Battered by Nature: USS Hornet (CV-12) and the Fury of Typhoon Connie, June 1945

June 1945. In the waning weeks of World War II, the U.S. carrier task forces prowled the Pacific, hammering airfields and convoys as the Allies closed the net around Imperial Japan. Among the legendary warships was USS Hornet (CV-12)—a vessel baptized by fire and forged by battle. Yet even for a carrier accustomed to enemy bombs and kamikaze strikes, one of nature’s most elemental forces awaited: Typhoon Connie.

A single, haunting photograph survives from that storm. It shows the proud bow of Hornet, canted downward and grotesquely misshapen, the heavy steel plates of her flight deck peeled back like a tin can. Torn metal reveals the cramped control nook for the starboard catapult, usually hidden deep inside the carrier’s massive structure, now exposed to sky and sea by the storm’s violence. For sailors and historians alike, this image captures the awesome and terrifying power of a Pacific typhoon—the only enemy capable of damaging a U.S. fleet carrier with impunity.

The Setting: Toward the End of the War

By spring 1945, Hornet was a veteran. She had survived the brutal air battles at the Marianas, raids on the Philippines, and the hellish kamikaze onslaughts off Okinawa. The Hornet of 1945 was not the same ship as her ill-fated predecessor, the CV-8 scuttled at Santa Cruz; she was an Essex-class titan, built to withstand the rigors of total war. But even such giants bowed to the Pacific’s wrath.

While the Imperial Japanese Navy was all but vanquished, a new enemy emerged in the skyscapes above the Philippine Sea: Typhoon Connie, a massive tropical cyclone spinning a path straight toward the U.S. Third Fleet.

Trapped by the Storm

On 4 June 1945, Halsey’s fleet—including Hornet—attempted to skirt the storm, but track predictions in the era before satellites were imprecise and ever-changing. Hoping to avoid the worst, the ships maintained station in the path of what would become a monstrous tempest. By dawn on 5 June, the typhoon struck with vengeful fury.

Winds screamed at over 100 knots—more powerful than many enemy air raids. Decks ran slick with blinding rain, towering waves crashed over the bow, and the heaviest warships in the U.S. Navy reeled like toys. Aircraft were torn from their lashings, barrels snapped, and crewmen shielded themselves from flying debris.

But it was Hornet’s bow that bore the brunt. A colossal wave—perhaps 60 feet high—smashed over the forward edge of the flight deck. The steel superstructure, designed to take hits from bombs and shells, could not flex enough to dissipate such blunt trauma. The forward flight deck curled downward, the thick plating separating and splintering. At the very front, panels were bent back almost vertically, revealing the secret heart of the catapult control room usually hidden from the elements.

The Aftermath: Catastrophic Yet Miraculous

Through skill and luck, the crew averted disaster. No aircraft were lost off Hornet’s deck, and no men were swept to their deaths—though across the Third Fleet, dozens would perish and more than 100 planes would be lost, either blown overboard or destroyed on the hangar decks.

Within hours, photos showed the magnitude of the destruction. The flight deck—so recently the launchpad for relentless strikes on the Japanese homeland—was now buckled, torn, and twisted. Underneath, catapult control machinery and electrical wiring, never meant to taste saltwater spray, lay exposed to the sun and the eyes of the battered crew. Hasty repairs shored up the structure, but Hornet’s bow bore the scars of nature’s onslaught for months to come.

Courage Under Fire—Weathering the Typhoon

For the Hornet’s crew, surviving Typhoon Connie was as harrowing as any combat. Crewmen told of thunderous waves crashing over the bow, the entire ship trembling with the shock. “It was as if the sea itself was trying to tear us apart,” one sailor would recall.

Yet the lessons they learned—and the Navy’s stoic handling of the situation—would be invaluable. Aircraft were secured with every available chain and lash. Watertight doors were sealed, and every man was accounted for. By the time the battered fleet regrouped, Hornet was battered, but afloat and still capable of launching planes—thanks to a combination of solid design and extraordinary seamanship.

Legacy: The Untamed Power of Nature in War

World War II’s Pacific Theater is remembered for its epic battles—Midway, Leyte Gulf, Iwo Jima. But for many sailors, the most terrifying moments were the typhoons. Technology, firepower, and bravery could counter any human enemy, but in the face of the storm, even an Essex-class carrier was still only a ship at sea.

The image of Hornet’s mangled bow endures not just as a testament to the violence of Typhoon Connie, but as a reminder of the men who kept her afloat: damage control teams battling cold steel with torches and sweat, bridge officers riding out the night without sleep, and deckhands lashing down loose aircraft in blinding rain and howling wind.

By the end of the war, Hornet had returned to the United States for full repairs, earning her place as one of the most decorated ships of the conflict. The scars of June 1945 were hammered out by shipyard workers, but the memory of that night—when the sea itself tested the mettle of steel and spirit—remained with her crew for the rest of their lives.