It was June 20, 1944, 1900 hours (7:00 PM), in a tropical sky, 450 nautical miles northwest of Guam. We were at 16,000 feet. In the cockpit, the sun was still shining brilliantly. On the surface, daylight was turning to dusk, and the large Japanese carrier, Zuikaku, was maneuvering frantically at flank speed in anticipation of the forthcoming attack. We would have preferred to be at 18,000 feet or higher to reduce further the danger of the intense antiaircraft fire we were encountering, but we were at the absolute maximum limit of our aircraft's range. If we were to return to our ship, USS Hornet CV-12, after the attack, it was necessary to conserve fuel by approaching and attacking our target from the lesser altitude. In a moment, we would be rolling into our dives, and attacking the most important target we would ever encounter. Every Navy dive bomber pilot dreamed of this moment. It was the moment I had visualized, and anticipated since I was sworn in as an Aviation Cadet on that March day in 1942.