Today marks the 66 anniver­sary of the bat­tle of Midway Island, a key engage­ment that, if it had gone the other way, would have poten­tially crip­pled the U.S. naval capa­bil­ity for good. I know you guys are more into look­ing at the future of defense, but some­times I think it’s good to step back and remem­ber how we got where we are. 

From the Navy his­tory center:

The Battle of Midway, fought over and near the tiny U.S. mid-Pacific base at Midway atoll, rep­re­sents the strate­gic high water mark of Japan’s Pacific Ocean war. Prior to this action, Japan pos­sessed gen­eral naval supe­ri­or­ity over the United States and could usu­ally choose where and when to attack. After Midway, the two oppos­ing fleets were essen­tially equals, and the United States soon took the offensive. 

Japanese Combined Fleet com­man­der Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto moved on Midway in an effort to draw out and destroy the U.S. Pacific Fleet’s air­craft car­rier strik­ing forces, which had embar­rassed the Japanese Navy in the mid-April Doolittle Raid on Japan’s home islands and at the Battle of Coral Sea in early May. He planned to quickly knock down Midway’s defenses, fol­low up with an inva­sion of the atoll’s two small islands and estab­lish a Japanese air base there. He expected the U.S. car­ri­ers to come out and fight, but to arrive too late to save Midway and in insuf­fi­cient strength to avoid defeat by his own well-tested car­rier air power. 

Yamamoto’s intended sur­prise was thwarted by supe­rior American com­mu­ni­ca­tions intel­li­gence, which deduced his scheme well before bat­tle was joined. This allowed Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, the U.S. Pacific Fleet com­man­der, to estab­lish an ambush by hav­ing his car­ri­ers ready and wait­ing for the Japanese. On 4 June 1942, in the sec­ond of the Pacific War’s great car­rier bat­tles, the trap was sprung. The per­se­ver­ance, sac­ri­fice and skill of U.S. Navy avi­a­tors, plus a great deal of good luck on the American side, cost Japan four irre­place­able fleet car­ri­ers, while only one of the three U.S. car­ri­ers present was lost. The base at Midway, though dam­aged by Japanese air attack, remained oper­a­tional and later became a vital com­po­nent in the American trans-Pacific offensive. 

This brings up an excel­lent point, though. My good friend Bob Dudney, the edi­tor of Air Force mag­a­zine, recently wrote an edi­to­r­ial cau­tion­ing against Gates’ rhetor­i­cal punch at the ser­vices’ obses­sion with future tech­no­log­i­cal devel­op­ments — or “next war-itis” as he put it.

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(These fac­toids were for­warded to us by an asso­ciate. The orig­i­nal author is unknown.)

Have you ever won­dered what hap­pened to the 56 men who signed the Declaration of Independence?

Five were cap­tured by the British as trai­tors, and tor­tured before they died.

Twelve had their homes ran­sacked and burned.

Two lost their sons serv­ing in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured.

Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hard­ships of the Revolutionary War.

What kind of men were they?

Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were mer­chants, nine were farm­ers and large plan­ta­tion own­ers: men of means, well edu­cated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence know­ing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.

Carter Braxton of Virginia, a wealthy planter and trader saw his ships swept from the seas by the British Navy. He sold his home and prop­er­ties to pay his debts and died in rags.

Thomas McKeam was so hounded by the British that he was forced to move his fam­ily almost con­stantly. He served in the Congress with­out pay, and his fam­ily was kept in hid­ing. His pos­ses­sions were taken from him, and poverty was his reward.

Vandals or sol­diers looted the prop­er­ties of Dillery Hall, Clymer, Walton, Gwinett, Heyward, Ruttledge, and Middleton. At the bat­tle of Yorktown, Thomas Nelson, Jr. noted that the British General Cornwallis had taken over the Nelson home for his head­quar­ters. He qui­etly urged General George Washington to open fire. The home was destroyed, and Nelson died bankrupt.

Francis Lewis had his home and prop­er­ties destroyed. The enemy jailed his wife, and she died within a few months. John Hart was dri­ven from his wife’s bed­side as she was dying. Their 13 chil­dren fled for their lives. His fields and his grist­mill were laid to waste. For more than a year he lived in forests and caves, return­ing to find his wife dead and his chil­dren van­ished. A few weeks later he died from exhaus­tion and a bro­ken heart. Norris and Livingston suf­fered sim­i­lar fates.

Re-read the Declaration of Independence here.