My Carrier War (24 page)

As I listened there in the briefing room, I looked out a dusty window. Black—like the color of the soil throughout the area. I wondered what it would be like if a thunder storm hit the island. Black mud? Then for the first time, I noticed that many of the coconut trees around the area had no tops, and I wondered what caused that.

As the sergeant finished, our skipper stood to address us.

“Gentlemen, welcome to Guadalcanal. You are now part of the Cactus Air Force. It’s sure not
Chenango
, but we’ll do OK. One word of caution. A supply of pills to prevent malaria is placed in each tent. You will take one pill a day. Understood? We can’t afford to have pilots sick with malaria.

“I noticed many of you looking at the shattered coconut trees. This damage occurred during the height of the battle for the island. Japanese ships would regularly shell the airfield. The shells from the ships’ guns shattered the tops of the trees.” He stopped, looking at our anxious faces.

“Presently, Guadalcanal is considered a secure island. The Army is still pursing a few remaining Japanese soldiers in the north of the island. There’s been no shelling for the past two months, so relax. We do have a regular night visitor, however. A single Japanese bomber that flies down from the Japanese-held island of Bougainville. The Army calls him “Washing Machine Charlie” because of the sound of his engines. He will drop one bomb every time he flies over our area. He usually leaves after ten bombs. Between the bombs and our anti-aircraft guns firing at him, sleep becomes difficult.

“You’ll find a bomb shelter in our living area. It’s a deep hole big enough for ten or twelve people and it’s covered with coconut logs. It’s not a pleasant place, but it’s safe. It’s your choice.”

Wonder how long we’ll be here? It’s going to be tough. Did he say some Japs were still on the island? Bombing every night by a Jap bomber? No showers and washing our own clothes. Just wear shorts or a flight suit. That truck driver said the food was bad too. Malaria. Better be careful and take those pills. Nothing yet about flying...probably will start in the next few days to give us some time to get settled in our living area. Who’s that coming in? A Navy guy....

We saw a naval officer enter the briefing room. “Gentlemen,” the skipper said turning towards us, “this is Navy Commander Williams. He is assigned to the staff of the commanding general here at Guadalcanal. When we arrived here, control of our operations shifted from the Navy to the general’s staff here at Henderson Field. The commander is now our flight scheduling officer and he will be working with me on the scheduling of our pilots. Commander, the floor is yours.”

He was a short, stocky officer, slightly bald with deeply set eyes ringed with dark circles. He wore a khaki uniform, and we could all see the Navy wings pinned to his shirt. “Well guys, welcome to the Cactus Air Force. What we do here is not fun and it’s not easy.” He paused. “What the staff does is schedule the daily flight operations of the squadrons assigned to our control. Flight operations are controlled by the need to attack a wide range of enemy targets based on intelligence reports of enemy activity. Now, some of these reports are long range, while others require immediate action.” He stopped, looking at Commander Butts, and continued, “Your skipper has been briefed on the current intelligence report and concurs with the staff plan.

“This morning we received a report that the Japanese are moving a large number of aircraft to their field on New Georgia Island. Our staff believes they are planning an attack on Henderson Field. We are sure they are aware of the arrival of our three new air groups. We intend to attack first.”

There wasn’t a sound in the briefing room, except for one sudden gasp of surprise.

The commander turned to a map on the wall. “Here’s the target.” He pointed out an airfield marked on the map of New Georgia, “The distance is about 200 miles.” Then he looked through the wet, dust-streaked window on the side of the briefing room. “As you can see, it’s raining out now. This evening’s forecast calls for clearing by tomorrow afternoon with clear skies by evening. Because of the weather, it doesn’t appear that we can commence flight operations until tomorrow evening. But neither can the Japanese.

“In my opening remarks, I said that this job is no fun and it’s not easy.” Again, he paused. “Gentlemen, we will launch six TBFs at 2100 hours on the 12th for a night attack on the Japanese airstrip on New Georgia. The bomb load will be four 500-pound bombs in each aircraft. Briefing will be at 1900 hours here in this room. Commander Butts, it’s all yours, Sir.” The commander left the room as our skipper stood facing us.

He was slowly chewing on his cigar as he looked at a group of stunned torpedo pilots.

A night attack against a target in an area none of us had ever flown in! There was another problem too—we hadn’t flown at night since Norfolk! Jesus! There, the bomber pilots are leaving. Lucky guys...200 miles. That’s 400 miles round trip, at least a four-hour flight. Can’t use our planes’ running lights after we join up because the Japs would see them when we reached the target. Got to have clear weather. Maybe I won’t be on the flight, but join up after the attack will be tough. We’ll be spread out after our pull outs. Here’s the skipper.

His voice was soft, almost gentle. “Fellas, this is a tough one, but I agree that we’ve got to hit them first. With clear skies and good visibility, the flight to the target shouldn’t be a problem. OK, here are the lead pilots I’ve scheduled: Bill Shyrock will lead the first three-plane section. Norm Berg will lead the second section. You leaders, pick your wingmen and crewmen. That’s all gentlemen. Bill and Norm, ride with me in the jeep. I want to talk with you both. The truck is outside for the rest of you. Rest easy, guys. The weather is too bad for Charlie to pay us a visit tonight.”

I sat in the jeep with Bill and the skipper thinking, this is what I’ve been waiting for—a chance to attack the enemy. Well, it’s time to prove myself. My first combat mission. Riding in the jeep, I thought I’d like to wait a little longer. I didn’t know if I was ready for it.

The next day, March 11, and most of the following day, were spent trying to organize the tent area where we were living. I kept plodding through the various tasks, getting some tables and benches for the area, hanging up an extra water bag, and trying to bail the water out of our bomb shelter after the rain. The work and the companionship of my friends kept my mind off the upcoming mission. It wasn’t even brought up. I figured no one wanted to talk about it, not even the two pilots who were going as my wingmen.

Bill Shyrock and I, along with the other four pilots who would be our wingmen, met after lunch, which had been the usual canned meat called Spam served with rice. We wanted to plan the navigation and study the maps of the area. After all, none of us had ever flown in that part of the world. There were so damn many islands in the Solomons. We couldn’t even pronounce half the names on the map.

Later, the six of us had supper together—some kind of soup with hard crackers and the usual “bug juice,” water with fruit flavor to hide the smell of the chlorine in the water. After we ate, we all sat around in the mess tent—our wingmen along with the rest of the squadron pilots. The talk was about how long we would be at Henderson Field and about flying. There was no conversation about the mission the six of us were going to fly that night.

After a while, a truck pulled up outside the mess tent. Bill Shyrock stood. “That’s us, guys. Let’s go do it!” The rest of the pilots followed the six of us out to the truck.

The guys were yelling, “Go get ’em! Good luck!” and “We’ll be waiting for you guys when you get back!”

The six of us clambered into the back of the truck. We were wearing our flight suits and “Mae Wests” and carrying our navigation boards and maps. (The Mae Wests were yellow life preservers pilots wore that could be inflated if the pilot had to land in the ocean because of enemy action or aircraft mechanical problems. They covered the pilot from neck to waist, and when inflated, gave the appearance of large breasts—an attribute of the 1930s movie star, Mae West, who was famous for coining the seductive line of “Come up and see me sometime.”) We made sure our flashlights had the red lenses in place so our night vision would be protected. We were ready. The truck would take us to the Pagoda for our briefing.

I’m pretty calm. This is what we’re trained for and it looks like a nice night. The formation flight to the target will be easy…good visibility. Quite a send off the guys gave us. Wonder if they wished they were flying the mission? No, don’t volunteer; take the luck of the draw. I’m OK...just do the job. God’s on our side. I’ve got Jean, too. There should be some more mail soon…love her letters.

The truck stopped in front of the Pagoda. The six of us entered and took seats on the benches in the briefing room. The skipper greeted us and turned the briefing over to Commander Williams of the general’s staff. He reviewed the weather forecast for the target area—no problems there. An intelligence report from Navy Headquarters confirmed that the Japanese aircraft were still parked in the coconut groves alongside the airstrip. The major emphasis by the commander, as I remember, was, “Place your bombs in the coconut trees alongside the runways, not on the runways. That’s where the Jap planes will be parked.” Williams turned the briefing back to our skipper.

“Gentlemen, the weather looks great for this mission. We don’t believe the Japanese will be expecting you. They know you’ve just arrived. We’re sure they will not expect a night attack. They will think we’re not ready to attack them.” He hesitated, then said, “Gentlemen, we’re going to give the bastards a real surprise! My thoughts will be with you. Good luck!”

I felt quite calm as the six of us climbed back into the truck that had been waiting for us. We headed for our aircraft—I had practiced everything back in the States that the mission called for, the formation flying at night, the navigation, the bombing run. I had every confidence, too, in my aircraft and in its engine, and in my crew that consisted of a radio operator and a turret gunner. Together, I knew we could do the job. The only unknowns were the attack with live bombs and the possibility of enemy anti-aircraft (AA) fire hitting my aircraft. I certainly didn’t know how I would react if I saw enemy AA fire directed towards me.

I sure hope I won’t panic! Got to make a good bombing run!

As I started my aircraft and began taxiing out to the take-off position, I found myself concentrating on the present. I had so many things to do, I figured I’d have plenty of time to worry about enemy gunfire later.

After takeoff, we all joined on Shyrock’s three-plane section, with my three-plane section flying off to Bill’s right. On Bill’s radio signal, we all turned off our planes’ running lights. The night sky was dark with no moon, but the visibility was good. There were just a few scattered clouds. We had no trouble seeing each other as we flew along in formation.

Bill and I had estimated an hour and 45 minutes to the target. We were approaching the island of New Georgia from the south. The landing field was located next to the village of Munda in the center of the island. I saw that we had flown past the first half of the island. We were flying at 9,500 feet when I heard Bill say, “Airstrip in sight.” The Japanese used crushed coral for the one runway there, and the coral made the airstrip highly visible against the dark trees around it. “All planes acknowledge target.” One by one, we each responded, “Roger! Runway in sight!”

On the ground, I saw the first flashes of enemy AA fire as the Japanese opened fire on our formation. Son of a bitch! They were not surprised. We knew they could hear us. We could only hope the dark sky would hide us. My problem was that I had no way of knowing how accurate the enemy AA fire was. In daylight, AA fire left a black greasy-looking smudge of smoke as the shell exploded. At night, I couldn’t see how close the explosions were to my plane. Then I heard Bill’s order, “Echelon to the right. Now!” All five planes moved immediately until we were stacked up on Bill’s right. “Diving now! Norm, take the left side of the runway. I’ll take the right side.”

I remember being told at the preflight briefing that the Japanese planes would be hidden under the trees along side the landing strip. I glanced at my altimeter: 9,000 feet. I made a diving turn to my left and followed the third plane into my dive.

Landing gear down. Bomb bay door open. Arming switch on. Have to be sure those bombs will explode. Steady, in 25-degree dive! Line up with the left side of the runway.

I heard one of my crewmen yell out on the intercom, “Enemy fire! It’s coming up from our left, behind us.” At 2,000 feet, I pressed the bomb release switch, started my pull out, and felt the four bombs drop away from my plane. I heard one of the crewmen on the plane’s intercom radio say, “Bombs looked right off the runway in the trees! All four exploded! Lots of fire visible!”

I turned left, diving even closer to the tops of the trees to avoid enemy fire. Looking back to my left, I could see explosions and bright patches of fire from both sides of the airstrip. I heard my crewman’s voice over the intercom, “Goddammit, Sir, we really hit the bastards!”

The first three planes joined on Bill’s plane. I remained out to his right as I saw my two wingmen coming up to join on me. Bill had flashed his plane’s running lights every 30 seconds now that the AA fire had stopped. The join up was a breeze.

“Anyone hit?” Bill radioed. Number four plane reported some hits on his left wing but had no problems.

Bet it was the AA fire my crewman saw. They hit my number four man.

I checked my compass. Bill was now on the compass heading back to Guadalcanal and Henderson Field.

I can’t believe I feel so relaxed, so sleepy. The low drone of the engine; the air so smooth…better open the cockpit hatch and get some fresh air. Wonder how close the AA fire was? Strange being shot at. I’m sure I saw some tracers from the AA guns; they looked like sky rockets on the Fourth when I was a kid. Nothing hit us though...I sure as hell gave it to them! I know I got some hits! How much farther to go? God! I feel so tired...there, Bill’s calling.