“The Leap: How a Fearless Machinist Jumped Into a Burning Plane to Save the USS Enterprise”
On February 1, 1942, the central Pacific Ocean was a place of primal terror. Only eight weeks had passed since the devastating attack on Pearl Harbor, and the USS Enterprise (CV-6)—the legendary “Big E”—was running for her life. She had just completed the first offensive carrier raid of the war, striking Japanese bases in the Marshall Islands, and now she was the target of a vengeful counter-strike.
As five twin-engine Mitsubishi G3M “Nell” bombers screamed toward the ship at 10,000 feet, the Enterprise’s anti-aircraft batteries turned the sky into a curtain of fire and steel. Four bombers dropped their payloads and missed, peeling away into the clouds. But the fifth, piloted by Lieutenant Kazuo Nakai, was different. His plane was already mortally wounded by American Wildcats; smoke and flames trailed from its fuselage.
Knowing he would never reach home, Nakai made a decision that wouldn’t become official Japanese policy for another two years: he aimed his burning aircraft directly at the Enterprise’s flight deck.
On the catwalk below, 25-year-old Aviation Machinist Bruno Gaido watched the bomber grow larger until he could see the individual rivets on its wings. If that plane hit the deck, loaded with fueled aircraft and munitions, the Enterprise—America’s most valuable asset in the Pacific—would be crippled or sunk.
Bruno Gaido didn’t hide. He didn’t dive for cover. He ran across the open flight deck, directly into the path of the incoming inferno, and scrambled into the rear seat of a parked SBD Dauntless dive bomber. He grabbed the twin .30-caliber machine guns, swung them toward the sky, and opened a personal duel with death.
The Making of a Machinist
Bruno Gaido was a working-class kid from Milwaukee who craved purpose. He had spent years working on farms and in breweries, watching the world slide toward chaos. In October 1940, he finally enlisted in the Navy. After training as an aviation machinist, he was assigned to Scouting Squadron 6 (VS-6) aboard the Enterprise.
Gaido quickly earned a reputation for a specific brand of steel-nerved toughness. In June 1941, a young pilot named Lieutenant Norman “Dusty” Kleiss was making his first carrier qualification flight—a maneuver so dangerous that standard procedure called for sandbags in the rear seat instead of a human gunner. If the pilot crashed, only one man died.
When Kleiss climbed into his cockpit, he found Gaido already strapped into the back, grinning. “What the hell are you doing here?” Kleiss demanded. “This is my qual flight. Get out.” Gaido didn’t budge. “You got wings, don’t you?” he replied.
Kleiss made six perfect landings that day, buoyed by the absolute confidence of a machinist who was willing to bet his life on a stranger’s skill. Dusty Kleiss would go on to become the only pilot to sink three Japanese ships at the Battle of Midway, but he never forgot the man who believed in him when he was still a “nugget.”
The Midnight Promotion
On that fateful afternoon in the Marshall Islands, Gaido’s defiance of death was total. Standing in the rear seat of the parked SBD (Aircraft 6-S-5), he poured tracers into Nakai’s bomber. At the last second, the Enterprise made a violent turn. The Japanese plane clipped the tail of Gaido’s aircraft—shearing it off just three feet from where he stood—and skidded into the sea.
Gaido calmly grabbed a fire extinguisher, put out a pool of burning fuel on the deck, and then… he vanished.
He went below deck to hide, convinced he would be court-martialed for abandoning his battle station and using an unauthorized weapon. Instead, Vice Admiral William “Bull” Halsey, who had watched the entire event from the bridge, demanded the man be brought to him.
When Gaido arrived on the bridge, expecting a reprimand, Halsey shook his hand and promoted him on the spot from Machinist’s Mate Third Class to First Class. To the crew, Bruno Gaido was the man who had single-handedly saved the “Big E.”
Midway: The Final Dive
By June 1942, the Enterprise was the tip of the American spear at the Battle of Midway. On the morning of June 4, Gaido was no longer on the deck; he was in the air, manning the guns for Ensign Frank Woodrow O’Flaherty. Their target was the Japanese carrier Kaga.
As the Dauntlesses plunged into their near-vertical dives, Gaido faced backward, his eyes scanning for Zeros as the world tilted 90 degrees. Their bomb was a near-miss, but their squadron decimated the Japanese fleet. In five minutes, the tide of the war turned.
But the price was high. During a subsequent dogfight with Japanese Zeros, O’Flaherty and Gaido’s plane was riddled with holes. Fuel began to stream from their tanks. They wouldn’t make it back to the Enterprise. O’Flaherty ditched the Dauntless in the open sea, miles from the burning Japanese carriers.
The Secret of the Makigumo
For three years, Gaido and O’Flaherty were listed as Missing in Action. It wasn’t until after the Japanese surrender in 1945 that the horrifying truth was uncovered through naval records and interrogations of the crew of the Japanese destroyer Makigumo.
The Makigumo had plucked the two Americans from their life raft on the afternoon of June 4th. For eleven days, they were interrogated and likely tortured. The Japanese wanted details on the defenses of Midway Island—information neither man actually possessed.
On June 15, the Japanese decided their prisoners were a burden. The Captain of the Makigumo asked for volunteers to execute the Americans. To their credit, the Japanese sailors refused to murder helpless men. Eventually, a small group was ordered to carry out the deed.
Bruno Gaido and Frank O’Flaherty were bound with ropes, tied to weighted fuel cans, and thrown overboard into the black depths of the Pacific. According to Japanese accounts, both men met their end with stoic, dignified defiance.
A Legacy in the Deep
Bruno Peter Gaido was 26 years old. He had served in the Navy for only 20 months, yet in that window, he had saved a supercarrier and participated in the most decisive naval victory in history.
His name is now inscribed on the Courts of the Missing in Honolulu, and he was posthumously awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. In 1996, he became the first inductee into the Enlisted Combat Aircrew Roll of Honor.
