A couple of miles south of the house, he turned around and headed back, dropping to three hundred feet as he flew over the house. The family was waving, and his siblings were jumping up and down. He climbed for a few minutes, then turned south again, lining up the road. The house was at least two, maybe two and a half miles to the south.
The young flyer began a slow descent and reduced power to help lose altitude. A hundred yards north of the house, the little plane was inches off the ground, and Chris cut the engine. The Jenny silently touched down, and her skid began dragging on the road, followed by the main gear dropping onto the road. He was down and in one piece.
Chris flew his plane every chance he got, gaining valuable experience each time. He prepared and faithfully kept a log of all maintenance, and flight hours. He recorded any part replacements, which were few. The last record was the number of hours of operation needed to accurately maintain the maintenance log.
Chris was a month from graduating from high school. At the dinner table, the conversation turned to Chris’s plans for the future.
“If I’m going to fly in the military, I will have to get at least a two-year degree to join the Naval Reserve.”
Arnie smiled; he and Chris had several talks about joining the Navy or Army Air Corps. Chris didn’t want to disappoint his dad, but he wanted to fly. Then he checked the Navy recruiter and learned he could do both as a Naval Aviator. He made his decision.
Tilly chirped up, “Chris, don’t worry. We have saved enough money for you to complete all four years to graduate. Have you thought about the curriculum you will need?”
“Iowa State is primarily an agriculture institution, but they have a good Mechanical Engineering program that would be a great foundation if I wanted to make the Navy a career.”
“Are you thinking about such a move?” Arnie asked his son.
“I have been watching the news and reading the Des Moines paper. It’s uncertain yet, but I feel we will get sucked into another war over there.”
Arnie’s face hardened, “I’ve been watching too, and I have to agree. When you get your degree, you can go in as an officer, and that is an honorable but difficult job. Yet, I have little concern; you have shown courage and intelligence all your life. I think you would make a fine officer, son.” Chris’s mother, Tilly, had tears from mixed emotions over Chris’s chosen path.
August burst onto the Iowa cornfields with a hot sun that matured the corn and soybeans. The fair was only two weeks away, and he wanted to fly over it. His brother, Jason, went with him for the ride. Chris had the plane up to a thousand feet as they cruised over the fair. Jason was having a grand time, never having seen the full expanse of the fair. Chris watched his younger brother and remembered his excitement the first time he went up. ‘He will be talking about the flight for the next two weeks.’ Chris thought to himself.
After three large circles, Chris headed for home. After landing, Jason couldn’t get all he wanted to say out fast enough. All through lunch, he couldn’t stop describing everything he saw. The family jumped into the family Ford and headed for the fair.
While they walked through the throng of people, Chris spotted the US Army Air Corps booth. He stopped by to chat for a second to see if there had been any changes in the regulations regarding flyers. A First Lieutenant sat in the corner, finishing up a chat with a youngster.
He spotted Chris and stood up. “Can I help you, are you interested in flying,” he asked?
“Yes, I am,” Chris answered.
“Have you ever been up in a plane?”
“Yes, I was up yesterday.”
“Outstanding, was it a good ride?”
Chris chuckled, “My little brother is still babbling about it.”
The look in the officer’s face changed, “What kind of plane were you in?”
“A grey Jenny, with a black nose.”
“Was that you flying over the fair yesterday?”
“That was us.”
“Who was flying?”
“It wasn’t Jason; he’s too young.”
“Mind if I ask where you got your plane, she sounded very smooth?”
“I bought her from the Army surplus this past spring.”
“You’re Chris Lanner, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. And I’m betting you are First Lieutenant Hilmember.”
“You have a good memory. I’m glad to see you got your plane up. Have you been able to get your license yet?”
“Yes, and I have over two hundred hours in her.”
“Would you like to fly something a little hotter?”
“I would, but it will be with the Navy.”
“Can I change your mind?”
“Dad served in the last war in the Navy, and he is still a sailor at heart. We agreed; he helped get me in the air if I went Navy.”
“I would like to get you in an Army uniform, but I’m sure you will make an excellent Naval Officer and flyer, the best of luck to you.”
“Thank you, sir. If our paths cross again, I’ll buy the first round.”
“You’re on.”
Chris moved on, spending the remainder of the day with the family.
With the farm being close to Ames, Chris was able to both go to classes at the university and still pull his share of the work on the farm.
At the university, Chris’ flawless memory stood him in the upper five percent of his class. Meanwhile, Chris continued to fly, putting the little Jenny through every maneuver he could, pushing the plane’s structure to the limits of her envelope. His hours mounted to five-hundred in his logbook.
Everyone was closely monitoring the news as the world slowly began slipping into another wide-ranging war.
At the Lanner residence in March, the radio blared a special report, “The Germans had crossed over into Austria.”
Arnie said, “The world is going crazy, and we’ll wind up fighting the Germans and Italians this time. I’m not too sure we won’t have to fight it out with the Japanese.”
Chris was able to finish his studies before the rest of the class and picked up his degree in nineteen-thirty-seven. He signed the documents and entered the Naval Flight Training Program.
The Navy sent Chris to their Naval Flight Preparatory School. The course included physical training, basic military, naval customs, history, and the all-important etiquette course he needed to become an officer and a gentleman. Other courses included math, physics, and their application to flying. Chris swore he would never say anything about his acquired skills in the air.
The next stop for those who passed the prep school was Preliminary Flight School. After ten hours in the simulator and more classes and an hour on a test flight with an instructor, he rated for advancement.
Chris won his gold aviator’s wings with a V5 badge set in the center. He and the other passing cadets went to the primary and basic flight training at Pensacola, Florida. He and the others in the training squadron received their training at the nearby Corry Field. It was necessary due to a large number of cadets in training at the main base.
The graduates were then shipped to Corpus Christi, Texas, to finish their training. Then the survivors, including Chris, were promoted to the rank of Ensign, an officer, and a gentleman in the United States Navy.
Two weeks leave allowed Chris to go home and spend time with the family. The family had also survived some tough years, but with dedication and strong Christian faith to support them, they were doing fine. The time flew by, and his time to leave was upon them.
CHAPTER TWO
The orders in Ensign Lanner’s hand said to join the F4F fighter squadron now embarked on the USS SARATOGA CV-3, in San Diego, California. The new officer boarded a transport plane to California. When he stepped off the aircraft, it was warm and balmy, and the air had a distinct salty odor. It was 10:00 AM., Pacific Daylight Time, December 7th, 1941. Chris found a taxi in the loading zone, which took him to the Coronado Naval Air Station. He transferred to the base shuttle bu
s, which took him to the pier where the SARATOGA dwarfed even the buildings.
Chris grabbed his two suitcases and walked up the stairs to the gangway. He stopped for a moment to get a better grip on one suitcase, then started up the upgrade gangway to the quarterdeck. Before stepping on the ship, Chris set down the suitcases, turned to the after part of the ship, and saluted the nation’s forty-eight-star-flag on the ships after staff. Then turned to the Lieutenant Junior Grade Officer of the Deck, saluted him, and asked, “Permission to come aboard, sir?”
The OOD motioned to the Seaman messenger, standing just behind the OOD. “You know where to take Mr. Lanner, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” then saluted the OOD and grabbed the two heavy pieces of luggage.
“Let me take one of those bags seamen, no sense in you fighting that load.” Chris followed the young man through the hangar deck, where men were wheeling aircraft into pre-planned parking spots. The white-uniformed sailor went through a hatch and up a flight of steel stairs to what is called the 01 level. It was a maze of offices, then staterooms, and more offices.
They stopped at the one marked with the logo and name of the F4F fighter squadron. The seaman opened the door for Chris then followed him in.
A rather average-sized man turned around. He was wearing gold wings on his shirt. His smile was genuine and warm.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Alfred Hodges, the CO of VF-C1.”
“Sir,” Chris snapped to attention, “Ensign Christopher Lanner reporting for duty.”
“At ease ensign. Here, we’re a little more relaxed. Beyond that door, however, regular rules apply. The uniform of the day is khakis and the combination hat, the Garrison cap at sea. You will share a stateroom with Lieutenant Rader. He is quiet and not that sociable; once he gets to know you, he’ll get better.”
“Understood, sir,” Chris replied.
“This is our XO, Lieutenant George Taylor, call sign, ‘Geo.’ Mine is ‘Hodown.’
“Mayweather,” the CO called to the office clerk. “Take Mr. Lanner to Lieutenant Rader’s stateroom; he has the only vacancy now that we’re up to strength.”
“Yes, sir,” the sailor grabbed his hat, a pair of keys from a box, and a suitcase. “Follow me, please.” Time, 11:00 AM, December 7th, 1941.
After a walk through the maze of doors, the youngster stopped at one with a name tag holder on each side. One was labeled ‘Lt. Rader’, the other was blank.
“I’ll get your name up in a short while, sir.”
“Thanks, your name is Mayweather?”
“Yes, sir, Myron Mayweather. I’m the squadron yeoman. If you need anything, I’m the one to come to, sir.”
“I won’t forget, you’re one of the most important men in the squadron. I learned that some time ago.”
The youngster smiled. “The showers and head are through that door. You must share it with the officers in the stateroom next door. If you check with the XO, he can show you a shortcut to the Officer’s wardroom. Quarters are held in the squadron ready room, one deck up at zero-seven-forty-five, daily. Everything pretty well works out of the ready room.”
“Thanks, it’ll take a day or two to get the layout down.”
“By the way, sir, if you haven’t heard, we’ll be getting underway tomorrow for Pearl Harbor.”
The Bo’ sun’s sharp whistle calling for attention, screamed throughout the ship on the 1MC loudspeakers.
“This is the Captain, we have just received information that the Japanese are, as I am addressing you, attacking the fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. We will immediately take an official war setting on this ship; all security personnel will now carry arms. We are scheduled to get underway in the morning for Pearl Harbor. That is all.”
“The way things have been going the past few weeks, nobody here is overly surprised.” Said Mayweather.
“Yeah, that possibility has been the main subject of conversations everywhere I been,” Chris added. “I’d better get my gear stowed and get into the uniform of the day. And thanks for your help, Mayweather.”
“Your welcome, sir; too bad it couldn’t have been under better circumstances.” The Yeoman took his leave and headed back to his office.
The big carrier got underway on schedule, now under war conditions. The convoy of ships was scheduled to arrive in the one-time peaceful paradise on the 15th. Training was the order of the day, along with making last-minute efforts to get the ship ready for combat missions.
The scene that greeted the carrier when she made Pearl Harbor was out of a horror book. Battleship Row was decimated, with three mighty battleships on the bottom where moored. Others were still smoldering. And Oklahoma had capsized. Almost all the ships hit showed blackened evidence of fire. Efforts to recover men and effect repairs continued twenty-four hours a day. Hawaii was under martial law, and there was no liberty for the crew.
The squadron XO had Ensign Lanner assigned the call sign of “Farmer.” With the ship in the role of aircraft transport and rough winter weather, there was little flying to be done. The ship refueled after arriving at Pearl and sailed the next day for Wake Island, the arrival date set for 24 December. However, the Japanese had attacked Wake Island, and the carrier group was ordered to return to Pearl on 23 December, the day Wake surrendered.
On 31 December, Navy orders dispatched the Saratoga and escorts to the area of Midway Island for patrol duties.
By 11 January 1942, Saratoga force was about four- hundred-eighty-miles southwest of Pearl Harbor. Ensign Lanner was in the squadron supply space, taking an inventory.
Chris was concentrating on the clipboard when an immense explosion occurred somewhere below him. The shock threw the Ensign across the compartment and headlong into a hatch. Everything went black for the young officer.
****
“Oh my God, my head hurts, anyone have any aspirin?” Chris mumbled.
“Easy sailor, you’ve been injured.”
“Who are you? I can’t see.”
“Try to relax Ensign; the pain will go away in a couple of seconds.”
“Oh, that’s better…”
“Doctor, I gave him the shot you ordered if he came out of the anesthesia too soon. I noted it on his chart.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Thorp. Will you be at the cocktail party later?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I’ll have to take a raincheck. I have a long-standing commitment that was set well before they planned the party.”
“Too bad, I was looking forward to seeing you there.”
The Lieutenant smiled, then headed for the nurse's dressing room.
****
The voices returned to the Ensign again, something on the order of hearing them from a dark tunnel. It was pitch black, not a light anywhere. ‘Something’s wrong, where am I? Why can’t I see?’ He began clawing at his eyes; then it dawned on him; there were heavy bandages across his eyes and around his head. Reaching up, Chris began trying to unwrap his head.
A door slammed open, and he heard rapid footsteps coming closer. A little panic began to edge into his mind. Someone was coming toward him, and he couldn’t see them.
“Who’s there?”
‘That smooth silk voice had a calming effect, and he could smell the light scent of flowery perfume. Her touch was soft and loving, but who is she?’ He asked himself.
“Ensign don’t do that; you’ll ruin a lot of delicate surgery. Doctor Channing spent three hours putting you back together.”
“What happened, and where am I?”
“You’re in the Pearl Harbor Naval Hospital. Your ship took a torpedo, and the impact threw you into a hatch, according to the report on your injuries. You suffered a severe laceration and injury to your eye. Our head surgeon did two operations on your injuries to save your sight.” The voice said.
“Will my sight be all right; I’ll need it to fly?” Chris said.
“We won’t know until the bandages come off in a couple of days. You also suffered a severe back strain, pr
obably from the same impact. It may still be sore; you were in traction for a time.” The voice went on. We can re-evaluate your condition after you can sit up.”
“Lieutenant? Right?’
“I’m a junior grade Lieutenant,”
“Okay, Lieutenant, is there any way you can notify the CO of my squadron?”
“That’s already been taken care of.”
“Are they still here in Pearl?”
“No, they sailed a couple of days ago, I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be, we haven’t done much but transport planes and get shot at.”
“How about we go for a short walk?”
“I would like that. How about some coffee, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a good cup of coffee.”
The nurse got Chris up and waited until he was steady. She explained they would walk a short distance unless he felt like going on. Take my arm.” Chris’s hand found her elbow and slid along her arm until he was snuggled close for support. He couldn’t help but notice the bulge pressing against the outside of his arm.
They began their walk, and when they were to turn, she would say left or right and gently nudge him with her hip.
She asked, “Your name is Christopher; it that correct?”
“Yes, but I prefer Chris.”
“Chris, it is.”
After some low-level conversation and coffee, they headed back to Chris’ room. Nurse Thorpe helped Chris get in his bed, then she left for a minute, and when she returned, she began taking his clothes off.
Chris felt the blood rush to his head in embarrassment.
Seeing his lower face turning a bright red, she tried to calm him down. “Now settle down sailor, I’ve been bathing you since you arrived. You don’t have anything I don’t know about.” She said with a big grin.
“Maybe, but I wasn’t awake, and, well, you know.”
“I know, but some cold water will cool you off.” She emptied his ice-filled glass of water on his rising member.
Attack of the Greyhounds Page 2