When This B-26 Flew Over Japan’s Carrier Deck — Japanese Couldn’t Fire a Single Shot

The Day a U.S. Bomber Flew Over a Japanese Carrier — and No One Could Stop It

Midway Atoll — June 4, 1942.
At exactly 7:10 a.m., First Lieutenant James Murie pushed his B-26 Marauder down to barely 200 feet above the Pacific Ocean, salt spray streaking across the windscreen. He was 23 years old, flying his first combat mission, and had received no formal training for what he was about to attempt.

Ahead of him lay the most powerful naval force Japan had ever assembled: four fleet aircraft carriers, protected by battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and more than 30 Mitsubishi Zero fighters already diving toward his aircraft from 12,000 feet.

Murie’s bomber was never meant to be there.

A Mission No One Expected to Survive

The Imperial Japanese Navy’s carrier strike force sat 150 miles northwest of Midway, commanded by Vice Admiral Chūichi Nagumo, the architect of the Pearl Harbor attack. His four carriers — Akagi, Kaga, Hiryū, and Sōryū — carried nearly 300 aircraft and more than 12,000 sailors. Six months earlier, they had changed history.

Against them came four U.S. Army Air Forces B-26 Marauders, hastily armed with 2,000-pound torpedoes slung beneath their fuselages — a configuration never intended by the aircraft’s designers. The B-26 already had a reputation as the “Widowmaker,” notorious for high landing speeds and unforgiving handling. Now it was being asked to fly torpedo attacks at wave-top height against enemy carriers.

Two of the four crews had never dropped a live torpedo. The other two had done so exactly once — in training. Collectively, the crews possessed zero combat experience and roughly 90 minutes of torpedo instruction.

They understood the odds. Earlier that morning, Navy torpedo squadrons attacking the same fleet had lost 45 of 51 aircraft in minutes.

Still, they went.

“Suzie Q” Enters the Firestorm

Murie’s aircraft, serial number 40-1391, carried the name Suzie Q, painted on its nose after his wife Alice’s nickname. As the B-26s approached the Japanese formation, Murie watched tracers tear past the cockpit. He dropped lower — 150 feet, then 100, then 50.

Japanese anti-aircraft fire erupted. Black bursts from 25-millimeter guns filled the air. Heavier shells from the destroyer screen joined in. Zero fighters attacked relentlessly from above and behind.

At 800 yards, Murie released his torpedo. The aircraft lurched upward as 2,000 pounds dropped away.

Then the situation worsened.

Every gun on Akagi, Nagumo’s flagship, locked onto Suzie Q.

Shells ripped through the wings, tail, and engines. Smoke poured into the fuselage. Murie realized he had seconds to live unless he did something radical.

Instead of turning away, he pulled the yoke toward the carrier.

Three Seconds Over Akagi

The B-26 screamed across the water at nearly 280 miles per hour, dropping to less than 20 feet above the waves. The carrier’s flight deck rose ahead like a steel cliff — 860 feet long, packed with aircraft and sailors.

Japanese gunners saw the bomber coming straight at them. Some dropped flat. Others kept firing.

Murie held his course.

At the last instant, he pulled up. Suzie Q cleared Akagi’s bow by less than six feet and thundered down the length of the flight deck at mast-head height.

For three seconds, the bomber flew directly over the most important ship in the Japanese Navy.

The propeller wash knocked sailors off their feet. Anti-aircraft crews abandoned their guns. Aircraft parked wing-to-wing rocked violently. On the bridge, Vice Admiral Nagumo watched an American bomber pass 20 feet in front of him, shattering windows with its turbulence.

The Japanese could not fire — any shot risked hitting their own flagship.

As Suzie Q crossed the deck, the bombardier opened fire. .50-caliber rounds raked the planking from bow to stern, killing two sailors and wounding several others.

Then Murie was past the stern and back at wave-top height, disappearing into smoke and chaos.

A Crippled Escape

Suzie Q was barely flying.

One engine was failing. Oil pressure dropped toward zero. Hydraulics were destroyed. Electrical systems flickered out. Three gunners were wounded. The defensive guns were jammed or out of ammunition.

Japanese fighters pursued — then suddenly broke off and turned back toward their carriers. Murie did not know why.

He would learn later that American dive bombers were approaching from 20,000 feet.

Murie flew on, nursing his failing aircraft across 150 miles of open ocean toward Midway. One engine seized completely. The bomber flew on a single engine, losing altitude.

When Midway’s runway finally appeared, another problem emerged: one main landing-gear tire was gone, shredded by cannon fire. The nose gear was stuck. With no hydraulics, the co-pilot manually cranked the landing gear down — his hands bleeding as the aircraft shook violently.

At the last moment, the nose wheel dropped.

A Landing Against All Odds

Murie crossed the beach at 15 feet, still too fast. The B-26 hit the coral runway at 135 miles per hour, sparks erupting as the bare wheel rim scraped the surface. One propeller shattered. The aircraft swerved violently.

With full rudder and failing brakes, Murie brought Suzie Q to a stop with 800 feet of runway remaining.

When ground crews counted the damage, they stopped at 506 bullet holes.

The aircraft would never fly again.

Two of the four B-26s never returned. Fourteen men were killed. No torpedoes hit their targets.

By every tactical measure, the mission was a failure.

The Strategic Consequence No One Saw Coming

Yet the impact of that attack reached far beyond damage reports.

Nagumo, shaken by the relentless Midway-based attacks and the image of an American bomber flying down his deck, concluded that Midway’s air defenses remained dangerous. He ordered his carrier aircraft rearmed with bombs to strike the island — a decision that required time and filled hangar decks with exposed ordnance.

Minutes later, a scout plane reported American carriers nearby. Nagumo reversed the order. Torpedoes and bombs sat stacked beside fuel lines.

When American SBD Dauntless dive bombers arrived shortly after, they found Japanese carriers in the worst possible configuration.

Within six minutes, three carriers were mortally hit.

The Battle of Midway turned.

Remembering the Unlikely Moment

James Murie never claimed his mission won the battle. He believed it failed. Historians still debate causation.

But the Navy and Air Force recognized something deeper: strategic success can grow from tactical failure.

Murie and his crew received the Distinguished Service Cross. All seven men survived the war.

Today, the nameplate from Suzie Q hangs in the National Museum of the United States Air Force. The aircraft itself rests beneath 40 feet of water off Midway, now an artificial reef.

For three seconds on a June morning in 1942, a damaged American bomber flew over a Japanese carrier deck — and changed how one admiral saw the battle unfolding.

Sometimes, history turns not on victories, but on moments no one expects to survive.