U.S. Navy deck personnel manhandle a Douglas SBD dive-bomber into position for take-off from this carrier deck.
“We were launched at about 5:30 and I remember looking into the sun low on the horizon when we took off. This had to be the most important strike for me personally, since we would be returning to the States after the Saipan invasion. I had been on the Enterprise off and on since July 1942, first with Air Group Six and later with AG-10, so I knew this would probably be the last crack at the enemy fleet before the invasion of Japan.
“The flight to the Japanese fleet took about two hours. The time was spent checking out our guns, looking for enemy fighters, and operating our radar, hoping to pick up our target. My pilot, Lt. Oliver Hubbard, was leading the second section in Skipper ‘Jig Dog’ Ramage’s division. Hubbard had agreed that a hit was a must. The skipper sent Bangs and his division to one carrier, and our division took the Ryuho. The anti-aircraft fire was very strong, but we managed to get into our dive with no problem, with the exception of a half-hearted attack by several Zeros which were promptly taken care of by our fighters. In our dive we became twisted around trying to get on target. We had to settle for a port-to-starboard run and only scored a near miss. On our pull-out we were headed away from our return heading and had to do a 180 back through the entire fleet, skipping over ship after ship. The battleships were firing their main batteries as we went by. I was strafing everything in sight, mainly out of frustration.
“After leaving the enemy fleet, our main thought was finding our way back to our Task Force. Again it was about a two-hour flight. Our new radar worked fine and we picked up the Enterprise at about 100 miles. There were many frantic calls about fuel problems and going in the drink, but the old faithful SBDs just kept chugging along. As I recall, Jig Dog made only one transmission: ‘Land on any base.’ We did just that, finding the Wasp right away. We had barely left the plane and entered the island hatch when a Hellcat crashed the barrier, putting the Wasp out of operation for about twenty-five minutes. The next morning I measured our fuel. We had less than three gallons remaining. Without the excellent landing by Lt. Hubbard, we would have taken a swim that night. A flight of over five and a half hours in a plane that wasn’t supposed to fly more than about four hours. That’s fuel management.”
Jack Leaming was a radioman in SBD dive-bombers during World War Two. He was involved in attacks on the Marshall Islands of Roi and Taroa, Wake Island, and Marcus Island. In the latter, Leaming and his pilot completed their dive and were immediately bracketed by machine-gun fire. Flak then struck an outboard fuel tank setting their plane ablaze. They made a water landing and were taken prisoner by the Japanese. They survived their ordeal and were repatriated in September 1945. “Because there were no landmarks on our long, overwater scouting hops, the pilot had a tremendous navigation task. I always waited for him to initiate conversation … didn’t want to interfere with his thought processes. In dive-bombing, you had to have complete confidence in your pilot and his expertise. In wartime, if he was hit, killed, or disabled, and you were still functioning, in all likelihood you were ‘going in.’ Gravity and speed were against you. There was no time to turn the seat around, put in the auxiliary stick and pull out.”
When Larry Caudle left the American west coast aboard the jeep aircraft carrier USS Barnes in February 1944, he could not have imagined the adventure that awaited him in the Southwestern Pacific. “The jeep carrier was built on a merchant ship hull and was smaller and slower than the fleet carriers. It was built utilizing the Kaiser shipyard assembly-line method, which took only about one-fifth of the time needed to build a fleet carrier. The ship was packed stem to stern and the hangar deck was full of aircraft being transported to the combat area to replace losses. There were about thirty of us ensigns going out as replacement pilots to squadrons in action. The number of additional officers made things very crowded on a ship of that size. We were travelling through the tropics and, of course, in those days there was no air-conditioning. Such niceties as sleeping spaces, cool ventilation, and water for showers were in short supply.
“It can be a little awkward, joining a squadron already in combat and replacing a pilot who has been killed or lost in action. The squadron members may tend to compare you with their missing friend and squadron mate. I have to say though that in both of the squadrons I joined and flew combat with, I was readily accepted and, after a few days of flying, was treated as a fully-fledged member.
“I was assigned to Fighting Squadron Five (VF-5) aboard the USS Yorktown (CV-10) when we arrived at Espiritu Santos in the New Hebrides. After a brief familiarization with the squadron, my first combat flight was to be an attack on airfields on the island of Peleliu. It was 30 March 1944, and I was so nervous and keyed up that I didn’t see a lot of what was going on, including where my own .50 caliber rounds were hitting.
“As we circled back after strafing and sinking a small enemy freighter about five miles off the coast, we saw life boats in the water with uniformed soldiers in them. We knew that the Japanese were shipping replacement troops down from the home islands, so we attacked the life boats. The .50 caliber machine-guns really tear up wooden boats and human bodies. Between my section leader and myself, we were firing twelve .50s. Pieces of life boats and bodies were flying everywhere. What we didn’t know when we opened fire was that, in addition to the soldiers, there were women in the boats. What they were doing there, in an active combat area, I had no idea. Although it was an unpleasant and very graphic sight, if I had it to do over, I would not do the mission differently. We had, of course, read of terrible attrocities committed by the Japanese; Nanking, where some 300,000 Chinese civilians were raped and slaughtered, being just one example, and our squadron had lost three pilots the day before this mission, so revenge was undoubtedly a factor too. Our marines were then having a difficult time in the ground fighting on Palau, and they certainly didn’t need to face fresh enemy reinforcements. War is a messy business of killing people and breaking things. There is no nice way to do it. Obviously, I would have preferred that there had been no women in those life boats, but they were there so they were going to get the same treatment as the combat troops in that situation.
Sturdy and reliable, the little Grumman F4F Wildcat held her own against Japanese fighters until the better performing Hellcats and Corsairs arrived in the Pacific War.
U.S. Navy Hellcat pilots of VF-16 aboard the carrier USS Lexington following their attacks against enemy aircraft near Tarawa in November 1943.
“I had only been with the squadron two months when it was ordered to return to the U.S. to be reformed and readied for another combat tour. I persuaded the CO to let me transfer to a training squadron so I would be sent out again as a replacement pilot. I was ordered to VF-1 and flew a brand new F6F Hellcat aboard the Yorktown. On my first day aboard, the commanding officer invited the eleven of us who had just reported in, to his stateroom. He told us that he didn’t know why we were aboard, and that he didn’t need us. He then chastized several officers for having non-regulation belts or other uniform infractions. That was the last time I had any direct contact with him. VF-1 had been out in the combat area for about five months when I joined them, and had been shore-based on the island of Tarawa before being transferred to the Yorktown. After our greeting from the skipper I had no desire to stay with VF-1, so when we got back to Hawaii I requested transfer to the replacement squadron at Barber’s Point.
“The replacement squadron felt that our squadron had been out in combat for such a long time that we needed a rest, so they sent us to spend two weeks in a mansion right on Waikiki Beach for a little R and R. It was delightful … private beach, surf boards, food prepared by a Navy staff, and a hostess who mothered us and chaperoned when young ladies were brought out from town.
“After that pleasant interlude, I returned to the war, this time with VF-19 aboard the USS Lexington, and a great commanding officer. My fellow pilots there were most welcoming. Friendship and camarade
rie develop quickly under combat conditions, not just between contemporaries, but between seniors and juniors, because each is dependent on the other in a tactical situation for protection from attack by enemy aircraft, and other mutual assistance.
“I was assigned as wingman to Lt. Bruce William, with Lt. JG Paul Gartland second section leader. I flew many combat flights with this tactical division, with the first five flights being combat air patrols over the fleet. These flights were in defense of the task group and we generally flew in thirty- to forty-mile circles at 20,000 to 25,000 feet, waiting for the ship’s fighter director to send us to intercept attacking enemy aircraft.
“On 21 September 1944, I participated in the first attack of the war on Manila. We were part of a fighter sweep sent to get control of the air. It was to be the first time I had been fired at by another airplane. Tracer shells going by your wing can get your adrenaline going very quickly and some pilots lose control of one bodily function or another in such circumstances. It is a very frightening experience. Fortunately, another pilot behind our division shot the attacking plane down before its pilot had a chance to correct his aim. Over Manila one of our planes was badly shot up and the pilot had to bail out. We saw his parachute open, but as he was descending he was strafed by an enemy fighter. The bullets appeared to saw him in half. It was a gruesome sight and made us realize that there was no chivalry in this air war. That particular enemy fighter was then shot down by one of our squadron pilots.
“On 14 October I shot down a Zeke, my second kill. I shared it with “Willy” Williams since we had both fired at it simultaneously. The task force then headed south. Being so close to Japan, the Navy was concerned that the enemy could fly replacement aircraft down to reinforce its units on Formosa, and for the next three days I flew combat air patrol over the fleet as we headed for an area to the east of the southern Philippines.
“Our division was sent out on 21 October to fly west across the Philippines and look for targets of opportunity. We found a wooden barge tied up at the island of San Isadore, and there was no anti-aircraft fire so Willy told us to get ready by sections for a strafing run. As Willy and I made our run in from 5,000 feet, we were scoring a lot of hits when the barge suddenly erupted in one massive explosion. Willy’s plane was slightly ahead and about fifty feet lower than mine, and he caught the full force of the blast from what had obviously been an ammunition barge.
“Willy’s canopy was shattered. His face was cut in so many places that blood was getting in his eyes. He thought he was losing his eyesight. We had been at full power for the strafing run and he was still at full power and heading west away from our ship. We were now 250 miles from the Lexington and were concerned about having enough fuel to get back to the ship. We had been out about two and a half hours. Leading the second section, Paul radioed for me to get Willy; that he (Paul) was heading back to the carrier. There was no response to my radio calls asking Willy to reduce power and turn back towards the ship. Finally, I caught up with him and could see that there were big chunks of wood protruding from his wings, pieces of flap and tail section were missing, and his canopy was broken.
“We were using fuel at an alarming rate and heading the wrong way. It took three or four minutes and seemed like an eternity until, with the use of hand signals, I was able to get him to give me the lead. I started reducing power to economic cruise and got us turned around and headed toward the Lex. We had a two and a half hour flight ahead of us, so we exchanged hand signals every few minutes as I wanted to keep Willy alert and informed about fuel management, the distance to go, and other flight information. Many of his instruments were shattered, so he could not navigate. When we were thirty miles out from the carrier, I contacted them about our situation. They instructed me to land first. They were concerned that Willy might crash-land and foul the deck if he landed first, leaving me no possibility of coming aboard. Willy seemed to understand my hand signals that he was to land last, but when he saw the carrier he headed straight in without flying a pattern, landed, and immediately ran out of fuel. I circled once while they pushed him out of the landing area. Then I landed and ran out of fuel. We had been in the air five hours and thirty-six minutes, a long flight for the Hellcat.
A Grumman F6F Hellcat departs the carrier on a combat air patrol in 1944.
“On 28 October Lexington was ordered to the fleet anchorage at Majuro in preparation for her return to Hawaii and the U.S. As we were leaving the combat area, we were told to transfer some of our best airplanes to the USS Franklin. I was one of the pilots selected to fly a Hellcat over to the Franklin. We were to fly there, land and be returned by breeches buoy transfer to a destroyer, and then transfer back to the Lexington. We were expected to be back aboard the Lex in two to three hours. It was late in the day and, as there was a slight chance that we might not be able to get back before dark, I decided to take a shaving kit and khaki uniform with me. We no sooner landed aboard Franklin when the fleet was attacked by Betty bombers out from Manila. Our transfer was cancelled, of course. The Lexington was hit by a kamikaze which did great damage to the island structure. Lex was ordered to leave the task force and proceed to the fleet anchorage at Majuro for emergency repairs. There I was on the Franklin with no way to get back to my clothes and possessions, my squadron mates and my ticket back to the States. Then things got worse.
American naval aviators pay attention in their ready room briefing before their next combat mission.
“The next day the Franklin was hit by a kamikaze. Many people were killed, there was a lot of fire and the damage was considerable. I had no general quarters station so I joined one of the pilots from VF-13 in manning a fire hose on the flight deck. I knew several of the pilots there from training and replacement squadron days, and they helped me get a place to bunk. Owing to the extensive damage, there were to be no hot meals for the duration of my stay on board.
“Franklin survived (just) to return to Majuro for her emergency repairs, so she could get back to the Pearl Harbor shipyard for more complete repair. Luckily, Air Group 19 was being transferred from theLexington to the Enterprise, for transportation back to Hawaii and on to the U.S., and I was able to get back to the Lex to pack my things and leave the war zone for the last time.”
We were shooting three types of rounds: the incendiary, the tracer, and the armor-piercing. The standard belting was 1-1-1, just repeating straight on through. I became convinced that this was not the most effective way to belt them. The armor-piercing would shoot through anything in the Zero. It might have been the preferable round if we were strafing barges with diesel engines in them, but it was an overkill on the Zero, totally unnecessary. The tracer burned out and was pretty much just an empty shell. But the incendiary got our kills for us; there was no question about it after shooting into drums filled with gasoline. The incendiary had enough impact to knock cylinders off of engines (the Zero had no armor plate at that time) and to shoot through anything. Probably nine out of ten Zeros shot down burned. It was very easy to burn the Zero.
—John Bolt, former U.S. Marine Corps fighter pilot
The U.S. Navy carrier Hornet (CV-8) was moving toward a large Japanese naval force near the Pacific island of Midway on the evening of 3 June 1942, when the pilots of Torpedo Eight filed into the ready room. Earlier in the day, B-17 bombers flying into Midway had attacked the Japanese ships, setting two afire.
The torpedo squadron pilots in Hornet had gathered to receive the plan that would be employed when the two opposing forces finally engaged. In addition, their skipper, Lieutenant Commander John C. Waldron, handed them mimeographed copies of his own final message to them, prior to what was to be the Battle of Midway. “Just a word to let you know that I feel we are all ready. We have had a very short time to train and we have worked under the most severe difficulties. But we have truly done the best humanly possible. I actually believe that under these conditions we are the best in the world. My greatest hope is that we encounter a favorable tactical situation, bu
t if we don’t, and the worst comes to the worst, I want each of us to do his utmost to destroy our enemies. If there is only one plane left to make a final run-in, I want that man to go in and get a hit. May God be with us all. Good luck, happy landings, and give ’em hell.”
Some of the men of Torpedo Eight then wrote letters to their loved ones. It was as if they had premonitions of what lay ahead:
Dear Mom, Dad and Mary,
This letter will be mailed only if I do not get through battle which we expect to come off any hour. I am making a request that this be mailed as soon as possible after I fail to return. As you know, I am the gunner and radioman in a plane and it is up to me to shoot first and best. I would not have it any different. I want you all to know that I am not the least bit worried, and Mom, you can be sure that I have been praying every day and am sure that I will see you ‘up there.’ Perhaps I have not always done the right thing. Only hope that you do not think too badly of my action. The best of luck to you all and be seeing you when life will be much different ‘up there.’ Be sure and remember I am only one of many and you are also one of many.
Love, Bill
Honey,
If anything happens to me, I wish you would keep on visiting the folks, for they love you just as much as they would if you were one of their own kids. And by all means, don’t become an old maid. Find someone else and make a happy home. Don’t be worrying about me and I will be trying to write more often.
The Bird Farm Page 7