My Carrier War (12 page)

It seemed as though she had no desire to talk about Ensign Gay and the fact that he was a torpedo plane pilot. She seemed reconciled with our situation. She understood the story about Gay. I was a Navy pilot. I’d fly the planes I was told to fly, and she knew too that I must accept any orders I might receive—even ones to a carrier squadron.

God, how I love her—she understands—I know she loves me.

On June 18, I flew TBF bureau number 00480 for one hour. I flew one again the following day for 30 minutes, and the day after that, I left for San Diego in TBF bureau number 00481.

The Grumman-built TBF-1 was the largest carrier-based plane flown in World War II. It was almost 18 feet from the top of the cockpit to the ground. The wingspan was 54 feet 2 inches and had a gross weight of 15,905 pounds. I can still recall my thoughts as I walked up to the TBF-1 for my first flight: This bird is too damn big to fly off a carrier. It turned out to be a wonderful airplane— very stable in flight, plenty of power with a 1,700 hp engine. It stalled at about 60 knots, with no tendency to fall off on one wing. When it stalled, the nose would just drop straight down and immediately pick up air speed again. It was really a joy to fly.

A Grumman TBF-1 Avenger prepares for takeoff.

Especially satisfying was the flight range of the TBF-1. My log book shows that I made the trip from Floyd Bennett to San Diego in just four days. One leg was 4.1 hours of flight time and another 5.7 hours. That was a lot different from flying the F4F with its short flying range. With an F4F, it usually took five or six days because of fuel stops.

I returned to New York and had some time at home with Jean. I flew locally for the rest of June, picking up aircraft at the Grumman plant on Long Island and bringing them back to Floyd Bennett Field. I couldn’t help but notice how my flight time was building up. During the month of May, I flew 56.2 hours and in June, 40.3 hours. I was averaging more than an hour a day. I was getting valuable experience, not only in flight time but also in flying different types of aircraft. Most important, I was building my confidence as a pilot. I was getting the job done and I was doing it alone, just me and the airplane.

Jean and I celebrated July 4 with a beach party by the ocean on Rockaway Beach. The next day, I left for San Diego with a TBF. I made the trip in five days, due to weather delays, and was looking forward to a quick trip home.

Oh no! Not another old clunker to fly to some training base. BT-1. Jesus, flew one of these at Corpus. Deliver it to N.A.S. Miami. That’s going to take a week. Might as well get started. Let’s see how you start this old bird.

Looking at my log book, it took me ten fuel stops and 11.4 hours of flight time for the trip. I returned to New York on the 14th. So much for Miami.

The scheduling office must have taken pity on me because I stayed in New York flying locally. My log book shows 18 flights between July 11 and 25. All of them were under one hour in duration. Then, on June 29, I headed out again for San Diego. I must have had good weather nationally, because instead of flying the southern route, I made the flight via Indianapolis, St. Louis, Dallas, and on to San Diego. The trip took just four days. Then it happened again—operations had a plane for me to deliver to N.A.S. Corpus Christi—a TBD torpedo plane.

This was the type of aircraft that Torpedo Eight was flying at Midway. Everyone was killed except George Gay. Thirteen planes shot down. Those guys didn’t have a chance. Japanese fighters got them. That .30caliber machine gun in the rear cockpit of the TBD was no help. God, those guys had guts. I wonder if I could have faced it? Our dive-bombers got the enemy carriers though, while the Japanese were busy defending against the torpedo planes. If I do ever get orders to a carrier squadron that has torpedo planes, at least I’ll have a great airplane to fly...the TBF!

The flight to Corpus was routine, but my arrival did cause some problems. I considered myself a hot ferry pilot, and I no longer used a helmet and goggles. I wore a baseball cap, a headset for the radio and sunglasses. Since it was bright sunny day, I decided to get some sun while flying. I stripped my flight suit free of my shoulders and bunched it around my waist. I was naked from the waist up.

A Douglas TBD-1 Devastator

I called the tower at Corpus for clearance, made my approach, landed, and taxied up to the operations building. I shut down my engine and stood up in the cockpit. Then I saw a very large group of officers and sailors standing in formation. God! There was a personnel inspection going on. The next thing I saw was a Navy captain stopping and looking directly at me standing there—half-naked. Suddenly, another officer came running out of the operations building yelling, “You! Get your ass out of that airplane. The captain wants to see you.”

Twenty minutes later, I was standing at attention (my flight suit in place). I responded with “Yes, Sir” and “No, Sir” and the captain told me never to land again at his base.

I returned to New York by military transport and was flying again on the 15th, picking an F4F at the Grumman plant and flying it back to Floyd Bennett. When I returned, there was a message to report to Commander O. J. Whitney, the commanding officer of the ferry command. I reported to his office. He handed me my orders to a carrier squadron based at N.A.S. Norfolk, Virginia. My reporting date was 23 August 1942.

Well, Jean’s greatest fear has come true. I’m going! So little time. Jean will have to stay here and pack our gear. It takes time for the Navy to arrange for a move. Maybe Jean should go back to Bremerton now. No, she will want to come to Norfolk to be with me. Wonder what kind of planes a VGS (composite air group) squadron has? Hope they have dive-bombers...TBFs would be fine too—what carrier will we get? Wonder how long before we leave? I hope Jean understands. I know she will. It’s orders. She knows, though, that I didn’t volunteer...I kept my promise.

I didn’t have much time after Commander Whitney handed me my orders on August 15. I did take some leave to help Jean with the packing and to enjoy New York City with her before reporting to my new assignment in Norfolk.

My log book shows a flight on August 23, 1942, in an F4F to Norfolk. I was reporting for my new assignment with Escort Scouting Squadron 28 at Naval Air Station, Norfolk, Virginia. I didn’t even know what an escort scouting squadron did—all I knew I was going to the fleet and I would be a carrier pilot.

I had said good-bye to Jean that morning at our apartment. We both knew it would be only for a short time. She was very excited about joining me in Norfolk. There was going to be a slight delay though, before she would join me. Jean’s younger brother, Ed, was coming east for a visit. He had just graduated from Bremerton High School, and this visit was his graduation gift from Jean and Ed’s parents. Jean didn’t want to ask her folks to cancel his trip because of my orders, so she decided to remain in New York until Ed left. Then she would finish packing and join me in Norfolk.

As I flew from New York to Norfolk, my thoughts took over as I guided the plane through the sky.

You’re on your way, and this is no routine ferry flight. There will be no plane from Floyd Bennett to pick you up, Norm, and fly you back to Jean. No complaints. This is what I really want, isn’t it? I haven’t been completely honest with Jean about my hopes for the future. Well, I got my wish, and now she’s going to join you. Watch those clouds! Better fly around them. Get back on course for Norfolk. There, I better pay a little more attention to my flying. OK, so Jean’s coming to Norfolk and I’ll have to find a place to live. First, though, I’ve got to report to the squadron for duty. Wonder if there will be some time off to hunt for an apartment. Well, I’d better ask. I’ve got a wife to take care of too.

I landed, checked in at operations, did the paperwork to transfer the F4F to N.A.S. Norfolk, and asked directions to the offices of Escort Scouting Squadron 28. I can still recall the response of the young sailor behind the counter at operations.

“Sir, VGS-28 is in hangar three. Catch the bus just outside. It will drop you off. Good luck, Sir, and get a Jap for me.”

I stood at the bus stop, waiting.

So much for your welcome to the fleet. Well, I’m just a lowly ensign. What did I expect? Someone from the squadron? Wonder what a squadron will be like? How many pilots? Hope the squadron has dive-bombers. Funny remark that sailor made. Wonder if the squadron is assigned to a carrier. Hope the squadron won’t be leaving right away. Maybe Jean should go back to Bremerton? Here’s my stop.

I reported to the squadron duty officer with my orders, and after a day devoted to checking out with the medical and personnel departments to be sure my personal papers were in order, I reported to the number two man in the squadron: the executive officer (XO), Lieutenant Poutant. After declaring, “Ensign Berg reporting, Sir!” he asked me to sit down in front of his desk and proceeded to fill me in on the history of VGS-28. (VGS means “composite air group.”) We were one of four newly commissioned carrier squadrons at Norfolk, scheduled for deployment aboard four newly commissioned carriers. I felt excited about going aboard a new carrier. The XO, as I remember, quickly dampened my exuberance. In fact, I still remember his words.

“Mr. Berg, this outfit is scheduled to deploy on a converted oil tanker previously owned by the Esso Oil Company. It is now owned by the Navy and has a flight deck built on it so it can fly aircraft off the deck. Our ship is USS
Chenango
, Auxiliary Aircraft Carrier (ACV-28), named after a river in New York State. It’s not much of a carrier—top speed 18 knots as compared to the Navy’s four remaining fleet carriers,
Enterprise, Saratoga, Wasp
, and
Horne
t, which all can do 30 knots! Our carrier will still carry fuel oil, so we’ll be refueling other ships as well as operating our aircraft.”

After describing our carrier, he asked, “Mr. Berg, you’re married, aren’t you? Is your wife with you?”

I quickly explained my situation about Jean’s brother visiting and how I’d been checking the apartment rentals in the Norfolk area.

“Mr. Berg, unless you have a car, I’d recommend that you look for a room for you and your wife in a private home that’s on the bus line. Apartments are usually a long way from the air station and you’ll need a car. I’ll ask my wife to keep a look out for a room for you and Mrs. Berg.”

USS
Chenango
(CVE-28). Photo taken in Eniwetok Harbor, July 9, 1944. (Original photo by Paul Madden, photographer (CV-6), USS Essex.

It was clear that the interview was over. I stood up, thanked him, saluted, and left his office. I walked down the passageway to the pilots’ ready room where we had lockers to stow our flight gear, got a cup of coffee and sat down.

God! A room in someone’s home! Housing is really tough in this town.
Did he say only four fleet carriers left? Let’s see,
Yorktown
was lost at
Midway in June. I remember reading the story with Jean—a room! Jean
is going to be so disappointed. Maybe the XO’s wife can help. Got to
find something soon. Then we lost
Lexington
at the Battle of Coral Sea
in May. Why wasn’t Jean home when I called last night? No answer.
She may have disconnected the phone in the apartment. Maybe she’ll
call here so I’ll know when to meet her. Ed must be about ready to go
back to Bremerton. Wonder when the squadron will leave for the
Pacific? Bet there’s a pilot shortage right now. That’s why the hurry to
get this outfit ready to go. I’m already on the flight schedule tomorrow,
in a TBF for a practice bombing flight—a bombing flight! How in the n
hell do you bomb with a torpedo plane? I’ve got to find a place to live.
Wonder when Jean will get here. Bombing with a TBF?