My Carrier War (36 page)

Jesus, my time is right on. I’m past the harbor entrance. What’s my altitude? Eleven thousand feet. Call the fighters. I want them to go in just ahead. God, hope they hit the AA positions. I’m going to be low and slow...150 feet...120 knots…just like the damn mine-laying back at the Canal. That was night; this is daylight. Every damn AA gunner can see me. Got to drop the damn torpedo...stupid planning by the staff.

“Fighter leader, this is Able One. Reversing course now. Will enter the harbor at 1,000 feet altitude. Starting descent now.”

As I reversed course, I pulled back my throttle and began a diving descent at 220 knots, lowering my landing gear to help control the speed. My other three planes spread out abreast in a line. I could see the fighters still above us. I knew that as we entered the harbor, they would go past us strafing the AA positions along the shore with their six .50-caliber machine guns.

I’m in the harbor. Get the speed down to 120 knots, altitude 150 feet. OK, get the bomb bay doors open. Get the damn speed down! Cut the throttle; where’s my target? That looks like a tanker. I’ll get the bastard. Landing gear up. How far is the tanker? Don’t drop too soon. Tracers coming at me. Those damn colored balls.

“Gunner, open up on that gun firing at us!”

Now! Drop the damn torpedo! I’m about 1,000 yards out. Goddamn! Great! Our fighters are coming back again. Open up the throttle. Bomb doors closed. Stay low over the city. Jinx around those buildings. Get out of here!

“Able leader here. Able flight join on me after we clear the city. Report.” Each pilot called in. All reported hits with our torpedoes, as did my gunner. Our fighters joined us, escorting the flight back to the carrier.

Thank God. Our fighters really did a job. We made it. So helpless, so slow and low. How could those guys of Torpedo Eight have done it?
Suicide. Can’t fight back; can’t change altitude; got to be low and slow
or torpedo will break up when it hits the water.

The fighters landed first on the carrier. We were right behind them. The debriefing after the flight credited us with three merchant ships sunk and one damaged. We relaxed in the comfort of our ready room. Our flying was over for that day. I silently thanked God that we’d made it. Memory of the courage and dedication of those pilots in Torpedo Eight has always challenged me. Now, after flying a torpedo attack mission, I understood even more, the bravery of those pilots at the Battle of Midway in June 1942.

For the remainder of September and through October, Task Group 38 moved freely through the western Pacific. Our targets were Japanese airfields located on the islands of Negros and Okinawa. The goal was to prevent the Japanese from re-enforcing their Philippine-based air force that was defending against our invasion.

It was during this period, the Japanese introduced a new element in the battle with our invasion force. They began sending land-based twin-engine aircraft to locate our carriers. Once our forces were located, they became targets of a totally a new weapon, kamikaze pilots. The Japanese no longer had enough trained pilots to attack our carrier force with bombs or torpedoes. We were suddenly faced with unskilled Japanese pilots willing to die for the Japanese emperor. Once our forces were located, these pilots were launched from bases in southern Japan or Okinawa to dive on a ship and die in the crash. Many were shot down by our ships’AA fire and by our fighters, but some always got through.

To combat the threat of the kamikazes, the admiral’s staff began adding extra aircraft searches. In addition to the antisub searches, we began flying what were called “antisnooper” searches. The idea was to intercept the land-based Japanese bombers that were searching for our forces and prevent them from finding our ships.

On 10 October 1944, I was flying an antisnooper mission about 30 miles from the task force at an altitude of about 1,200 feet. There were some scattered showers in the area. Then I saw it—a twin-engine Japanese plane. I could see the red ball of the Japanese insignia on the fuselage. It was below me and crossing in front of my plane.

“Able Base. This is Able One. Sighted one ‘Betty’ west of the task force. I’m attacking!”

Jesus! A Jap bomber. Arm the wing guns. Now!

“Turret gunner! Jap bomber 11 o’clock, low. Prepare for an attack.”

There, he’s crossing below me. Dive now. Full throttle...get on his tail. Gun switch on. What’s that? He’s firing at me. Tail gun...see the flashes. Slide outside. Get away from that tail gun. Get alongside him and use the gun turret.

“Turret gunner! Take him under fire! Aim for the wing where it joins the fuselage!”

Good God! I can see the co-pilot looking at us. Oh, shit! He’s beginning to burn; his wing’s on fire. Oh, Jesus, there goes his wing. Oh, Jesus.

As I watched, the plane rolled over, then exploded as it struck the water. I circled the point where it crashed. The only thing I could see was some burning debris on the surface of the ocean. I heard my radio.

“Able One, this is Able Base. Status of enemy contact? Over.” “Able Base, this is Able One. Splash one ‘Betty.’ No survivors at the site. Continuing the search mission. Out.”

Damn, we got a Jap plane. The fighter guys will be pissed. A torpecker getting a kill. Wish I hadn’t seen...wonder...was he the co-pilot? He was looking right at me. I had to do it. If they had found the task force, kamikaze pilots would attack. I had to kill him...no. No! I had to shoot down the plane. It wasn’t the man; it was the plane...the enemy’s plane. Goddamn this war, I killed a man.

Following that October 10th flight, I flew seven more antisnooper flights. As I was launched on each flight, I hoped I would not make contact with another enemy plane. The image of that pilot looking at me as my gunner shot him down disturbed me. The memory of that face staring at me was locked in my mind forever. The attack I made on the Japanese plane had become personal. I wanted go forget it. I took myself off the flight schedule on October 26. I did not fly another antisnooper flight. I think Rip understood. The war had become very personal to me.

By 5 November, I was back flying again, an antisub search. On the 13th, I led a six-plane bombing flight against a merchant ship in Manila Harbor. I was the first plane off the carrier, and the other five planes quickly joined on me as we headed for the target area. I remember how relieved I was that this was a bombing mission. I did not have to worry about launching torpedoes. I was concerned, though, that we had no fighter escort. The pre-flight briefing indicated that AA fire in the area of Manila Harbor had been reported as very light. As we crossed the island of Luzon and Manila Harbor came into view, I hoped the briefing was accurate.

We were now at about 9,000 feet. At the briefing, we agreed to make the bombing attack so our recovery would be over the city of Manila. We knew that most of the Jap AA positions were around the edges of the harbor, not in the city. This was different than the torpedo attack. I didn’t have to come into the harbor low and slow. I led the formation out over the harbor until the ships were to our left. “Able Flight, Able One. Prepare to attack!” The flight moved to form an echelon to the right as I opened my bomb bay doors, lowered my landing gear, closed my throttle, and made a diving turn to the left.

OK, there are at least six ships. We’ll get them all. Go after the big one...a little left rudder...slide to the left. AA fire. Steady...it’s close! Goddammit, we’re catching shit! I’m taking hits! I feel it in the tail. Those red and yellow balls again. Stay on the target. Now! Drop the damn bombs! Get out of here!

I headed out over the city clear of the AA fire.

“Able Flight, join on me. Report.” I received four “Rogers.” Then my number five pilot came on the radio. “Doc, this is Benny. Saw number six get hit. He went straight in. No chance of surviving. Out.”

Oh God! That was Billy...a replacement pilot. What’s wrong? Rip and I have tried...joined in Hawaii, but they had to fly on combat missions...only fair. A new kid. The second pilot I’ve lost. Please let this thing be over. Let us go home. Please, God, it’s too much.

Task Group 38.2, with Monterey and three other carriers, departed the combat area on 21 November for the harbor at Ulithi Island. This small island was located between the Marianas and the Philippines and had been developed as a harbor and supply base for carrier Task Group 38. Surrounding the island was a coral reef that formed a lagoon. Within a week, the entire Task Force 38, 18 carriers with their support ships, battleships, cruisers, and destroyers, were all at anchor in the lagoon. Also present was a hospital ship, as well as tanker ships with aircraft fuel and oil for the ships, supply ships with food and supplies, ships designed to carry ammunition and, most important a CVE, which was a light carrier assigned to deliver replacement aircraft to the carriers. It was an overwhelming force.

Carriers at anchor in the lagoon at Ulithi, 2 December 1944. (
Courtesy of The Tailhook Association and
The Hook)

Our mail caught up with us at Ulithi. It was then I learned our second child, Normajean Berg, had been born a month earlier, October 13, at the naval hospital in Bremerton, Washington. Jean’s letters were exciting as she told me of moving into an apartment, located near the waters of Puget Sound just outside Bremerton. She closed every letter with “Darling, we can’t wait for you to get home. I love you, so much.”

Standing on the flight deck of our carrier with those letters, looking across the lagoon, seeing this tremendous display of naval power, I reflected that none of this had prevented the deaths of four of our pilots and their crews. Standing there with Jean’s letters, I suddenly felt emotionally drained, that I had no control over my life. I knew I could not prevent my death if it was to be.

I placed Jean’s letters in my pocket and looked again at the ships in the harbor. It was obvious that the fleet was preparing for more action. All one had to do was watch the barges moving from ship to ship with supplies, tanker ships refueling destroyers, and replacement aircraft coming aboard the carriers, including Monterey. We knew, without a briefing, that the next objective was going to be the Japanese island of Okinawa. The plan to ultimately invade Japan was still the goal of the staff planners.

On 5 December 1944, Monterey departed Ulithi assigned to carrier Task Group 38.2. On the 11th, I led a practice tactics flight with our fighter squadron.
Typhoon!
By the 15th, Task Force 38.2 had ceased flight operations. The weather deteriorated to overcast skies, rain squalls, and winds in excess of 35 knots. The ship was moving through waves over twelve feet high. The ship was rolling too, so breakfast was difficult—plates would slide across the table unless they were held in place. The talk that morning in the ward room was that a possible typhoon was moving towards our position. Two days later, a dangerous typhoon overtook the task force.

I was on the hangar deck at about eight-thirty that morning checking on our aircraft. We had both fighters and TBMs parked there undergoing routine maintenance work. I remember standing by an open area on the side of the hangar deck watching huge waves roll past our ship. They were over 20 feet high and as they rolled by, their white tops were being blown off as spray. Our ship was rolling heavily as she struggled to move through the high waves.

The possibility of danger suddenly crossed my mind. Could
Monterey
survive this vicious storm? I’d never experienced a storm at sea, feeling the carrier pitching and rolling against the wind and waves. My only experience with the ship was launching and then returning to the carrier for a landing. I knew very little about how the ship operated. As I continued to watch the huge waves roll past me, I realized that I was probably perfectly safe aboard
Monterey
. I knew Captain Ingersall, and I trusted him. He had over 25 years of experience at sea, serving in many positions as a ship’s officer before assuming command of Monterey. I knew, too, that the ship’s crew was well-trained. I’d observed the many drills aboard the ship, as the crew practiced the various procedures, such as testing all valves that control the water sprinkling system on the hangar deck and the tests would insure the systems functioning in case of fire. I knew that if an emergency occurred due to the storm, the ship’s crew would know what to do. It was a comfortable feeling knowing that I was safe on Monterey.

I left the hangar deck, thinking I’d better check the planes on the flight deck. By the time I arrived on the flight deck, I saw some of our pilots and crewmen checking the metal cables used to tie down the planes. When they finished, we all gathered in the shelter of the ship’s bridge. With the roar of wind and the blowing spray hitting our faces, it was difficult to talk.

Suddenly, I saw a steel tie-down cable snap free of one of the fighters. “There goes a cable! The tie downs won’t hold them!” I yelled over the sound of the storm. We stood there helpless, as we saw a TBM break loose from the tie downs and disappear over the side of the flight deck. Then one by one, as we watched, all remaining planes slipped over the side of the flight deck and disappeared into the ocean. By now I estimated the wind at over 70 miles per hour. Holding each other’s hands against the force of the wind, we carefully made our way off the flight deck to the ready room. Then we heard on the ship’s P.A. system the harsh sound of the emergency bells and the announcement: “General quarters! General quarters! Damage control teams report! Fire on the hangar deck.”