My Carrier War (26 page)

“These charts are for you to use to determine where you’ll release your mine. Berg, read what’s on your chart.”

I stood and looked at the chart. “I see a course line with a compass heading and a time marked on the chart,” I said. “The line starts at an island at the east entrance to the harbor.”

“OK, Norm,” he said. “Now here’s how each of you will use the chart. Norm, as you approach the harbor, locate that small island. I want you over that island at 200 feet and 120 knots, bomb bay door open. You will be five minutes behind the plane that left Henderson Field ahead of you. Take up the compass heading that’s on the chart and note the time you pass over the island. Let’s say your chart has a time of two minutes, 30 seconds. That’s how far you fly past the island until you drop your mine. Also take note of your take-off time here at Henderson Field. It’s listed on your chart. This attack plan will disperse the mines throughout the harbor. Gentlemen, by the time we fly the last mission on the 29th, no Japanese ship will be able to enter that harbor. That’s our mission. My take-off time is 2100. I’m first off. Good luck to each of you and God be with you.”

The briefing room became very quiet. Every one of the pilots seemed to take one last look at the predicted weather report for Bougainville, as we began to leave to man our aircraft: Scattered clouds, wind westerly at five to ten knots, moon set at 2130.

I checked my watch—time to go to my plane.

This is going to be a son of a bitch...flying into that harbor. Five hours round trip. Alone...how long do I have to fly after that island, before I can dump the damn mine? Flying at 200 feet and 120 knots...suicide! Hope it’s real dark with some low clouds in the harbor. Need some low visibility so Jap AA gunners won’t see me. What altitude going there? Stay low...watch the water for wind changes. Less chance of strong winds. Don’t go over any land! Stay between the islands…stay over water.

We manned our planes, a pilot and two crew members per planes. A few minutes later, we were flying into a very dark sky. I leveled off at 1,500 feet, air speed 150 knots, compass heading 310 degrees, navigation lights off. It was going to be a long night.

Not much of a horizon. Pretty black. Watch those instruments. Remember Corpus. Don’t get vertigo. Damn, it’s black out here. How much time to go? Jesus, two hours more.
 

I settled down into the cockpit, adjusting the parachute harness and safety belt across my thighs. It was going to be a long flight. The red instrument lights had a soft glow as I continually checked my air speed, altitude, and compass heading. The air was smooth with just a few wispy, scattered clouds above me. The moon had set, but the stars were visible. I was surprised by the amount of light the stars produced. I could see the Russell Islands just off to my left. This would be the last friendly group of islands we would see. The Russells were about 50 miles northwest of Guadalcanal. Our forces had occupied one of the islands and had built an airstrip. Our fighter squadrons were based there. By operating our fighters from there, we could intercept any enemy air attack well before it reached Henderson Field. As I flew past the island, I wondered how my friends in our fighter group were doing. Theirs was an entirely different operation, protecting Henderson Field from Japanese air attack.

Later, off to my left, I saw the dark bulk of the island of New Georgia. I altered my course a few degrees to the right. No sense in getting too close to the island. I did not want to be spotted by the Japanese even though they might hear my engine. Hopefully, they wouldn’t even know I was there. The memory of the night attack the week before at New Georgia was still vivid.

That AA fire was tough. God, I hope it won’t be bad at Bougainville. If I can get in the harbor and out...I’m number ten flying in...got a long way to fly from the little island. Watch the compass heading!

Off to my right, I could see the outline of another island. I spread out my map on the navigation board and turned on my flashlight. It had a red lens and in its glow, I identified the island, Santa Ysabel. I was right on course and on time. Folding up the map, I checked my navigation board and figured I had at least another hour and a half before reaching Bougainville.

Santa Ysabel had only a few Japanese ground force troops on the island. We’d been briefed that the Japanese were there to monitor our ship and aircraft movements out of Guadalcanal. There was a coast watcher there also, so there would be some help in case I had to make a forced landing. I checked my engine instruments; engine sounded good. Our guys worked real hard to keep those birds flying.

I remember calling my crewmen every five or ten minutes to let them know what was going on. It gave me something to do. I knew that fatigue would be my major problem. Talking with them helped me stay alert. Opening my cockpit hatch also helped me maintain my concentration. The fresh air blowing through my cockpit was refreshing. Between the poor food in the mess hall and sleeping problems, my general health was deteriorating. I found that a few drinks helped keep me going. I had found an Air Force supply sergeant who was willing to sell me some whiskey. I felt comfortable with a few extra bottles under my cot. I stowed them in my parachute bag.

Suddenly I realized I was well past the island of New Georgia. I could see another island on my right.

Where the hell am I? Check the map! It must be Choiseul. Jesus! Don’t drift off like that! Getting close now...maybe another 45 minutes. Watch the compass heading and don’t drift too far left. There’s open sea between New Georgia and the Shortlands. Keep Choiseul in sight, but not too close though. Glad the air is so smooth; it’s easy to maintain altitude. Good horizon out there. Bet some of the guys are already in the Bougainville Harbor by now. God! I hope we surprise them. If we don’t, I can’t think about it. How much more time? Need to spot that small island at the eastern entrance to the harbor.

Soon after, I saw Bougainville with its high mountains rising up from the sea. I estimated I was about 15 minutes from the harbor area. I was trying to match what I was seeing with the map of the harbor. When I matched it, there was the small island at the entrance to the harbor—my check point.

I called my crewmen, alerting them we were about to begin our approach to drop the mine we were carrying. I told them to keep a sharp lookout for enemy aircraft. There was always the chance that the Japs might have an airborne night fighter. I reminded them, too, that if we began to receive AA fire from the beach, we should not use our guns to return the fire. I didn’t want to reveal our position to the enemy gunners.

Flying at about 500 feet, we flew over the flat little island that was our checkpoint. I cut the throttle back and let the plane drop down to 200 feet. I quickly checked the chart giving me my heading and flying time to my drop point. My air speed was 120 knots. A little left rudder, and I was on the assigned compass heading.

Bomb bay doors! Damn! Get them open! Arming switches on. Get with it...can’t see any other planes...what time did I go over the check point? Damn it! I didn’t check it! Can’t be more than 30 seconds ago. Another minute and a half to go. There are some gun flashes on the beach. Looks like heavy AA fire. Maybe the Japs think we’re at altitude instead of here in the harbor. We must have surprised them. No AA fire here in the harbor. Funny, I can’t see another plane anywhere. Wonder if I am alone here? No! The guys ahead of me must have made it...30 seconds to go! There! Drop the son of a bitch and let’s get out of here!

I decided to stay low over the water until I got clear of the harbor. I closed the bomb bay doors and advanced the throttle to full power. My air speed quickly built to 180 knots as I flew low between two islands that ringed the harbor. Then I saw what looked like a string of bright beads arching up from my left toward our plane. They were a reddish-yellow color, glowing in the dark. Twenty millimeter AA fire. I remember diving for the surface of the water as the bright, shiny beads passed over my cockpit. I leveled off at under 100 feet, made a violent skidding turn to my right, and got behind the island. I was out of the harbor now. My heart was pounding. My fear was real. We’d almost been killed. I’ll never forget that string of bright reddish-yellow beads heading for the plane’s cockpit. I climbed back up to 1,500 feet and took up the compass heading which would take me back to Henderson Field. After setting up a cruising speed of 160 knots, I estimated we’d be home in a little over two hours. Again I passed the same unfriendly island as my plane droned along, the dull throbbing of the engine forcing me to fight my desire for sleep.

That was close. Thank you, God. I’m so tired; talk to the guys in back. Talk about the Dodgers, the break up of the Yanks. Give someone else a chance; can’t stop my legs from trembling. Man! That first drink will help. Jesus! This is just the first mission...two more to go! Need some sleep. It’s after one o’clock, but there’s Russell Island. I can see the fighter strip...almost home.

I landed, taxied to the parking area, and I shut down the engine. I just sat there in the cockpit for a few moments. One of my crewmen climbed up on the wing and helped me out of the cockpit. There was a Jeep waiting to take us to the debriefing at the Pagoda. I felt OK by the time the debriefing was over. The skipper had debriefed my crew. He was a surprised when I told him about the 20-millimeter AA fire. He had seen no AA fire at all. There was no question; we had surprised the Japanese with our mining attack. So far, the first ten of us were all back. I wanted to wait until everyone had returned, but that’s when the flight surgeon saw me. I guess he must have seen how tired I looked. He gave me the usual bottle of brandy and sent me to my tent.

The tent was empty. My tentmates had not yet returned from the flight. I sat on the edge of my cot and gulped down the brandy. Then I got a tin cup and reached into my parachute bag—I felt the cool smoothness of a whiskey bottle. I filled my cup, crawled into my cot, rearranged the netting, and lay there sipping my booze. I hadn’t failed. I dropped the damn mine, and the AA fire didn’t get me. Now, only two more missions to go.

On March 24, I saw I was scheduled for another mission to Bougainville. Well, here I go again, I thought. I saw the flight listed on the flight schedule “Nite Attack on Bougainville.” What the hell was this? A night attack, not mine-laying?

Again there were 18 of us. Our skipper was the briefing officer.

“Gentlemen, as all of you are very aware, this will be our second mine-laying mission. We have had some reports back from a coast watcher in the Bougainville area. The Japanese were caught completely by surprise by our first mission. However, they now know their harbor has been mined. According to our coast watcher, two cargo ships have already been sunk by our mines.” He paused, looking at us. We all knew the element of surprise was now gone.

He continued. “While it’s obvious that the surprise element is gone, we must continue with the mining operation. We must close that harbor to Japanese shipping before the invasion of New Georgia, scheduled for July, can commence. I believe we can accomplish this by using a diversion tactic. We will have two planes making bombing attacks on the airfield at Bougainville while the remaining sixteen aircraft carry out the mine-laying.”

The skipper turned to Commander Johnson. “Commander, will you continue the briefing of the pilots scheduled for the mine-laying mission?”

“Berg and Johnson, I see you two are scheduled for the bombing mission. Please follow me. We’ll use the staff office for the briefing.” Walking to the staff office, the skipper introduced me to Lieutenant Johnson, explaining that he was attached to one of our sister torpedo squadrons based at Henderson Field with us. The briefing didn’t take long. Both TBFs were to carry ten 100-pound bombs. We would depart individually. Our take-off times were staggered to insure that one of us would be over the airfield at Bougainville until the entire mining operation was completed.

The skipper closed the briefing by saying, “I want you two to operate between 8,000 and 12,000 feet. Use oxygen for the entire flight. As you orbit over the airstrip at Bougainville, drop one bomb every two to three minutes. Your bombing will split the Japanese defenses so the mine-laying mission can be carried out with less risk. Be sure to vary your altitude. Remember, the Japanese have no radar. They can’t see you. Let’s make this work. Good luck and a safe trip.”

I was scheduled to leave ahead of the first mine-laying plane. I had some time before the first plane launched, so I sat down on a bench outside the Pagoda and lit a cigarette. I still remember my thoughts.

Could I do this? I knew why the skipper had picked me. It was that bombing attack against the Japs at New Georgia. Now I’ve got to bomb Bougainville! New Georgia was easy—I dove and was out of there. Jesus. This time I’ve got to fly around in the dark for at least 30 minutes. God. I wish I had a drink. What if they have search lights? Ah, to hell with it. It’s time to leave.

A Grumman TBF-1 Avenger being brought up to the flight deck. (Courtesy of the U.S. Navy)