope was that the
eastern convoy could be destroyed quickly so the Combined Striking Force could retire to
Tanjoeng Priok and sortie again to destroy the western convoy. It was a desperate operational
plan with little chance of success, but the Allies were long past the point of desperation.

Doorman had his force run a sweep north of Madoera island and Java during the night of the 26 th
and most of the 27th, found nothing, suffered yet another air attack, and radioed Helfrich that he
was returning back to base on account of the exhaustion of his crews, who had apparently been
constantly kept at battle stations. This prompted a rather remarkable radio exchange in which
Helfrich scolded Doorman for turning back and admonished him to continue poking blindly for
the convoy, and Doorman responded by telling Helfrich, obliquely and diplomatically, that if he
wanted Doorman to attack the convoy then perhaps Helfrich should tell him where the convoy
was.13

Nevertheless, Doorman continued the search, but at 12:40 pm on the 27th reported again,
“Personnel have this forenoon reached the point of exhaustion;” because of the constant danger
of air and surface attack, the crews has been kept at battle stations since their sortie on the 26th.14
He decided to retire to Soerabaja and get the crews rest until he was given better information.

Typical of the Dutch luck in the war, Doorman got the location of the convoy late in the
afternoon of the 27th as his force entered the swept channel of the minefield between Java and
Madoera, the northern route into Soerabaja=s harbor. He immediately turned around – in the
middle of the minefield. In fact, he strayed out of the swept channel into the minefield itself.
None of his ships hit any mines, but that luck with mines would reverse itself later on. 15 Also
typical of Dutch luck, Doorman=s abrupt about face was witnessed by a Japanese float plane.

Unfortunately for the Allies, the convoy had an escort. A strong one.

Two destroyer flotillas, the 4th with 6 destroyers and the light cruiser Naka under Rear Admiral
Nishimura Shoji;16 and the 2nd with 8 destroyers under Rear Admiral Tanaka Raizo,17 were
sandwiched around two-thirds of the Japanese 5th Cruiser Division under Rear Admiral Takagi,
who served as the Japanese Officer in Tactical Command for this action.

The 5th Cruiser Division (“Sentai

5”) nominally consisted of three of
the four heavy cruisers of the
Myoko class – Myoko, Nachi and
Haguro. But for reasons known
only to the Japanese the Myoko
had been detached from Sentai 5
and attached to the fourth member
of the class, Ashigara, to serve as
“distant support” for the invasion,
though in Japanese nomenclature
“distant support” more often than
not meant “just far enough away to
be of no reasonable use.” The
only contribution by the Ashigara
Japanese heavy cruiser Haguro, under attack by US aircraft in
Rabaul in 1943. She and her sister ship Nachi were keys to the and the Myoko to the campaign
Japanese victory at the Battle of the Java Sea (USNHHC). was to chase down the crippled
Exeter and a few cohorts. It was a
stupid decision, symptomatic of the arrogance, overconfidence and sloppiness that were slowly
seeping into the Japanese naval war effort, to blow up in their faces four months later at the
Battle of Midway. But this campaign was too far gone for it to have much of an effect at this
stage.

So Takagi had the Nachi and Haguro, two modern cruisers who each had ten 8-inch guns and
sixteen torpedo tubes (eight on each side) capable of firing the legendary Type 93 “Long Lance”
torpedo.18 Takagi also had a stable of float planes on his cruisers to monitor Doorman=s
movements. Doorman did not; having expected a night action, he had left his float planes ashore
in keeping with Allied doctrine which regarded float planes as fire hazards in night battles. 19
The Japanese, by contrast, were aggressive and creative with the use of their float planes
throughout the war. Takagi=s float planes would prove to be a significant advantage and
arguably the difference in the battle.20

Not that it necessarily should have been. The Allies did have their own seaplanes in the area:
Consolidated PBY Catalina flying boats – all three of them – from US Patrol Wing 10. 21 They
did not exactly have Doorman on their speed-dial, however, as the Japanese float planes did
Takagi. Patrol Wing 10’s reports had to be funneled through the communications center for the
Soerabaja Naval District (“Naval Commander Soerabaja”). 22

In contrast to the modern Nachi and Haguro and the powerful Japanese Type 93 “Long Lance”
torpedo, the Allied force, though the crews were brave and well-trained, was a fairly motley
collection of ships:

Exeter – With six 8-inch guns in three dual turrets plus torpedo tubes, the British heavy cruiser
Exeter was nominally the most heavily armed Allied cruiser on hand. Fresh off her famous
defeat of the German “pocket battleship” Admiral Graf Spee off the Rio de la Plata, the Exeter’s
crew was battle-tested as well. But the cruiser was a little aged, in desperate need of serious
maintenance, and had serious and ongoing problems with her fire control (targeting) and the
train (rotation) limits of her No. 3 (aft) turret.

Houston – Like most US cruisers,

the heavy cruiser Houston was the
victim of a monumentally stupid
decision by the US Navy in the
1930’s to remove the torpedo
tubes from its cruisers, which left
them less effective against enemy
ships in general and largely
defenseless against battleships in
particular.23 The Houston was
ostensibly the most heavily
gunned Allied cruiser, with nine
8-inch guns in three triple turrets,
but her No. 3 (aft) turret had been
disabled by a bomb hit three US heavy cruiser Houston in the Philippines 1940-41
(USNHHC).
weeks earlier and could not be
repaired in theater.

Java – Laid down in 1916, the light

cruiser Java was designed to be more
than a match for the Japanese cruisers
of her time. Unfortunately, her time
had come and gone before her
completion in 1925, at which point
she was already obsolete. By 1942,
the light cruiser was arguably not fit
for front-line service, but the Dutch
were so hard-pressed for ships they
had little choice.24 Though heavily
modernized with new fire control, an
improved anti-aircraft package and a
lot of paint, the Java still suffered
Dutch light cruiser Java. Note the layout of single-mount from the poor watertight
main guns across her deck. This obsolete design would cost compartmentalization suffered by the
her at the Battle of the Java Sea (AWM). ships of her age.25 Additionally, while
she was heavily gunned with ten 5.9-
inch guns, her guns were not in armored enclosed turrets with secure access to fortified
magazines, but were instead scattered in single-gun mounts across the main deck. She carried no
torpedo tubes.

De Ruyter – With an intimidating

tower mast and sleek lines, Karel
Doorman=s light cruiser flagship
was beautiful, but her beauty
could not mask the fact that she
had been built on the cheap and,
consequently, was woefully
underarmored and underarmed.
While the De Ruyter did have
state-of-the-art fire control and a
heavy anti-aircraft package
featuring five twin-barreled
Bofors 40-millimeter anti-
Dutch light cruiser De Ruyter. Her striking appearance belied her aircraft mounts, she carried no
lack of combat power and bizarre weapons layout that had most of
her main guns pointed behind her (AWM).
torpedo tubes and only seven 6-
inch guns. Worse, for reasons
known only to the Dutch, only
three of those guns faced forward, meaning that most of the cruiser’s main armament faced
behind her.

Kortenaer – Two weeks earlier, the Dutch destroyer had been slated to take part in the Allied
effort to oppose the Japanese landings on Bali. However, the Kortenaer ran aground while
navigating the narrow, twisting channel out of Tjilatjap and had to be left behind. The
grounding caused damage to her boilers that could not be immediately repaired and limited her
speed to 26 knots. By comparison, the slowest of Takagi=s ships were capable of 31 knots.

John D. Edwards, Alden, John D. Ford, Paul Jones – the four US destroyers, grouped for this
action into Destroyer Squadron 58, were from the Clemson class of “flush deckers” from the
period just after World War I. The “four pipers” or “four stackers” (so called because of their
four smokestacks) were underarmored and undergunned, but contained a powerful battery of 12
torpedo tubes each (six on each side), which the Allies desperately needed right now. The ships
were in bad shape, in serious need of maintenance, and suffered from old machinery, leaky feed-
water pipes and biofouled bottoms that limited their speeds to 26 knots.

But this was the best the ABDA navies could do. Fourteen ships – mostly old, worn and
battered – from four different countries and three different navies speaking two different
languages. Crews eager to dish out some of what they had been taking, but pushed beyond the
point of physical and mental exhaustion. No chance to train together. 26 No chance to develop a
common communications system. Not nearly enough time or intelligence information to
develop anything but the most rudimentary battle plan. No accurate intelligence. No air cover
whatsoever. If Doorman was to successfully carry out his orders, he would have to make it up
as he went along.

The afternoon battle.

A fully detailed account of the afternoon action in the Java Sea is outside the scope of this work.
But a brief description of the battle is necessary to understand the setting of its final hours.

Doorman=s general plan, it seems, was to keep the Combined Striking Force between the
Japanese and the Java coast, while making periodic thrusts north to try to catch the convoy. The
Japanese intent was both to protect the convoy, using its warships as a screen, and neutralize the
remaining ABDA naval assets.

Informed of Doorman=s turnabout, Takagi raced to cut off the Allied approach to the invasion
convoy. Takagi was a submariner by training and it showed in his conduct in this battle. Takagi
and his staff also seem to have been unusually nervous by normal Japanese or combat officer
standards, and seemed aghast that their wartime enemies were actually shooting at them. 27 Hara
Tameichi, who commanded the Japanese destroyer Amatsukaze during the battle, wrote his
memoirs Japanese Destroyer Captain after the war. His portrayal of Takagi therein is
unflattering: an arrogant, cocky and haughty commander. Takagi grumbled at being forced to
intercept Doorman, as in his wisdom he had been “escorting” the convoy from 200 miles behind
them.28 Takagi had to race to catch up and got to the battlefield just as both sides sighted each
other.
Nevertheless, Takagi managed to block the Combined Striking Force’s initial approach to the
convoy. Forced by communication issues to keep his cruisers in a column, Doorman thrust
blindly northwest, amazingly enough in the direction of the convoy. With only the 8-inch guns
of the Exeter and the Houston possessing the necessary range, the Allies engaged the Japanese in
a long-range but ineffectual gun duel. Doorman attempted to close the range to enable his light
cruisers to engage. But Takagi threatened to “cross the T” of the ABDA column. 29 Doorman
was thus forced to turn and close at a much slower pace to attempt to bring his 6-inch guns into
range.

With the severe communication issues, Doorman had little choice but to give the Allied ships his
famous order “Follow me,” and have them follow him like insect segments from the video game
Centipede. And like the video game Centipede, these segments were picked off one by one:

Exeter – An 8-inch shell from the Haguro crashed through a gun mount and exploded in a
boiler, knocking 5 of her 6 boilers off line and reducing her speed to between 5 and 10 knots.
Spewing forth white steam from her damaged boilers, the Exeter sheered out of column so the
Houston behind her would not plow into her stern. But the steam obscured the leading De
Ruyter from the remainder of the column, who thought they had missed and order to
immediately turn, and they turned out of column just as the Exeter had done, throwing the
Combined Striking Force into confusion. Ultimately, the Exeter was ordered to retire to
Soerabaja.

Kortenaer – The Allied cruisers were thrown into confusion in the path of oncoming Japanese
torpedoes. While a number of the torpedoes exploded prematurely, one – also from the Haguro
– struck Lieutenant Commander A. Kroese=s Kortenaer amidships.30 Her back broken, the
destroyer jack-knifed, capsized and sank in a matter of minutes. Not comprehending the
torpedoes in their midst had come from the Japanese ships – the Allies had no idea of the
extreme range of the Type 93; every Japanese cruiser and destroyer carried torpedoes, and most,
also unbeknownst to the Allies, even carried one set of reloads – the Allied crews were
convinced they had been ambushed by Japanese submarines.

Electra – To protect the Exeter, Doorman signaled “Counterattack” to the British destroyers. 31
While too scattered to mount a coordinated torpedo attack, the Electra, Encounter and Jupiter
moved to protect the Exeter, supported by the Witte de With. The Electra, having just laid a
smoke screen for the Exeter, now charged into that smoke screen – and came out on the other
side to face the entire Japanese 2nd Destroyer flotilla and part of the 4th. Though she managed to
temporarily disable the destroyer Asagumo, the Electra’s engines were knocked out by an early
hit and her guns were picked off one by one, with the Jintsu administering particular torment.
She would succumb to the pounding.

Witte de With – While charging to support the British destroyers, the Witte de With was taking
the opportunity to drop depth charges on the supposed Japanese submarines. During high-speed
maneuvering, one of the readied depth charges was swept overboard and detonated under the
destroyer=s stern, damaging her propellers and knocking out two electrical generators.32 Whether
the Witte de With was battle-worthy or sea-worthy after this incident is unclear. She was
ordered to escort the Exeter to Soerabaja, where she entered drydock, but was not repaired
before the Dutch had to abandon the port and consequently was scuttled.

John D. Edwards, Alden, John D. Ford, Paul Jones – With darkness approaching, Doorman was
eager to shake the Japanese escorts and find the convoy. Apparently Doorman took his orders
literally and did not consider that by destroying enough of the escorts he could force the convoy
to turn back, a sign of Doorman’s relative inexperience, which he shared with most American
commanders at this stage of the war. After a confusing series of orders and countermands,
Doorman ordered the US Destroyer Squadron 58 to “cover my retirement.” DesRon 58
Commander Thomas Binford had no idea what that meant, but with his fuel running dangerously
low and not wanting to return to base without firing his torpedoes in anger, he launched a long-
range torpedo attack that forced the Japanese to turn away. No hits were scored; whether this
was because of the range, Japanese evasion or the almost complete ineffectiveness of US
torpedoes is unclear. As it turns out, Binford did exactly what Doorman had wanted and left the
Dutch admiral impressed with Binford=s work.33

Thus temporarily freed from the engagement, Doorman thrust to the north at dusk before giving
up, again typical of the Dutch luck, when he was only 20 miles away from the convoy – just
over the horizon to the northwest. The US destroyers followed Doorman southward until the
Allied column reached the Java coast, then with fuel almost gone, returned to Soerabaja. 34

It is at this perhaps unusual point that our story begins in earnest, for it is here that one can begin
the identification of a subtle but conspicuously missing thread of the last hours of the battle –
recorded communications. And it begins with what is probably one of the most freakish
incidents of the war.

The loss of the Jupiter

Doorman=s turn to the south when, unbeknownst to him, his objective was only 20 miles away
was the result of his complete lack of intelligence as to the Japanese movements and
dispositions. Doorman had an unfortunate habit of keeping his plans to himself, so it is not
possible to know for certain what he was thinking. But if the information and considerations
Doorman had are examined, it is possible to assemble a likely scenario of what the unfortunate
Dutch admiral was attempting to do during these last hours of his life.

In turning to the south, Doorman had likely despaired of finding the convoy by poking blindly,
randomly in the dark in the middle of the Java Sea. He does appear to have developed a better
idea: go to the convoy’s landing site and work back along their projected course track.

And Allied intelligence had a prediction of the convoy=s landing site: Toeban (Tuban) Bay, on
Java’s northern coast about 50 miles west of the channel to Soerabaja. To prepare for the
predicted landing, a Dutch infantry contingent had been stationed at Toeban, and Admiral
Helfrich had ordered the minelayer Gouden Leeuw to lay a minefield at the southern end of the
bay. Doorman was informed of these developments.

That the prediction of the Japanese convoy landing at Toeban was little more than an educated
guess mattered little. It was not necessarily good information, but it was the best the Allies had,
the best Doorman had, and so his best remaining option was to act on it. The placement of the
infantry would prove to be fortuitous, though not for reasons the Dutch had been considering;
the minefield not so much.

When the Allied column reached the Java coast after dark, Doorman had them turn westward
heading for Toeban, hugging the coast in the hopes of evading the notice of the Japanese while
staying positioned between the Japanese and the coast. It was a futile effort; Japanese float
planes shadowed the Combined Striking Force in the moonlight. At least by heading to the
Japanese landing site the Allies had partially nullified the advantage given by the float planes; if
the convoy was headed to Toeban it had only a limited number of maneuvers it could make. But
the float planes did mean there would be a fight. So persistent were the float planes that the
normally calm, stoic Doorman cursed them softly under his breath.35

By this time, the Combined Striking Force had been reduced to a column led by the De Ruyter,
followed by the Perth, Houston, Java and Jupiter. The Encounter was still operational and was
trying to catch up to the cruiser column after being separated while screening the Exeter, but she
was well out of sight and so far behind that she was of little tactical use.

Together this little column steamed along close to the Java coast, too close for Captain Rooks of
the Houston. Being the heaviest remaining ship and the only heavy cruiser left, the Houston had
a deeper draught than the other ships. Captain Rooks grew concerned that the water was too
shallow for the Houston and swung the heavy cruiser out of column onto an offset course –
parallel to that of the other four squadron mates.36 It may have saved his ship.

At around 9:00 pm, as the Allied column passed north of Toeban Bay, the Jupiter, last in the
column, suffered an underwater explosion on her starboard side that wrecked her No. 2 engine
room and caused her to lose all power. She blinkered a signal to the Java ahead of her “Jupiter
torpedoed,” presumably by a Japanese submarine.37 Doorman apparently checked on the big
British destroyer, but with no power to pump out the water pouring into her hull or to even
move, her wound was mortal.38 Fortunately, the Jupiter was disabled so close to the Java coast
that almost her entire crew was rescued from drowning, helped by the presence of the Dutch
army contingent. Either seeing or otherwise being convinced that the destroyer was close
enough to shore to save most of the crew, Doorman continued onward to the west. 39 The Jupiter
sank at 1:30 the next morning.

The cause of the Jupiter’s loss has never been conclusively determined. Japanese records
examined postwar showed no submarine in the area. The most recent scholarship strongly
suggests that the Jupiter was the victim of a discarded Dutch mine: the Gouden Leeuw never laid
the minefield in the southern end of Toeban Bay as ordered, but en route instead just dumped the
mines, only a few of which were active, well north of their assigned position. 40

Thus, it appears that, again, typical of Dutch luck and reversing Doorman’s luck with mines
earlier, the Combined Striking Force just happened to sail through a patch of mines, only a few
of which were armed, that had been unceremoniously dumped. And one of those few that were
armed just happened to strike a fatal blow against the big, new, overstrength British destroyer
Jupiter. If this scenario is correct, it would be one of the most freakish accidents of the war.

The question of how the Jupiter was sunk is only the most prominent of the questions about this
incident, but there are others. How was Admiral Doorman informed of the Jupiter’s plight? How
was he able to check on her condition? There are several plausible scenarios, but none of the
available battle reports or survivors’ accounts even hint at a definitive solution.

By most standards, this issue would seem trivial, and understandably so. Normally. Clearly,
Doorman was informed of the situation. Clearly he was able to check on it. But how is not
recorded. The communications to him and from him are not recorded.

This is an issue that repeats itself throughout these last hours of the Combined Striking Force:
communications that obviously took place, but the record makes no mention of them. They are
most clearly shown in next incident.

Passing the Kortenaer and the “Magnificent” Dash

Having passed Toeban Bay and not found the Japanese convoy, Doorman proceeded to work his
way back along the convoy=s projected route. The De Ruyter lead the column on a starboard
turn to the north on a base course 0 degrees True. 41 Doorman had the column run at very high
speed and, without orders, zig zag slightly. This was a tactic normally used to throw off
submarine firing solutions, though at the expense of staying in the vicinity of the submarine. In
this case, Doorman probably wanted to confuse the trailing Japanese float planes as well. In
this, once again, he failed. The planes continued to spy on the Allied cruisers, dropping
magnesium flares attached to little parachutes to backlight the cruisers themselves, and calcium
float lights that burned on water to mark their course.

This northward thrust had them cross the area of the afternoon action, and pass the survivors of
the sunken destroyer Kortenaer, still trying to survive on the sea. The Kortenaer=s skipper A.
Kroese, in his book The Dutch Navy at War, relates the experience of one of these survivors:

About midnight we heard the sound of movement on the water. We looked up and
suddenly we saw, clearly outlined in the moonlight, the shape of ships making straight
for us. Would we be picked up? The ships loomed nearer, obviously going at top speed.
Soon we saw the rising water foaming at the bows. Still they continued on their course
directly towards us. But this was getting dangerous! These were not rescuers, but
monsters which threatened to destroy us. They were going to run us down in their mad
career and crush us in their furiously churning propellers.

We yelled like madmen, not to be picked up but to warn them off. And then suddenly we
saw that they were our own cruisers racing along in the moonlit tropical night. Probably
they saw us, too, for the leading De Ruyter changed course slightly. As they charged past
us, almost touching us, the rafts were turned over and over in the wash. But we cheered
and shouted, for there high on the gun turrets we could clearly see our comrades. In the
noise and turmoil they raced past – the Dutchman, the Australian, the American, and last
another Dutchman, four cruisers going at top speed under a tropical moon. I did not
know that it could be such an impressive spectacle. While they were speeding past, some
Americans on the Houston’S stern dropped a flare. It floated on the water, a dancing
flame on the sea. We followed the ships with our eyes until they were out of sight. They
had no destroyer protection any longer and their course was north towards the enemy.
Had Rear Admiral Doorman from his bridge on the flagship looked down on us with his
quiet smile and given us a sympathetic thought? “This is the last time we have seen
them,” said one of the officers of the Kortenaer as the ships faded from sight. “I hope
they smash the ribs of the Japs before they go down themselves,” said a sergeant
vindictively, and from the bottom of his heart, added “The bastards!”

All was quiet again around us. Near us danced the flare. We couldn’t take our eyes of it,
for it was like a flame of hope. Slowly the hours passed. Then another ship appeared
above (sic) the horizon. First we saw it from the beam. Suddenly the vessel changed
course and came straight for us. It was some lonely destroyer or small cruiser, seeming a
straggler in this sea full of action. Perhaps it was a Jap that had been damaged and was
now withdrawing from the scene of battle. We had not been in the water long enough in
sea to appreciate being picked up by the enemy to be made prisoners of war. Intently and
suspiciously, we watched the approaching ship. “An English destroyer,” shouted one of
the officers. “It’s the Encounter,” shouted another. We all stared silently, then a shout of
relief and joy broke out. It was the Encounter! It almost seemed as if the flare from the
Houston shared our joy and danced with pleasure, too. Cleverly, the Commander of the
Encounter manoeuvred his ship alongside the rafts. Nets were dropped, and all who
could climb swarmed monkey-like up the ropes. The wounded and those who were too
weak had to be hauled aboard. When we all had the firm deck of the destroyer under us,
our hearts overflowed with gratitude. We could have hugged the British sailors, but even
of that’s what you are feeling, you can’t just show it. You give your rescuers a firm
hand-shake, and let them see that you appreciate very much the glass of grog they give
you and the warm, dry clothes they provide from their own scanty wardrobes.

The full moon gives an ominous silhouette to the tower mast
of the De Ruyter in this drawing by H.H. Hoowij for A.
Korese’s The Dutch Navy at War. The caption reads “The
Allied cruisers De Ruyter, Perth, Houston, Java racing past
the survivors of H.N.M.S. Kortenaer.” However, perhaps
reflecting the confusion of the order of ships, the picture
appears to show the Houston, with her tripod mast,
immediately behind the De Ruyter. Note that the De
Ruyter’s forward guns are trained to starboard (A. Kroese,
The Dutch Navy at War).
This incident highlights the further deterioration of already tenuous communications within the
Combined Striking Force, but also shows that much of what communication there was, was not
recorded.
At some point during the evening, the voice radio used on the De Ruyter for communication
“Bad luck!” said the British
sailors, shaking their heads
because we had lost our ship.
Poor fellows! The next night the
Encounter went down and there
were no Allied ships left to pick
up her survivors.42
The next morning, February 28,
the Encounter disembarked us
in Soerabaja. A Dutch patrol
boat brought us to shore ..... 43
This would be the last time anyone
would see the Combined Striking Force
before its final battle.44
This rather simple-sounding incident
has its own murkiness, encapsulated by
one deceptively simple question: Who
ordered the Encounter to rescue the
survivors of the Kortenaer?
The sources disagree on the answer to
this simple question. Some, mainly
Anglo, sources say that the Perth=s
Captain Waller ordered the Encounter
to pickup the survivors. Other, mainly
Dutch sources, assert that it was
Admiral Doorman. The ONI Narrative
sidesteps the issue by using the passive
voice, stating the Encounter “was
ordered” to pick them up.45
Hornfischer=s work says the Encounter
“stopped” to pick them up but adds “on
whose authority is unclear.”46
with the other ships in the task force – a very high frequency, short-to-medium range device
known as “Talk Between Ships” or “TBS” – went out. 47 An identical Dutch TBS radio installed
on the Houston to streamline communications went off-line as well.48 The cause of these radio
malfunctions, which was common in this early part of the Pacific War, was the same – the
concussion caused by the firing of the main guns. The Battle of the Java Sea was the first action
in which the De Ruyter and the Houston had fired their main armaments for extended periods,
and the vibrations they caused threw off the delicate settings of the radios. 49

And that was by no means the end of the De Ruyter’s communications problems. During the
afternoon action, Doorman had frequently given orders by flags run up the cruiser’s mast – his
famous command “Follow Me” was often in the form of a flag. But it was almost impossible to
see flags at night. Signal by semaphore was similarly useless. A favorite method of
communications at night involved the use of mounted blinker lights. Unfortunately, the same
gun concussions that had knocked out the De Ruyter’s TBS radio had also shattered her mounted
blinker lights.50 The De Ruyter’s massive searchlights, which could have been similarly used,
were similarly shattered by the concussions.51 The only method left to Doorman for
communicating with his force was by use of a small, hand-held blinker lamp, known as an
“Aldis lamp,” flashing signals in plain English.52

What seems to have happened is that Doorman, because he had no voice radio, signaled the
Perth to use her radio to have the Kortenaer=s survivors picked up. Doorman had the authority
to order the survivors picked up, but not the means. Waller had the means to order the survivors
picked up, but not the authority. Doorman=s signal may have gone straight to the Perth=s radio
room, without Waller being made aware of it.53 What is known for certain is a TBS message to
that effect was sent out by the Perth shortly thereafter. 54 The Encounter picked up the message
and acted on it.55 The Houston had apparently also been informed that the survivors were to be
picked up and tossed out a “light” or, as other translations call it, a “flare.” The latter would
probably be a calcium floatlight that burned on the water, similar to what the Japanese were
using to track the Allied column; the former likely a small lighted buoy. The Houston’s intent
here was to mark the position and make it easier to find in the darkness.

By now, the Japanese floatplanes had been forced to retire for lack of fuel, so now Takagi’s
advantage of knowing Doorman=s movements was gone. The Combined Striking Force and the
Japanese were now equally blind as to each other=s movements. The Allies could have even had
an advantage here as P-5, a Catalina with the US Patrol Wing 10, was aloft that night, and did
spot the Japanese convoy in the moonlight. P-5 transmitted the convoy’s position to Naval
Commander Soerabaja and continued to shadow it, but could Naval Commander Soerabaja get
that information to Doorman in time?56

Indeed, even with both forces “equally” blind, Doorman had a small advantage, if only he had
realized it. Takagi knew the Allies= last course, courtesy of his float planes. A radical change of
course after the withdrawal of the float planes might have left the cocky Takagi fumbling to find
the Allied cruisers once again. But without knowledge of the convoy’s location, such a move
would have been a dicey proposition.

And so, in desperation, having passed Toeban Bay, Doorman made his last dash north to find the
convoy, hoping he had outflanked them to the west.57 “He had no idea how close he came in this
last magnificent attempt.” So says the ONI Narrative, adding a small bit of hyperbole to an
otherwise dry missive. But it is not out of place. With four ships, dead tired, low on
ammunition and outnumbered, Doorman’s attempt to strike the convoy was the naval version of
Thermopylae, if ultimately less successful.

As now the final chapter began at 11:15 pm, when the De Ruyter signaled to the Perth behind it,
“Target at port. Four points.”58 The Dutch cruiser’s lookouts had sighted the Nachi and Haguro
in the moonlight, 45 degrees off the port bow at a distance of about 9,000 yards. 59

A Running Gun Battle

It is at this point that the reports and other evidence become much more ambiguous or even
contradictory. No one agrees on when events took place in relation to other events or in some
cases whether those events occurred at all. This is understandable, for much of the evidence for
this last phase of the battle consists of eyewitness testimony, normally the least reliable form of
evidence in the best of times, and notoriously unreliable in times of extreme stress, for which the
Battle of the Java Sea certainly qualifies. Perceptions of time suffer especially in such
situations. As such, it is literally impossible to give complete effect to all of reports and
testimony.

Presumably for that reason, most histories have only given a quick or general description of the
last encounter between the ABDA Combined Striking Force and the Japanese Sentai 5. Here I
will try to give as many specifics as possible and try to fill the remaining holes (for there are
holes), with deduction, educated guesses and, (hopefully only) when all other options fail,
informed speculation, while trying to give as much effect to the as many of the available reports
as possible.

For much of the war, the specially-trained and equipped Japanese lookouts, who used oversized
and polarized binoculars, would outperform even American radar. Here, where neither the
Americans nor their allies had radar, the Japanese had already spotted the cruiser column at
11:03 pm at 16,000 yards.60 Sentai 5 was in column on a course 180 degrees True – due south.
Some sources indicate the Japanese had taken the Combined Striking Force under fire even
before the De Ruyter spotted the cruisers, but if so the fire was completely ineffective, as the
Allied reports do not even mention it.

The situation for the Japanese appears to have been trickier than is generally recognized.
Tanaka, whose 2nd Destroyer Flotilla had been screening the convoy to the west northwest,
ordered a course reversal to a northeasterly heading, keeping his squadron between the Allies
and the convoy. According to Hara, Takagi, still headed due south, ordered Sentai 5 to slow
down so he could develop a good firing angle for his torpedoes.61 The secondary battery (5-
inch) of the Houston fired starshells at a range of 10,000 yards. Starshells – illumination rounds
– are intended to reveal a target by backlighting it, but in order to silhouette a target starshells
need to burst behind it. The Houston’s starshells fell short. The American cruiser fired two more
salvoes of illumination rounds, this time at a range of 14,000 yards. These, too, fell short. 62 The
Japanese fired illumination rounds of their own. These fell short as well, but the Allies’ terrible
luck held: the glare of the Japanese starshells concealed the Nachi and Haguro behind them,
basically blinding the Allied gunners.63

Takagi may have intended to launch torpedoes at this point, because he would have had a good
firing solution for his Long Lances, but he did not for reasons that remain vague. He may have
underestimated the Allied column’s speed or, more likely, he was concerned that a torpedo
launch might move his cruisers out of position blocking the convoy and allow Doorman to get
behind him. As it was, Doorman was able to get slightly north of the Takagi’s cruisers by
perhaps a little more than one mile – not enough to make a difference. 64 The Nachi and Haguro
turned to starboard, poured on speed, and spent the next twenty minutes trying to close the range
with the Combined Striking Force.65

What followed next was the naval equivalent of two exhausted football teams fighting it out in a
sudden death overtime of the most literal kind – a slow exchange of fire as the Japanese labored
to close the range. The Java kept her guns trained on the Japanese, but since she was outranged –
again – she did not fire.66 The Houston ahead of her was down to less than 300 rounds of 8-inch
ammunition – 50 per functional gun – a fact which, due to the Houston’s lack of a functioning
TBS radio, had to be relayed to Doorman by the Perth.67 In response Doorman ordered the
Houston not to fire unless she could be certain of a hit. In the action she fired once.

So this last confrontation was

between the 8-inch Japanese heavy
cruisers Nachi and Haguro and the 6-
inch Allied light cruisers De Ruyter
and Java. Not an even match. As it
had been through the day Japanese
gunfire was tightly spaced and
accurate. The Houston was
dangerously straddled. One shell
came so close to the De Ruyter that
the other ships thought she had been
hit on her quarterdeck, but Dutch
accounts make no mention of such a
hit.

The exchange of gunfire, a violent

Australian light cruiser Perth (AWM).
contrast to the peaceful, even
romantic backdrop of the bright moon
and stars, was slow and sporadic, as result of the dwindling supply of ammunition and the crews’
exhaustion. By this time, the battle had taken seven hours and both sides were extremely tired,
the Allies much moreso for having been at battle stations 24 hours beforehand. Having to work
the manual labor part of the battle, the gun crews on both sides had had an especially tiring day.

So it is not surprising that the exchange of fire here was slow. So slow was the exchange that it
took a moment to register when the Japanese actually stopped firing.
Now why would they do that?

Karel Doorman knew why – the Japanese had launched torpedoes.68

The Line Turn

Japanese tactical doctrine called for an ambush of enemy forces in a night attack using torpedoes
before opening gunfire. Nihon Kaigun used this doctrine very effectively during the war in
places such as Savo Island and Tassafaronga. But the doctrine depends on the element of
surprise, meaning you are not supposed to tip off the enemy that you are launching torpedoes –
which is precisely what Takagi did by ceasing fire. 69

Thus informed, Doorman did exactly what he was supposed to do: ordered an immediate 90-
degree turn to starboard in an attempt to comb the torpedoes – that is, turn to a course parallel to
that of the torpedoes to present a narrow stern (preferably) or bow profile (as opposed to a wide
beam profile) and this minimizing the chances of a hit. 70 Because each ship was to turn as fast as
possible, the result would be a breaking of the column and would result instead in a line of ships
four abreast headed east – what is sometimes called a “line turn,” a “simultaneous turn” or an
“echelon turn.”71 Waller does not record whether such an order was flashed back to the Perth,
but he did not need the order: the wily veteran had figured out what was going on and ordered
the Perth into an immediate 90-degree turn to starboard, conforming to the De Ruyter’s turn and
leaving the Perth behind and somewhat to starboard of the flagship.

One way or another, word was passed back to the Houston, who began her own 90-turn to
starboard.72 Word reached the Java, 900 yards astern of the Houston.73 The Java began her turn
…

But the Java would never finish her turn.74 Time had run out.

Too Late

At 11:32 pm, while early in her turn, the Java suffered an underwater explosion port side aft, the
end result of one of eight torpedoes fired ten minutes earlier by the Nachi.75 Now the cows of
the Java’s aged design – poor internal compartmentalization, obsolete gun layout – would come
home to roost.

“Almost simultaneous” with the first explosion came a second. 76 This blast was not so much
larger than the first as it was cataclysmic, sending a huge fireball into the night sky. Horrified
lookouts on the Houston saw “bodies flying through the air, silhouetted by flames, the water
burning.”77 The blast was actually felt by crewman aboard the Perth.78 And in a mass of smoke
and fire, the stern of the Java disappeared.

Literally. When the smoke cleared enough to see, the Java now ended in abruptly blazing,
“jagged,” “tangled mess.”79 The Nachi’s torpedo had caused the Java’s aft magazine, not nearly
as well protected as those of her more modern brethren, to explode, blowing off some 100 feet
of the cruiser’s stern.
There was no hope for the ship; the truncated stern section could not be sealed off and the engine
room was flooding.80 Captain van Straelen gave the order to abandon ship, but the Java was
settling so rapidly there was no time to launch the lifeboats. The fire had also consumed most of
the Java’s life vests. Crewmen tossed anything overboard that might float and then jumped after
them. Less than fifteen minutes after the devastating torpedo hit, the bow of the Java reared up
and the shattered stern led the rest of the ship to the depths. Out of a crew of 528, only nineteen
survived.

One can only wonder at the thoughts of Admiral Doorman, helplessly watching the fiery end of
this old cruiser that had served under him for so many years. Karel Doorman cared deeply for
the men under his command, whether they were Dutch or Anglo. He took every precaution to
protect them, did everything he could to make sure that his men were not sacrificed for nothing,
so much so that he was branded a coward. So much so that even after he ordered survivors of
sunk or disabled ships to be left “to the mercy of the enemy” he avoided doing so when he could
– screening the staggering Exeter and giving her an escort home, checking to make sure the crew
of the dying Jupiter was going to be okay, and even giving up his last, badly-needed destroyer,
Encounter, to pick up the half-drowned survivors of the Kortenaer. Every casualty had to affect
him deeply.

For the mortified crewmen of the Houston, their horror was mixed with a sense of bewilderment.
Captain Rooks had to maneuver the ship to avoid torpedoes “that zipped past us 10 feet on either
side.”81 But where had they come from? They were still unaware of the range and capabilities
of the Japanese Type 93 torpedo, and the Nachi and Haguro had disappeared into a rain squall.
A number of the crew believed they had run into a submarine ambush.

In watching the end of the Java, the one thought that had to run through their minds was “There
but for the grace of God go we.” The Houston’s own No. 3 turret had been disabled by a bomb
hit three weeks earlier that had also killed 50 men, a fact not lost on Admiral Doorman and the
big reason he was reluctant to sortie under threat of air attack. 82 The bomb had started a fire in
the turret that nearly reached the No. 3 magazine beneath it. If it had done so, the Houston’s
stern would likely have been blown off and she would have suffered a fate similar to that of the
Java. As it was, she was lucky to escape with only a gutted, useless turret.

So the men of the Houston could be forgiven for being transfixed on the catastrophe behind
them, so much so that they were in danger of missing the catastrophe unfolding in front of them.

A Turn Too Far

While the loss of the Java was devastating, it could have been a lot worse. Doorman guessing
what the cessation of Japanese gunfire meant and acting quickly on that guess with the 90-degree
starboard turn had likely saved his other three ships. His northward column was now a narrow
right echelon formation – De Ruyter in front, with Perth behind her and to starboard, and
Houston behind Perth and further to starboard – headed east. He decided it was time to reform
the column.
As he had twice earlier in the day, Doorman would reform the column by having his flagship
basically circle his remaining ships so they could fall in behind him. The De Ruyter would turn
to starboard and cross the bow of the Perth, after which the Perth would turn top starboard and
fall in behind. Then both ships would cross in front of the Houston, who would then fall in
behind the Perth. To that end, Doorman ordered the De Ruyter to make a further turn to
starboard, either in a continuation of the original turn or as the start of a new turn. 83

Because this turn would take the De Ruyter across the track the Japanese torpedoes had
followed, Doorman must have been convinced that the threat of the Japanese torpedoes had
passed. Possibly his staff had made calculations based on the estimated firing time and torpedo
track.84 More likely, the De Ruyter’s lookouts had seen torpedoes pass by; as it was, the
Houston had watched torpedoes bracket the US cruiser. Doorman clearly believed the torpedoes
had passed. And, indeed, those remaining from the Nachi had actually passed the column and
were churning away from the action.

So the De Ruyter turned to the southeast, her forward guns swinging around to starboard to
remain trained on the Japanese cruisers, apparently convinced the immediate danger had ended.85

Which is why there was surprise and extreme consternation on the bridge of the De Ruyter when
a telegrapher spotted wakes approaching from relative bearing 135 degrees.86

“What is that!?!?” The response from Admiral Doorman was calm and matter-of-fact.

“Oh, that? That’s a torpedo …”87

The flagship was still turning to starboard when a Type 93 lanced into the starboard side aft,
near her reduction gearing.88 A member of the Dutch Marine Corps remembered, “It was like
the ship was lifted from the water; all lights went out, we were listing heavily and fire broke out
on the AA-deck…”89

The De Ruyter was the victim of something of a freak hit. She had been the victim of one of
four torpedoes fired by the Haguro. The Haguro had fired her spread at 11:23 pm, one minute
after the Nachi.90 That one-minute differential had allowed the Haguro, running at high speed,
to overtake the Nachi’s original firing position and maybe to even apparently pass it. As a
result, the Haguro’s torpedoes had overlapped with the Nachi’s torpedo track.91 Doorman’s
quick action to reform the column was too quick, as he had unknowingly led his flagship right
into the path of the Haguro’s deadly fish. Whether the one-minute differential was intentional is
a mystery.

But the result was not. The Haguro’s torpedo does not seem to have been immediately fatal to
the positive buoyancy of the De Ruyter, but it might as well have been. As noted earlier, the
cruiser lost power, because the hit had knocked out the turbines. The explosion started a fire that
spread with extraordinary speed, and within minutes everything aft of the catapult was an
inferno. Why the fire spread so quickly is unclear. What is known is that one of the ship’s oil
tanks had ruptured and probably leaked flammable bunker fuel both inside and outside the ship.
The antiaircraft deck was also rapidly succumbing to the spread of the fire. 92 There the fire was
especially dangerous, as it contained the five twin-barreled 40-mm Bofors antiaircraft mounts –
and ready lockers full of 40-mm ammunition, which presently began to explode with devastating
effect.93 Walter Winslow remembered, “[A]mmunition, detonated by the intense heat, sent
white-hot fragments flying into the night sky like demonic fireworks.” 94

The cruiser’s damage control teams went to work and may have kept it from immediately
sinking, but the damage to the generators, now engulfed in flames, meant no power for water
pumps for firefighting or reversing the flooding. The De Ruyter was in a fatal conundrum – you
could not put out the fire without restoring power, yet you could not restore power without
putting out the fire. The ship was doomed.

As if to emphasize the point, the fire on the antiaircraft deck reached the cruiser’s pyrotechnics
locker, and flares, signal rockets and starshells shot into the sky in a ghoulish fireworks
display.95

The order to abandon ship was given. Captain Lacomblé lamented, “Now it’s all over ...” 96

The original ONI Narrative chart showing the end of the Battle of the Java Sea created in
1943, before all the information was in. After the war the survivors of the Houston would be
debriefed and Japanese records consulted, which resulted in the correction of the course of
the Japanese cruisers and their torpedo tracks. The Allied cruiser movements shown here,
however, seem to have remained part of the accepted narrative, even though on its face the
chart leaves some questions. There is no apparent reason why the Perth and Houston as
shown in this diagram had to take evasive action to avoid the De Ruyter. Also unknown is
why the Java is shown turning separately from the other cruisers. These issues suggest a
possibility that this chart was simplified for clarity and was interpreted literally later on.
But it was not over, not yet, for the Perth and the Houston. How long it remained that way this
night remained to be seen, for the De Ruyter had been crossing in front of the two cruisers,
cutting it rather close, in an attempt to reform the column. When the flagship lost power she
staggered to a halt – right in the path of the speeding Anglo cruisers.

For Captain Rooks of the Houston, aft of and starboard of the Perth, the decision was easy. The
Houston turned to starboard and came within 100 yards of the stricken flagship’s starboard side
and bow before heading off to the southeast.97

With the Dutch flagship’s bow pointed to the southeast, away from both Anglo cruisers, a
starboard turn would have been the preferred choice for the Perth’s Captain Waller … but for
the presence of the Houston. A starboard turn by the Perth would have sharpened the Houston’s
starboard turn, and given both cruisers’ high rate of speed would have almost guaranteed a very
damaging collision for the only remaining operational Allied ships in the Java Sea.

The only other option available to avoid shearing off the De Ruyter’s blazing stern, which was
pointed northwest toward the Perth, was a very, very sharp port turn. Waller had to shut down
one of his port engines to enable his starboard engines torsion to swing the ship’s bow over
further to port.98 The Perth came so close to the De Ruyter as to feel the heat of the flames and
“smell burning paint and a horrible stink like burning bodies.”99 But she managed to clear the
Dutch cruiser’s stern and head northeast. This desperate swerve may have had an interesting
consequence.

On the cruisers of Sentai 5, now northwest of the remnants of the Combined Striking Force, the
crews were able to see the explosions of the De Ruyter and the Java through the rain, and filled
the drizzly air with dancing and shouts of “Banzai!”100 Admiral Takagi determined the Dutch
cruisers to be finished. Hoping to finish off the Allied ships, Takagi had the Nachi and Haguro
dash in what he thought was pursuit – to the northeast. Hara called it Takagi’s last mistake of
the battle.101 Why he chose northeast has never been determined; it seems the Nachi may have
seen the Perth, backlit by the burning De Ruyter, in her port swerve to the northeast and may
have followed.102

My own modification of the ONI Narrative’s chart showing the line turn scenario. This scenario
would explain why the Perth and Houston maneuvered as they did, why the Java turned separately
(since all the cruisers turned separately) and possibly why the Japanese turned northeast to hunt
down the Perth and Houston. Note that the courses shown in the line turn here are somewhat
exaggerated for clarity; the courses would have been parallel but much closer together in a narrow
right echelon formation. The torpedo tracks shown are estimates and are the reverse of the cruisers
as shown here in that the top cruiser Nachi would be responsible for the bottom track and bottom
cruiser Haguro responsible for the top. Note that as the Allied cruisers turned away, the Nachi and
Haguro would have continued to the north.
But Captain Waller had no intention of continuing to the northeast. He had the Perth reverse
course, likely to port to keep from being silhouetted again, and head toward the stricken
flagship, slowing down slightly. One may speculate here that the Houston, already headed
southeast, also slowed down and probably turned to port. Both Waller and Rooks wanted to
check on the status of the obviously troubled De Ruyter and find out what Doorman wanted to
do. Doorman had given orders that disabled ships and surviving crews were to be left “to the
mercy of the enemy.” But now it was he who would be left behind, who needed saving. Would
he change his orders now?

An Aldis lamp on the De Ruyter flashed their answer – “Proceed to Batavia. Do not stop to
attempt rescue of us.”103

While the use of the Aldis lamp requires brevity – “grim and to the point” was how one historian
described this message – neither the format nor his innate stoicism could take away from the
meaning of this last order of Rear Admiral Karel Doorman, and it has not gotten the attention it
deserves.104

In movies, it is almost cliché for a soldier to give his life for his comrades, even to shout at them,
“Forget about me! Save yourselves!” Yet this was one real-life case where it actually happened.
A commanding officer, no less. A commanding officer whose courage had been questioned and
ridiculed, telling the remaining ships under his command to leave him behind and save
themselves – ships that were not even of his country and whose crews had been among those
who had criticized him. Not only did he tell them to save themselves, he ordered them to do so,
giving them legal cover for doing so and hopefully sparing Captain Waller of any feelings of
guilt for seemingly having abandoned the cruiser’s survivors. Whatever the faults of Karel
Doorman, he deserves hero status for this one selfless act.

The nobility of the gesture was certainly not lost on Captain Waller, but he had other issues to
worry about. Captain Waller says that at this point as senior surviving officer he “took Houston
under [his] orders,” but exactly what this means is unclear.105 He probably signaled the Houston
to continue heading southeast and the Perth would catch up. At around midnight, the Perth
caught up to her American brethren, but in a fashion much more dramatic than anyone would
have preferred.106

The Houston was speeding to the southeast towards Soerabaja when her lookouts thought they
spotted torpedoes – it bears remembering here that all day the crews, not knowing the
capabilities of the Japanese Type 93 torpedo, had thought they were being stalked by
submarines, who in their minds had claimed the Kortenaer, Jupiter and now Java and De
Ruyter. Now here were more, or so it seemed.

Captain Rooks ordered a hard turn to starboard to avoid the torpedoes – except there were no
torpedoes and the Perth was trying to pass the American cruiser to starboard to take the lead
position in this now two-ship column. Captain Waller’s difficult turn to avoid the De Ruyter and
the Houston would have been for naught but for a member of the Houston’s bridge crew, who
literally pushed the helmsman aside, seized the wheel and swung it to port. Collision was
avoided by 25 yards.107

Captains Waller and Rooks took the opportunity of this meeting to discuss their options. Waller
recommended they head to Batavia at 20 knots; Rooks countered that they should head there at
30 knots.108

And so, as the history books claim, the Perth and Houston sped off “into the night” and their
own date with destiny and legend, leaving behind the blazing hulk of the De Ruyter.109 Before
the Houston lost sight of the Dutch flagship over the horizon, her lookouts had counted nine
separate explosions.110

At about this time, to add insult to grievous injury, Naval Commander Soerabaja sent out the
following signal:

Convoy concentrated to 39 transports in two column, 1500 yards between columns,

course north, speed ten. 3 destroyers in column right flank, 1000 yards. 1 cruiser, 2
destroyers in column left flank 1000 yards. 2 cruisers and six destroyers concentrating on
convoy at high speed positions probably, Lat 05-36S, Long 112-46E/0227 1842.

The irony is worthy of Alannis Morrisette. The information the Combined Striking Force had
been waiting for all day and night was finally available – 20 minutes too late. Now the
Combined Striking Force was in no shape to act on it. What would have been precious news
was now useless to the beleaguered Admiral Doorman.

Now the Dutch admiral could only oversee the evacuation of the glowing blast furnace that his
flagship had become. Amidst the continuing explosions and with the power out, lowering
lifeboats and other life preserving equipment was next to impossible. Nevertheless, Doorman
could be seen assisting the wounded and giving encouragement to his crew. Not all of the
wounded were able to leave, however, and the ship’s surgeon chose to stay with them and share
their fate.

So did Karel Doorman. His work finished, he returned to the bridge and was never seen again.

Still aloft was P-5, the US PBY Catalina flying boat that had found the convoy and done its best
to get the information to those who needed it most. As it was returning home, it spotted several
sharp flashes in the distance, followed by several heavy explosions. Then it spotted two ships in
the moonlight, leaving the area at high speed. P-5 dutifully reported the sighting, and wondered
what it meant.111

On the north coast of Java, people were wondering what was behind the ominous sounds they
had been hearing throughout the night from far out to sea. Many thought it was a storm; indeed
it was, though not of the meteorological variety. Others, like one American B-17 pilot, knew
better: “I could hear a dull rumble in the midnight air coming from far over the water. The
people in the blacked-out streets assumed it was distant thunder. I knew it was the little Dutch
Navy in its final agony out there in the dark.”112 Said another pilot, “Java died that night in the
gunfire which came rolling in over the water.”113

Gunfire and explosions. The sounds would end that night when the De Ruyter, the repeated
blasts having ruptured her hull, the raging inferno having heated it to near-incandescence,
slipped beneath the dark waters of the Java Sea with an unpleasant steaming hiss. The time was
2:30 am.114
 1
See, e.g., Edwin P. Hoyt, The Lonely Ships: The Life and Death of the US Asiatic Fleet, New York, David
McKay, p. 257; W.G. Winslow, The Ghost That Died At Sunda Strait (“Ghost”), Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1984,
p. 125.

2
J.A. Collins, Commodore, RAN, “Reports on the Battle of the Java Sea,” in Ronald McKie, Proud Echo,
London, Robert Hale, 1953, p. 135.
3
See, e.g. Winslow, The Fleet the Gods Forgot (“Fleet”), Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1982, p. 209 and
Ghost, p. 123; “Partial Log As Kept By Survivors, USS Houston,” enclosure (a)(9), 9 September 1945 (found at
Hyperwar: World War II on the Worldwide Web (“Hyperwar”): http://www.ibiblio.org/hyperwar/.

Note that nothing in this article should be interpreted as criticism of the survivors of the Houston, who had to endure three
years of brutal treatment in Japanese POW camps before they could be interviewed by Allied authorities.

4
H.M.L. Waller, Capt., RAN, “Action Narrative B Day and Night Action off Surabaya, February 27, 1942,” in
McKie, p. 139.

5
Also spelled “Surabaja,” “Soeurabaya,” “Soerabaya” or somesuch.

6
Look, for the last time it’s pronounced “CHIL-a-chap,” OK?

7
Such casualties included, in no particular order:
1. light cruiser USS Boise struck and uncharted reef in the Sape Strait and was lost to a planned
ABDA counterlanding operation off Balikpapan;
2. light cruiser USS Marblehead blew out an engine and was lost to the same ABDA counterattack off
Balikpapan;
3. destroyer USS Whipple collided with the De Ruyter in a fog;
4. destroyer USS Edsall dropped a depth charge at too slow a speed and it detonated under her stern;
5. destroyer Hr. Ms. Van Ghent ran aground in the Stolze Strait and had to be scuttled;
6. destroyer Hr. Ms. Kortenaer lost rudder control and ran aground off Tjilatjap and was thus lost to
the ABDA counterattack off Bali;
7. destroyer USS Stewart rolled over in drydock in Soerabaja and was scuttled (ineffectually, as it
turned out, as the Japanese were able to salvage her);
8. destroyer USS Pope developed a leak in the feed pipes to her boilers and was unavailable for the
action in the Java Sea;
9. destroyer Hr. Ms. Witte de With had one of her own depth charges detonate under her stern; and
10. destroyer HMS Jupiter was sunk after she apparently struck a discarded Dutch mine.
8
See, e.g., Duane Schultz, The Last Battle Station: the Saga of the USS Houston, New York, St. Martin’s Press,
1985, pp. 109, 117-118.
9
Doorman has been subject to severe criticism for his performance in the Netherlands East Indies campaign.
Morison obliquely criticized Doorman’s caution. Samuel Eliot Morison, History of United States Naval Operations in
World War II, Volume 3: The Rising Sun in the Pacific, Edison, NJ; Castle, 1948, pp. 310, 311, 340. Morison also notes
specifically that the US officers lacked confidence in Doorman. Id., p. 338. John Prados called Doorman “aggressive to
the point of recklessness.” John Prados, Combined Fleet Decoded, Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1995, p. 255. Edwin
Hoyt notes that Doorman was criticized as “misguided and stubborn.” Hoyt, p. 258. Mike Coppock has probably been the
most brutal:

As he yelled “Follow me!” in one of the most desperate and ill[-]conceived sea battles in modem times, an ad
hoc fleet of Allied warships was unnecessarily squandered in a do-or-die encounter that became the Armageddon
of ego-driven Dutch Admiral Karel Doorman. Mike Coppock, “The Battle of the Java Sea: A Fleet Wasted,” Sea
Classics, Sept. 2007.

While a full analysis of Karel Doorman’s performance is beyond the scope of this article, I must put myself on record as
finding most of these statements more than a little unfair. In my opinion, while he did make mistakes (for instance, he
tried to get “too cute” in action off Bali), Doorman’s actions in the campaign as a whole and in the Java Sea battle in
particular were at worst defensible and generally tactically sound. That he was unsuccessful is not so much a reflection
on his ability as it is on the situation that was forced upon him, in which he was left with numerous judgment calls with
few clear correct answers. I hope that some of the information I provide in this article will help provide a more balanced
view of this brave, humane and honorable officer.

10
So named, actually, because it was the combination of the Western Striking Force from Tanjoeng Priok in
western Java and the Eastern Striking Force from Soerabaja in eastern Java.

11
Waller’s report in McKie, p. 142.

12
ONI Narrative (found at Hyperwar), p. 53.

13
Helfrich signaled, “Notwithstanding the air attack you are to proceed eastward to search for and attack the
enemy.” ONI Narrative, p. 55. Not often reported is a second part of this message, “Air attacks had been expected and
this attack should not have been a reason for withdrawing from the area of action.” Morison, p. 340. One wonders what
went through the mind of Admiral Doorman, in danger at sea, upon receiving this message from a superior sitting safe at
a desk in the mountains of Java. In that context, Doorman’s reply was a model of restraint, “Was proceeding eastwards
after search from Sapoedi to Rembang. Success of action depends absolutely on getting good reconnaissance information
in time, which last night failed me. Destroyers will have to refuel tomorrow.” ONI Narrative, p. 55.
14
ONI Narrative, p. 55.

15
This rather colorful anecdote is not generally mentioned. J. Daniel Mullin, Another Six-Hundred, Mt. Pleasant,
SC; J. Daniel Mullin, 1984, p. 214.
16
The 4th Destroyer Flotilla consisted of the flagship cruiser Naka, serving as a destroyer leader as most Japanese
light cruisers did, destroyers Asagumo and Minegumo, of the 9th Destroyer Division, and destroyers Murasame, Samidare,
Harusame and Yudachi of the 2nd Destroyer Division. F.C. van Oosten, The Battle of the Java Sea, Annapolis, Naval
Institute Press, 1976, p. 42.
17
The 2nd Destroyer Flotilla consisted of the flagship light cruiser Jintsu, destroyers Yukikaze, Amatsukaze,
Tokitsukaze and Hatsukaze of the 16th Destroyer Division, and destroyers Yamakaze and Kawakaze of the 24th Destroyer
Division. Destroyers Ushio and Sazanami of the 7th Destroyer Division, which had been operating as a screen for the 5 th
Cruiser Division, were attached to the 2 nd Destroyer Flotilla for this battle. Van Oosten, p. 43.
18
Eric Lacroix and Linton Wells II, Japanese Cruisers of the Pacific War (also affectionately known as “The GIANT
Book of EVERYTHING You Could Possibly Want to Know About World War II Japanese Cruisers But Were Afraid To
Ask”), Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1997, pp. 245-250. CombinedFleet.com compares the Japanese Type 93
torpedo’s specifications to those of the US Mark 15 (used by US destroyers) as follows:

ModelDiameterLength OATotal WeightExplosive ChargeRangeWander (max)Type 9324"29' 6"5952 lbs.1080

lbs.20,000m @ 48 kts
32,000m @ 40 kts
40,000m @ 36 kts500m / 20,000m
1000m / 32,000m
1500m / 40,000mMark 1521"24' 0"3841 lbs.825 lbs.5,500m @ 45 kts
9,150m @ 33 kts
13,700m @ 26 kts?
It should be noted that early in the war US torpedoes were almost completely ineffective due to a combination of a
erratically-performing magnetic detonator, a defective firing pin and a miscalibrated depth-setting mechanism. These
problems were not corrected in full until 1944.
19
Doorman has been subject to severe criticism for this decision, both by historians, naval analysts and even the
crews of the Anglo warships. See e.g., Mullin, p. 229. In fairness to him, however, it must be restated that he was acting
in accordance with Allied doctrine in leaving his float planes ashore for an expected night battle. Unless a float plane
could be stowed in a hangar – neither the De Ruyter nor the Java had hangars – it was regarded as a fire hazard. Tom
Womack, The Dutch Naval Air Force Against Japan: The Defense of the Netherlands East Indies, 1941-1942, Jefferson,
NC and London, Macfarland, 2006, p. 197 n.23.

The dangers of such float planes was exemplified the following August in the Battle of Savo Island, when a Japanese
cruiser force made a surprise night attack on Allied cruisers off Guadalcanal. The Japanese set fire to exposed US
floatplanes, which served as points of aim in the darkness. Four Allied cruisers were lost in this action.
20
Allied floatplanes were less capable than their Japanese counterparts by an order of magnitude and were never
fully integrated into Allied tactics like their Japanese counterparts were.
21
Womack, p. 124.
22
Doorman was aware of the air issues and had arranged for US air officers to come aboard to act as liaisons for
a flight of US B-24 Liberators to serve the Combined Striking Force. Why he wanted this arrangement over the use of his
own floatplanes is unclear, but it may have been because of the Liberator’s superior range, armor and armament. The US
air commander agreed to the plan but was overruled by ABDA-Air. Van Oosten, p. 39.
23
On the other hand, given the almost total ineffectiveness of US torpedoes early in the war, the decision may
have actually made little difference.

24
Java’s sister ship Sumatra was indeed deemed unfit for service due to problems with her engines, which
considering the dire straits in which the Dutch found themselves is saying something.
25
Mullin, p. 224.
26
Lieutenant (junior grade) Harold S. Hamlin, Jr., of the Houston likened the situation to eleven all-stars playing
the Notre Dame football team without a single practice session together. Toland, But Not In Shame, p. 244.
27
Prados, p. 261.
28
Hara Tameichi, Japanese Destroyer Captain, Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1967, pp. 65, 68-70.

29
“Crossing the T” is described a maneuver dating to the Age of Sail in which one or more ships cross in front
of and perpendicular to one or more opposing ships, which allows the crossing ship to fire all of its guns (or all of its side
guns in the Age of Sail) at the target while the target could only fire back with its forward guns (or none of its guns in the
Age of Sail). In the case of the Battle of the Java Sea, the Nachi and Haguro would have been able to fire their combined
twelve forward and eight aft guns, for a total of twenty guns, against, theoretically, the three forward guns of the De
Ruyter, four forward guns of the Exeter, six forward guns of the Houston, four forward guns of the Perth and four guns of
the Java, for a total of 21 guns. Doorman=s response here has been heavily criticized by historians. However, it should be
pointed out that because the cross of the T formed by the Nachi and Haguro would have been so short, the ranges of all
ABDA guns except the three forward guns of the De Ruyter would have been fouled by other Allied ships and,
consequently, would be unable to fire.

Prados also points out that had Doorman kept closing the range he would have risked letting Takagi get behind him, in
which case the Allies would have been unable to catch up because they were slowed down by the damaged Kortenaer.
Prados, p. 260.
30
Kroese was popular with the Americans, to whom he was known as “Cruiser.” John Toland, But Not In Shame:
The Six Months After Pearl Harbor, New York, Random House, 1961, p. 254.

31
ONI Narrative, p. 68. Some versions state the message was, “British destroyers counterattack.” ONI
Narrative, n. 56.
32
ONI Narrative, p 78, Ph.M. Bosscher, De Koninklijke Marine in de Tweede Wereldoorlog, Franeker,
Netherlands; Uitgeverij Van Wijnen, 1990, p. 286 n. 321.

33
Mullin, p. 226.

34
There has been some question concerning Binford=s authority to withdraw his destroyers, but a closer
inspection shows that the action was correct. Doorman had indicated he only needed the US destroyers, which were
otherwise underarmored, undergunned and slow, for their torpedoes. With the torpedoes expended B and especially with
fuel almost gone B the destroyers were now effectively useless to the Combined Striking Force. Doorman=s comments
during the DesRon 58 attack showed he was aware of their fuel issues. Binford sent a message to Doorman through
Naval Commander Soerabaja informing the admiral of his withdrawal. Doorman responded by affirming the decision and
ordering DesRon 58 to Tanjoeng Priok for new orders and a new load of torpedoes.

35
Mullin, p. 226.

36
Winslow, Ghost, p. 122, Fleet, p. 208.

37
ONI at 74. Morison, p. 356, has the signal as “I am torpedoed.”

38
Mullin, p. 226.

39
One survivor of the De Ruyter said that the cruiser actually “stopped” to pick up the survivors of the Jupiter.
Mullin, p. 226. I have not been able to corroborate this statement.

40
That night the Allied crews were not convinced the culprit was a submarine torpedo; postwar research would
reveal no Japanese submarine in the area that could have been responsible for the explosion. Allied suspicions instead
focused on the Dutch minefield in Toeban Bay. It may very well be that the Jupiter used the term “torpedoed” merely as
shorthand.

The explanation that has been accepted is that one of the mines had broken loose and struck the Jupiter. A “drifting
Dutch mine” appears to be the most popular description. The most recent scholarship suggests, however, that while that
description is not far from the truth, it does not seem to do this bizarre incident justice.

The minefield, it seems, was never laid. En route to the location, the Gouden Leeuw was spotted by one of the ubiquitous
Japanese float planes. Convinced an air attack was imminent B Japanese float planes were often used in air attacks B the
Gouden Leeuw apparently dumped her volatile cargo, only some of which were armed, and left the area. Van Oosten, pp.
68-69; Womack, p. 197 n. 33.
41
Schultz, p. 158. His is the only source to give an exact course. Most sources only say the column headed
“north” or “in a northerly direction.” The ONI Narrative seems to assume a course of due north but does not explicitly
say so. Other sources dispute the course. Mullin, p. 226, says the column turned northwest. Morison has the column
headed north northwest for the remainder of the action, but does not give a course. Morison goes on to say that when
Takagi’s cruisers engaged Doorman later that night, they were “almost parallel,” but all sources seem to agree that the
Japanese were headed due north. Van Oosten has them turning due north then at some unspecified point in time turning
slightly northwest, but again does not give a course. Paul S. Dull, A Battle History of the Imperial Japanese Navy (1941-
1945), Annapolis, Naval Institute Pres, 1978, p. 85, uses van Oosten’s figures. I am using Schultz’s figures, backed up by
the ONI Narrative, mostly for simplicity, but keep in mind that the column was also zigzagging. Earlier in the day they
had been zigzagging 10 degrees from the base course. “Partial Log As Kept By Survivors, USS Houston,” Enclosure (a)
(11) “Engagement off Soerabaja, February 27, 1942,” (found at Hyperwar). It is possible that the zigzagging accounts for
the reported differences in course.
42
On the morning of March 1, 1942, the Encounter, along with the Exeter and the destroyer USS Pope, would be
chased down and sunk by the Japanese cruisers Ashigara and Myoko.

43
Kroese, pp. 89-90. Some translations use “light” instead of “flare.”

44
This story would seem to conclusively show the order of the Allied cruisers as they passed by the survivors:
“The Dutchman, the Australian, The American and at last another Dutchman.” By this description, the front-to-back
order would be the De Ruyter, Perth, Houston and Java. The survivors were in the perfect position to watch the ships as
they passed by, one by one, in the hope that one of them would stop. So it would seem that they conclusively determine
that the column was in that order, unless they were mistaken in the identities of the ships.

Kroese’s excellent work hints at the possibility of such a mistake. The Dutch Navy at War is illustrated with a few
drawings by H.J. Hoowij. One of these drawings shows the Allied cruisers passing by the Kortenaer survivors. The
caption describes the order of Allied ships as De Ruyter, Perth, Houston and Java. Yet the picture itself appears to show
the second cruiser in the column having a tall, tripod mast, which was a characteristic not of the Perth but of the Houston.
Were the Kortenaer survivors mistaken as to the identity of the cruisers?

The strong likelihood is that they were not. The Dutch sailors were familiar with the Houston both as one of the most
powerful ships in their little fleet, a ship that had been with them in battle, and, along with the De Ruyter and Java, the
most visually distinctive. A hint is not enough to overcome the plain words of the witnesses.

45
ONI Narrative, p. 75.

46
James D. Hornfischer, Ship of Ghosts, The Story of the USS Houston, FDR’s Legendary Lost Cruiser, and the
Epic Saga of Her Survivors, New York, Bantam, 2006, p. 91.

47
ONI Narrative, pp. 69-70.

48
Id.

49
Van Oosten, pp. 72-73, Womack, pp. 126-127. There has been considerable confusion on this point because
while the De Ruyter’s TBS radio went out, other parts of the Dutch cruiser’s radio suite apparently remained operational.
At two points during the evening, Doorman was able to send short-wave, non-voice messages to Dutch shore installations.
One was to Helfrich: “Enemy retreating westward. Contact broken. Where is convoy?” The second was in response to
DesRon 58's report that they had retired to Soerabaja. Unable to reach Doorman on the TBS, they relayed a message
through Naval Commander Soerabaja, which in turn relayed Doorman=s acknowledgment of their report and new orders
for them. But for battlefield communications, the non-voice radio was impractical and even dangerous. Essentially, for
the remainder of this action, the Combined Striking Force=s flagship had no radio.

50
Mullin, p. 226.

51
Van Oosten, pp. 72-73, Womack, pp. 126-127.

52
Collins’ report, p. 138.

53
Waller’s report makes no mention of such a signal from Doorman, but such a signal had to come. Waller
simply did not have the authority to order another ship to pick up the survivors in contravention of Doorman =s order that
such survivors were to be left “to the mercy of the enemy.” Additionally, Waller stated that he did not recognize the
survivors or their language. Finally, Waller’s report makes no mention of the Perth sending out a message to pick the
survivors up, but it is known that such a message indeed went out. The radio message was sent from the Perth, but the
order originated with Doorman, not with Waller.

54
The radio log of the John D. Ford paraphrases a voice message as “...pick up survivors we just passed in a
boat.” Report of John D. Ford (228): “Report of Battle of Java Sea, forwarding of: Extracts from radio log 26 February
to 1 March 1942.” Enclosure (B). The sender is unidentified; the intended recipients were listed as two British ships,
which Bosscher identifies as, oddly, the Electra and the Jupiter. Bosscher, p. 612 n. 379. There was undoubtedly more to
the message, giving at least the Kortenaer survivors; location. With the voice radios on the De Ruyter and the Houston
out of commission and the Java at the other end of the column, this voice message could only have come from the Perth.

55
Interestingly, Doorman=s original signal to the Perth may have only been to have the survivors picked up
without specifying who should pick them up. The message from the Perth was directed to the Electra and Jupiter.
Doorman knew both were out of the battle; Waller knew about the Electra but not the Jupiter. So whoever sent the
message did not know that the Electra and Jupiter were out of the battle, which also indicates that the message was
written by someone in the radio room who did not have access to the battle situation. It is not known if the Encounter
responded to the Perth’s signal with a message of her own; the Ford’s radio log does not indicate one, but the log by its
own admission only contains excerpts. The Encounter picked up 113 survivors and was supposed to return them to
Batavia, but upon hearing of a “strong enemy force” to the west, returned to Soerabaja instead. Morison, p. 357.
 56
Womack, p. 126.

57
H.J. Hoowij=s illustration of the cruisers passing the Kortenaer survivors shows the forward guns of the De
Ruyter trained to starboard.
58
ONI Narrative, p. 75. The radio log of the John D. Ford shows an almost identical message “BT target on
port, four points, VA.” Report of John D. Ford (228): “Report of Battle of Java Sea, forwarding of: Extracts from radio
log 26 February to 1 March 1942.” Enclosure (B). The origin and intended recipients are unknown. This may have been
the Perth providing a voice message for the Java and other ships in the vicinity.

59
Id. “Four points” is a reference to the 32-point compass rose, traditionally used in maritime navigation for
both true and relative bearings. One point is equal to 11.25 degrees, thus four points equals 45 degrees and eight points
equals 90 degrees.
60
Dull, p. 84; Anthony P. Tully, “Naval Alamo,” found at the US Asiatic Feet Web site:
http://www.asiaticfleet.com/.
61
Hara, p. 76. It must be pointed out that Hara actually indicates that Takagi ordered Sentai 5 to slow down after
it had reversed course and headed north. This does not make sense. Other reports give the impression of a running gun
battle that lasted some 20 minutes, and the proposed torpedo firing solutions that the Japanese ultimately used involved a
partial stern chase of the Allied cruisers. It was not an ideal solution and further suggests that Takagi had to catch up to
the Allied column.
62
Winslow, Ghost, p. 123.
63
Waller’s report, p. 141. The evidence disagrees as to when the exchange of starshells occurred, whether it was
before or after Sentai 5 reversed course. I have decided to go with before the reversal of course, on the logic that it was
common practice when making first contact with the enemy at night to try to illuminate them.
64
CombinedFleet.com lists the top speed of the Myoko-class cruisers as 34 knots. No specific speed is given for
the ABDA cruisers, but Kroese, p. 89, quotes survivors of the Kortenaer as saying the cruiser column passed them at “top
speed.” Royal Netherlands Navy Warships of World War II lists the De Ruyter’s top speed as 32 knots and the Java’s top
speed as 31 knots. “Top speed” in naval jargon does not necessarily always mean the best possible speed, but given
Doorman’s warnings about the slowness of the Kortenaer, it is probably safe to assume the Combined Striking Force was
running at a speed of at least 30 knots. If Sentai 5 was trying to catch up with the Combined Striking Force, the Nachi
and Haguro had to be running at or near their top speed, likely 32-34 knots. The Japanese apparently pulled just about
even with the Allied column after about 20 minutes. For a 20 minute chase the Japanese could have knocked more than a
mile off the range.
65
Toland, p. 261; G. Hermon Gill, Australia in the War of 1939-1945, Series Two: Navy; Volume I: Royal
Australian Navy 1939-1942, Canberra, Australian War Memorial, 1957, p. 615. Sources do not agree as to which
direction the Japanese cruisers turned. I have gone with Dull, p. 85.
66
Australian diver and photojournalist Kevin Denlay, who dove the sunken wrecks of the De Ruyter and Java as
part of an expedition from the southeast Asian wreck diving ship MV Empress in December 2002, found and
photographed the Java’s portside guns pointing “defiantly upwards.” This position strongly suggests the Java continued
to train her guns on the Japanese cruisers at her maximum range. Kevin Denlay, “Cruisers for Breakfast,” Sportdiving
Magazine, 2003, pp. 17-19.
67
It is interesting that this particular message was recorded when so many others were not.
68
Marvin Sholar, a US Navy signalman who had been assigned to the De Ruyter as a communications liaison,
said Doorman “suspected another torpedo attack and … turned away.” Mullin, p. 227. There is no agreement as to the
firing solution used by the Japanese. Waller’s report says only that the Japanese ships were “a long way off.” Morison
says the torpedoes were fired "when the two columns were almost parallel, 8,000 yards apart.” Gill cites one Japanese
report as saying 10,000 meters (10,936 yards), adding that the torpedoes struck “after ten or fifteen minutes, the time
estimated for them to reach their targets.” Gill also cites another, “more detailed Japanese report” as stating: "00.53
torpedoes started being fired (Nachi 8, Haguro 4) shooting angle 80 degrees, distance 9.5 kilometers" (10,389 yards).
Hara, p. 76, whose figures were later used by Hornfischer, says the solution was shooting angle 60 degrees at 10,000
meters. Though usually reliable, Hara’s figures here must be questioned as would have gotten this information
secondhand because he himself was commanding the Amatsukaze during the battle. Additionally, 60-degree firing angle,
while acceptable, would have had the torpedoes chasing the Allied ships northward somewhat. I find an 80-degree angle
more believable, therefore I use the figures cited by Gill – 80 degrees, 9.5 kilometers.
69
Takagi may not have had much choice due to his lavish use of his 8-inch ammunition. Hara, p. 78, states that
at the end of the battle the Nachi had only 70 8-inch shells left. Lacroix and Wells, p. 298, appear to disagree, noting that
for the Battle of the Java Sea, the Nachi and Haguro, each with a supply of about 1,300 8-inch shells, fired 845 and 774
shells, respectively. Lacroix and Wells go on to say that between 5:47 and 6:50 – the afternoon action – the Japanese
fired 1,271 shells, of which only 5 hit, and 4 of those were duds. They attribute the lack of success to the extreme range.
According to Hara, p. 78, Takagi was heavily criticized for “his series of blunders,” which included opening gunfire at
extreme range and wasting ammunition. One disgusted gunnery officer said of Takagi, “He’s a submariner, and doesn’t
know how to use guns.” Lacroix and Wells also point out that of 153 Type 93 torpedoes fired by the Japanese during the
Battle of the Java Sea, only three hit – but each of those three hits was fatal.
70
The 90-degeee turn suggests that Takagi’s cruisers had pulled even with the De Ruyter by this time.
71
Pretty much all histories, either in narrative or in map form, have the Combined Striking Force at this point
remaining in column and executing a “column turn” or what Morison calls a “column movement” – basically a follow-
the-leader move in which each ship turns at the same point on the water and into the same direction as the ship in front of
it. The ONI’s diagram illustrating this portion of the action follows this scenario. However, what actually seems to have
happened is a “line turn,” a “simultaneous turn,” because ideally all the ships are supposed to turn simultaneously; an
“echelon turn” as Jonathan Parshall and Anthony P. Tully, Shattered Sword: The Untold Story of the Battle of Midway,
Washington, DC; Potomac, 2005, p. 346 describe such a maneuver, or what Morison simply calls a “turn” – each ship
turning in the same direction simultaneously or as close to simultaneously as they can manage. Morison, p. 347, n. 11.
Obviously, this represents a major change in the accepted narrative, but it fits both the known facts and tactical doctrine.
Such a major change obviously will require justification. For simplicity’s sake, I will give the general reasons here; the
details will follow in this and subsequent endnotes.

1. The standard response to a torpedo attack was an immediate turn to comb the torpedoes. Doorman had already
used such a tactic late that afternoon during the final Japanese torpedo attack ending the day action.
2. The Combined Striking Force had also mistakenly executed a line turn when the Exeter sheared out of column
after being hit by the Haguro. Doorman had to circle his confused ships to reform the column. So the line turn
and the reform were something the crews were used to and expected.
3. A ship captain is very unlikely to maintain a course knowing torpedoes are inbound for the sole purpose of
staying in column.
4. Survivors of the Houston reported that the De Ruyter was ahead of her and “slightly to the left,” when the Dutch
cruiser was hit. Suggests a slight right echelon formation.
5. The firm belief on the part of the Houston survivors that they were immediately behind the De Ruyter suggests
they had an unobstructed view of the flagship when she was hit. This means the Perth was not directly between
the Houston and the De Ruyter, which means she was somewhere to port. Again, suggests a right echelon
formation.
6. A line turn explains the heretofore unexplained starboard turn of the De Ruyter to the southeast as a way to
reform the column, as Doorman had done at least twice that day.
7. Given that the De Ruyter was headed southeast when she was hit, if the Perth was in column behind the De
Ruyter she would not have had to turn northeast to avoid the stricken flagship, as the ONI’s diagram of the
incident suggests.
8. If the Perth had been in column, her port turn to avoid the De Ruyter would have kept her on the other side of
the cruiser from the Japanese. But in the line turn scenario, the Perth would have been backlit as she turned
northeast. Note that Takagi took his cruisers in pursuit of the remaining ABDA cruisers to the northeast for
heretofore unexplained reasons.
9. If the Houston had been in column, her starboard turn to avoid the De Ruyter would have backlit her heading
southeast to the Japanese. This would not have happened during a line turn. Again, Takagi took his cruisers
northeast, not southeast.
10. The Perth and the Houston definitely split up, but instead of splitting up to confuse the Japanese they were
forced to do so by the De Ruyter stopping in their paths. The Perth had been ahead of the Houston in the
original column, but as their near collision later on suggests, ended up significantly behind the Houston. Yet
there is no mention anywhere of the Houston passing the Perth.
 11. The ONI’s diagram (and many subsequent illustrations) shows the Java turning separately from the rest of the
column. There is no logical reason for her to turn separately while the other three ships stay in column.
12. Finally, the order for such a maneuver could have been quickly passed back through the column in a similar
manner to that used by the Japanese during the collision between the Mikuma and Mogami after the Battle of
Midway in June 1942.

From a tactical standpoint, a column turn in this situation simply makes no sense. Combing the torpedoes required an
immediate turn or risk a torpedo hit, which neither Waller, Rooks nor van Straelen would do for the sole purpose of
staying in column. Furthermore, the subsequent movements of the De Ruyter, Perth and Houston as reported make much
more sense if this was a line turn instead of a column turn. Finally, on at least two occasions during the afternoon action,
the Combined Striking Force executed line turns, one accidental, the other to avoid torpedoes.

The accepted scenario of a column turn appears to be based on a misinterpretation of Waller’s report. Waller, p. 141, said
he and “followed” the De Ruyter’s turn. Waller goes on to say that Java was struck “whilst the line was halfway round
this turn.” Collins, p. 138, said the remaining cruisers “conform[ed].” The ONI Narrative and later historians interpreted
that to mean the Perth stayed in column, but Waller did not actually say that. His statement that he “followed” the De
Ruyter likely means he turned after the Dutch cruiser did and remained behind her, but not in column. While “the line
was halfway round this turn” can be interpreted as a column turn, this is not necessarily so, because the line turn would
also have been sequential as the order was passed back. In the line turn scenario, the Perth would have been in a slight
echelon to starboard.
72
The scenario here is a supposition based on the scenario of the Mogami-Mikuma collision after the Battle of
Midway. Parshall and Tully, pp. 345-346; Fuchida Mitsuo and Okumiya Masatake, Midway: The Battle That Doomed
Japan, Annapolis, Naval Institute Press, 1955, p. 190. In the foggy early morning hours of June 6, 1941, the Japanese 7 th
Cruiser Division while proceeding in column sighted a US submarine. Flagship Kumano ordered evasive action in the
form of an immediate 45-degree turn to port. She flashed that signal to the Suzuya behind her and began turning. Suzuya,
in turn, flashed the 45-degree turn order to the Mikuma behind her and began her own turn. Mikuma then flashed the
order to the Mogami behind her and began her turn. Then Mogami began turning.

But in the foggy predawn darkness the move went awry. Kumano’s turn was so wobbly that she nearly collided with the
Suzuya, who had executed the turn perfectly. Mikuma turned 45 degrees and found herself about to collide the Kumano
so she turned another 45 degrees to port. Mogami, last in the column, turned 45 degrees as ordered, but thought the other
ships were proceeding without her and may mistook the Suzuya ahead of her for the Mikuma. As a result, she did not see
that Mikuma had turned too far, had turned onto a collision course until the Mogami saw the Mikuma’s beam slide in front
of her. By then it was too late.

The resulting collision left the Mogami’s bow bent forward of her No. 1 turret and limited her speed. Mikuma suffered
minor damage in the form of a pierced oil tank, but that was by far the worse injury. Mikuma left an oil slick that US
carrier attack planes followed to batter the two cruisers. Mikuma was sunk, and Mogami was so badly damaged that she
was, quite literally, never the same ship again.

The Mogami-Mikuma collision helps illustrate the dangers in executing the line turn, even among ships with common
signals and experienced crews who had trained together for a very long time. While the Combined Striking Force, as
critics claim, may not have trained together very long, they appear to have executed the maneuver perfectly, which
should be a testimony to the skill of their crews.
73
Winslow, Ghost, p. 124.
74
The ONI Narrative and most subsequent illustrations of this action show the Java turning separately from the
other three cruisers. Why the Java would have turned separately has never been explained and on its face does not seem
to make sense. It only makes sense if all four cruisers had turned separately.
75
Tully, “Naval Alamo; Van Oosten p. 116.
76
Mullin, p. 224.
77
Hornfischer, p. 92.
 78
Id.
79
Denlay, p. 17, 20.
80
“Java,” Royal Netherlands Navy Warships of World War II http://www.netherlandsnavy.nl/ recovered 8/19/08.
81
Winslow, Fleet, p. 210.
82
The attack had also severely damaged the light cruiser USS Marblehead, forcing her retirement.
83
ONI Narrative, p. 76; Tully, “Naval Alamo.” Sholar said the De Ruyter was hit “as we were turning back.”
Mullin, p. 227. The De Ruyter’s turn here is rarely even referenced, and I have not found a reason suggested for this turn.
If one accepts the premise of a line turn, then a likely reason becomes apparent: to reform the column.
84
This is a supposition that happens to fit the facts and the scenario, but I must admit to finding no hard evidence
to support it. Doorman and his staff were well aware of torpedoes in the area and had a rough idea of their track. He
would not have knowingly turned the De Ruyter into their firing track. The Houston had seen torpedoes pass her. The
De Ruyter may have as well. For Doorman to have turned the cruiser in the very tight timeline provided by the known
facts, they likely saw the Nachi’s torpedoes pass.
85
Mullin, pp. 226-227. Denlay, p. 16, 19, photographed and describes the wreck of the De Ruyter with her
forward guns pointing to starboard.
86
ONI Narrative, p. 76. This information makes it possible to calculate the De Ruyter’s heading when she was
hit. If the Japanese report (quoted by Gill) of an 80-degree firing angle is used, the De Ruyter would have been heading
125 degrees True. If Hara’s 60-degree figure is used, the De Ruyter was on a heading of 105 degrees True.
87
“The Conquest of Java Island, March 1942,” The Dutch East Indies Campaign 1941-42
http://www.geocities.com/dutcheastindies/java.html recovered 8/19/08.
88
Tully, “Naval Alamo.” Denlay, p. 18, photographed the De Ruyter’s wheel still showing a starboard turn.
89
“The Conquest of Java Island, March 1942,” The Dutch East Indies Campaign 1941-42
http://www.geocities.com/dutcheastindies/java.html recovered 8/19/08.
90
Van Oosten, p. 116. It must be noted that his is the only source that I have identified to have this one-minute
differential. No one else – not Hara, not the Tabular Records of Movement on CombinedFleet.com – show this
differential. This one-minute difference, however, would explain why Doorman thought the torpedoes had passed when
they in fact had not, and why the Haguro’s torpedoes followed such a similar track to those of the Nachi. The possible
explanations for these characteristics of the Haguro’s attack are much more dubious for a simultaneous launch.
91
In the absence of other information pertaining to the spacing between the Nachi and the Haguro, I have
assumed a spacing of one kilometer, which was common typical for the Japanese. The Haguro would have had to travel
one kilometer in the one minute between the time of Nachi’s launch and the time of her own. 1 kilometer = 0.5399568
nautical miles * 60 minutes = 32.397408 knots. Again, per CombinedFleet.com, the top speed of the Myoko-class
cruisers was 34 knots.
92
Mullin, p. 227.
93
“De Ruyter (I) History,” Royal Netherlands Navy Warships of World War II http://www.netherlandsnavy.nl/
recovered 8/19/08.
94
Winslow, Ghost, p. 124, Fleet, pp. 209-210.
95
David Thomas, The Battle of the Java Sea, New York, Stein and Day, 1969, p. 212; Hoyt, p. 256.
96
“The Conquest of Java Island, March 1942,” The Dutch East Indies Campaign 1941-42
http://www.geocities.com/dutcheastindies/java.html recovered 8/19/08.
 97
Winslow, Ghost, p. 124, Fleet, pp. 209-210. The Houston does not seem to have had a major problem
avoiding the De Ruyter. “Partial Log As Kept By Survivors, USS Houston,” Enclosure (b), The Wartime Cruise of the
U.S.S. Houston,” (found at Hyperwar) states that the Houston “had to swerve very sharply else we would have hit her.”
But aside from that blurb, none of the Houston survivors mention any particularly violent or sudden maneuvers to avoid
the De Ruyter. Waller, p. 142, says the Houston headed out to starboard. Schultz, p. 160, quotes a survivor as saying,
“The De Ruyter was ahead of us and slightly to our left” when she was hit. Schultz, p. 61 also quotes a survivor as
saying, “We saw the tracks of torpedoes astern of us. They just went harmlessly on by.” Both statements put the
Houston to starboard of the De Ruyter and not in column. Winslow says that the De Ruyter had changed course to
starboard and “[T]he Houston was about to follow when the flagship was hit. ”The ONI Narrative, p. 76, merely says the
Houston “turned out of column to starboard.” However, this version of events is contradicted by the ONI Narrative’s own
chart, which shows that neither the Houston nor the Perth had any reason for violent maneuvers to avoid the De Ruyter
because the Dutch cruiser was not in their path. In fact, according to the ONI chart, the Houston would have had a more
difficult turn to starboard. Notice here that none of these descriptions mentions where the Perth was when the De Ruyter
was hit, even though if they were still in column the Perth would have been right ahead of the Houston and at least
partially obstructing her view. This leads me to conclude that the Houston had an unobstructed view of the De Ruyter
when the Dutch cruiser was hit, while the Perth was somewhere to port. The temporary loss of night vision due to the
explosions of the Java and De Ruyter may have caused the Houston to lose track of the Perth in the darkness. Combine
this with the near-collision later on as the Perth was passing the Houston and it is easy to see why the survivors of the
Houston became convinced that they were immediately behind the De Ruyter.
98
Waller’s report, p. 142. Waller’s exact words are “I just managed to miss her by the use of full helm and one
engine stopped.” Collins, p. 138, clarifies by stating the Perth “avoided the blazing wreck by the use of full port rudder
and one engine.” The assumption seems to be that the Perth had to use these maneuvers to avoid plowing into the De
Ruyter’s stern from the back, but neither Waller nor Collins actually says that. It is also a bit difficult to fathom such an
emergency maneuver to avoid a ship which, if they were in a column formation, would have been presenting a narrow
stern profile. Additionally, the ONI diagram shows the Perth making a sharp turn to the northeast, but no reason for this
turn is apparent since, according to the chart, the Perth could have just continued to go east. If the Perth had already
turned southeast to follow the De Ruyter, her port turn would have taken her southeast. I can identify no scenario in
which the Perth, if the cruisers were still in column, would have had to make an emergency turn northeast. Accepting the
premise of a line turn presents what, to me at least, is a much more believable scenario. The De Ruyter would have
presented her stern jutting northwest toward the Perth What seems to have happened is that the Perth was in danger of
running into the De Ruyter’s stern from the side and, given her high rate of speed, possibly shearing it off. This required
the Perth to make a very difficult turn to port, as Collins describes, which was northeast, as the ONI chart shows. It must
be pointed out also that none of the Houston’s survivors mention seeing the Perth having difficulty avoiding the De
Ruyter.
99
Hornfischer, p. 92.
100
Hara, p. 76.
101
Hara, p. 76.
102
This scenario is based on the circumstantial evidence of Takagi’s northeast turn, but it is also deductive. If
one accepts the premise of a line turn, the Perth turning northeast to avoid the De Ruyter would have been between the
Dutch cruiser and the Japanese, and would have been silhouetted by the fires of the blazing wreck. The Houston turning
to the southeast would not have been backlit. If the Combined Striking Force had remained in column, the Perth
following her port turn would have been on the other side of the De Ruyter form the Japanese and would not have been
seen. The Houston, on the other hand, would have been silhouetted as she passed the blazing De Ruyter to starboard.
Given that the De Ruyter was on a southeast heading when she was hit, it would have made more sense for the Japanese
to look southeast for the Perth and Houston, not northeast, unless they actually saw the Perth turn northeast, which would
not have happened if the Allied cruisers were in column.
103
Tully, “Naval Alamo;” Bosscher, p. 291. Schultz, p. 161, has the message as “Do not stand by for survivors.
Proceed to Batavia.”
104
Tully, “Naval Alamo.”
 105
Waller, p. 142.
106
Morison, p. 357. Morison states that the Perth and Houston had “separated, hoping to shake off the tracking
enemy planes.” But this is incorrect. By this time there were no Japanese planes aloft tracking the cruisers.
Additionally, the cruisers were actually forced to separate by their maneuvers, especially those of the Perth, to avoid the
De Ruyter.
107
Winslow, Ghost, p. 124-125; Schultz, p. 161, quotes a Houston survivor as saying “We just barely missed her
stern by about two feet.” This incident is usually associated with the Perth’s maneuvers to avoid the De Ruyter, as both
Winslow and Schultz do, in part because Captain Rooks was trying to avoid torpedoes, but under either a line or column
scenario this incident must have happened much later. If the ships had been in column when the De Ruyter was hit, the
Perth would have been ahead of the Houston. She did turn to port to avoid the De Ruyter. The near-collision requires the
Perth to have been behind and to starboard of the Houston. The survivors of the Houston make no mention of having
passed the Perth; they believed the Perth was behind them all along, and this incident undoubtedly contributed to that
belief. In a column formation, the Houston could have passed the Perth while both were passing the De Ruyter, but that
would have had the Houston avoiding the De Ruyter, not the Perth and still left the Perth to port of Houston. Under the
line turn scenario I advocate here, Perth turning to the northeast to avoid the De Ruyter would have left her well behind
the Houston. The narrow right echelon formation the ships were in would have meant the Houston would have been more
focused on the De Ruyter than the Perth. Again, none of the survivors of the Houston mention passing the Perth or even
seeing her struggle to avoid the De Ruyter. It should be mentioned here that this near-collision by itself shows the
Houston had completely lost track of the Perth, even though the Australian cruiser was close by to starboard in the
darkness. The Houston most definitely could have lost track and likely did lose track of the Perth somewhere to port as
the cruisers tried to comb the Japanese torpedoes before the hit on the De Ruyter. Finally, at this point in the battle, there
were no Japanese torpedoes in the water. False sightings are not uncommon in war.
108
The Last Stand of the USS Houston, DVD, Jason Eisenberg, released May 31, 2006.
109
In his report, Waller wrote on his decision to withdraw:

I now had under my orders one undamaged 6-inch cruiser, one 8-inch cruiser with very little ammunition and no
guns aft. I had no destroyers. The force was subjected throughout the day and night operations to the most
superbly organized air reconnaissance. I was opposed by six cruisers, one of them possibly sunk, and twelve
destroyers. By means of their air reconnaissance they had already played cat and mouse with the main striking
force and I saw no prospect of getting at the enemy (their movements had not reached me since dark, and even
then the several reports at the same time all gave different courses) . It was fairly certain that the enemy had at
least one submarine operating directly with him, and he had ample destroyers to interpose between the convoy
and my approach – well advertised as I knew it would be. I had therefore no hesitation in withdrawing what
remained of the Striking Force and ordering them to the pre-arranged rendezvous after night action – Tanjong
Priok. Waller, p. 122.

Waller was probably anticipating the rebuke he would receive from Dutch Admiral Helfrich. His comments, and
editorial responses from Gill are as follows:

Strictly speaking the return of Perth and Houston was against my order 2055/26 – “You must continue attacks
till enemy is destroyed." This signal was intended to make it quite clear that I wanted the Combined Striking
Force to continue action whatever the cost, and till the bitter end. Perth did receive this signal. Both cruisers
were undamaged [Houston’s after triple turret was out of action] and it was not right to say in anticipation “It is
no use to continue action”, considering the damage inflicted upon the enemy cruisers, which in my opinion must
have been severe. [Actually the enemy cruisers were all in battle trim.] However, it is possible that other facts
had to be considered, such as shortage of fuel or ammunition. [Houston, as stated above, had very little
ammunition remaining.] The decision of the captain of Perth is even more regrettable as, after all, both cruisers
did meet their end. Probably on the night of 27th-28th February they would have sold their lives at greater cost to
the enemy. Gill, p. 616.

Gill added his own comments, including an invocation of Thermopylae:

In his desire for “the Combined Striking Force to continue action whatever the cost, and till the bitter end”,
 Helfrich disregarded a major point in warfare: “When is it the right time to disengage?” On numerous occasions
in the history of battles, he who found the right answer to that question has been rewarded with victory – a prize
that has seldom been given in recognition of military suicide. Here were no conditions warranting a
Thermopylae, with commensurate rewards for the sacrifice. Had none but military considerations governed the
use of the Allied naval forces in the Java campaign, the time for their disengagement and withdrawal was
reached long before Waller took his absolutely correct action in disengaging and withdrawing the remnant under
his command. In that action he did his duty to the Allied cause, which would have been much better served by
his saving the two ships and their trained crews for future use. In the event they were lost twenty-four hours later;
but even so, most probably at greater cost to the enemy than would have been had Waller decided in favour of an
unrealistic gesture on the night of 27th-28th February. Id.

As the fall of Java became more and more certain, Helfrich’s actions bordered more and more on the irrational. On top of
these sentiments, after the Battle of the Java Sea Helfrich ordered the Perth and Houston to go through the Soenda Strait
not to withdraw, but to go to Tjilatjap to continue fighting the Japanese after they had landed on Java. Neither Waller nor
Rooks thought Helfrich was serious, that it was preparatory to withdrawing them to Australia. It was in transiting the
Soenda Strait where the Perth and Houston ran into an invasion convoy and sunk in the epic stand on the night of
February 28-March 1 1942.

Additionally, Helfrich, on at best questionable authority, had ordered the US seaplane tender Langley, formerly the US
Navy’s first aircraft carrier, and the freighter Seawitch to ferry P-40 Warhawk fighters to Tjilatjap. The Langley was
carrying 32 P-40’s with pilots, but while the fighters were desperately needed, Tjilatjap had no airfield and no way to get
the P-40’s to one. The Langley was sunk on February 27 by Japanese aircraft operating out of Celebes. The Seawitch
made it to Tjilatjap, but her aircraft were crated and required assembly. With no time left before the Japanese invasion,
the crates were dumped into Tjilatjap’s harbor. There is some belief the Japanese may have recovered and assembled
them.

By such actions, Helfrich indicated a willingness to fight to the last Dutch – and American. And British. And Australian.
In fairness to him, Helfrich was a European native of Java and was not alone in his incredulousness at the situation in
which the Dutch found themselves. Additionally, once the British informed Helfrich of their intention to withdraw,
Helfrich ordered the Americans to do the same, and thus spared the US officers pangs of conscience at possibly having
abandoned the Dutch. Helfrich ultimately fled to Ceylon where the few remaining Dutch ships fought with the British
Far Eastern Fleet. He accepted the Japanese surrender on behalf of the Dutch in 1945.
110
“Partial log as kept by Survivors (of the USS Houston),” ONI Narrative, Enclosure (a)(9).
111
Womack, p. 126.
112
Hornfischer at 94.
113
Id.
114
“De Ruyter (I) History,” Royal Netherlands Navy Warships of World War II http://www.netherlandsnavy.nl/
recovered 8/19/08.