My Carrier War (9 page)

I recall thinking, “Boy, this is easy. I’m going to fill that target with bullet holes.”

I was in position for my attack on the target, slightly ahead and above the tow plane. My plane was at least 500 yards on the right of the target when I rolled into a diving left turn and began my approach to the target. Sighting through the telescope gun sight mounted in front of the cockpit the tow target was suddenly visible. Rolling the plane to my right, my plane was level with the target as I squeezed the gun trigger on the plane’s control stick. Now my plane was moving to a position behind the tow sleeve. Releasing the gun trigger, the firing stopped. I was in danger of hitting the tow plane. Damn, I didn’t lead the target enough. Flying under the target and climbing back to 6,000 feet, I rejoined the rest of the flight.

The four of us continued to make runs on the target. Then, after each of us indicated by radio to our instructor that all ammunition had been fired, we returned to base at Corpus. We all shut down our aircraft and gathered at the operations office and waited for the tow plane to return.

There was a good deal of excitement with all of us talking and using our hands to illustrate for each other what we felt were our outstanding gunnery runs. We were all sure that we had shredded that target. Our instructor sobered the room and began to speak. I realized that these were his first words since the takeoff.

“Listen up. I’ll buy the beer if any of you got more than five hits on the target.” Then he said, “You’ll each buy me a beer if you got less than five hits— agreed?” We all agreed, feeling we were the winners. I just knew I was. I couldn’t have missed that target. We saw the tow plane make a low pass over the grassy part of the field and drop the target. We all made a mad dash for the target and quickly spread it out flat on the grass. Our instructor joined us, “OK, who had which color?”

Each plane’s guns had the nose of the bullets painted with a different color. The paint was applied just before the flight so it was wet. The result, a bullet hitting the canvas target would leave a paint mark. I remember to this day—my color was blue, and I found only two hits. Only one of us had more than five hits.

The instructor had us all sit there along side the tow target. “I was watching your gunnery runs. You were all making two major mistakes. First, it appeared to me that you were using too much rudder trying to get in position. The result was that your plane was in a skid rather than in a smooth easy turn toward the target. If your gun platform is skidding, your bullets will end up off the target. Then there was your approach to the target. Too many of you ended up either 90 degrees to the target forcing you to dive under it, or you were being sucked behind so you could not fire. The ideal position is 45 degrees to the target with your aiming point ahead of the target. Then you fly a smooth approach, firing until you can break off your run flying under the target.” He closed his remarks saying, “Don’t worry about it. As you get used to flying that big old dive-bomber, you’ll start getting hits. Besides, it’s not a fighter plane. It’s a divebomber—that’s what you want to be good at.”

I’m not so sure. What about shooting down an enemy plane? Or worse
yet, what if one makes a gunnery run on me? Learn how to hit that target, Norm. Don’t be dead meat out there fighting a determined enemy. Besides, Jean has announced our engagement. I’ve got to be sure to come home to her. Can’t be scared of combat. Be the best-trained naval aviator possible. Come on, Norm, you’ll come back alive.

It was March 14, 1942 when I flew my last gunnery training flight. Man, was I good that day. The green-tipped bullets I was firing had a hit rate of 35 percent on the target. Pretty damn good compared to most of my colleagues. I had mastered the concept of gunnery. I was flying the aircraft smoothly and most importantly, I was getting hits.

The next morning, there were six of us, all advanced students in the dive-bombing program, sitting in a classroom in the operations building. We now had only to complete the dive-bombing phase of the training, and we would get our Navy wings. Our training would be over. We would be ready.

I’ve got to be careful now. This dive-bombing could be dangerous. Going straight down and then pulling out. Danger of blacking out due to the “G” pressures. Wonder if we’re going to use real bombs? Probably not. One of the guys told me that we would use little smoke bombs so we could see our hits on the target.

“Morning, Cadets, I’m Ensign Brester and I’m going to make each of you dive-bomber pilots. Just a little history first. The Navy was the first service to use dive-bombing as a weapon. For example, when the aircraft carrier, USS Lexington, joined the fleet in 1927, there were dive-bombers aboard her. This plane you’re flying now—the SBC-4—joined the fleet as a dive-bomber in 1935. So, this delivery method of a bomb has been around a long time.” He paused, looking at us. “As I explain how we do dive-bombing, I’m sure you’ll quickly see the advantages of the technique.”

Ensign Brester continued, “Here’s what you’re going to do on your bombing dives. After takeoff, I’ll climb to 500 feet and make an easy turn to the right. Each of you, after takeoff, join up with me. I will lead this first flight. Our bombing target is a 50-foot circle outlined in white on a small island just off the coast. Each plane will be loaded with six smoke bombs. These are small, metal-shaped objects with an explosive charge in the nose. When they hit the ground, a puff of white smoke marks the place where they hit. We’ll climb to 10,000 feet on the way, then circle the target on arrival. Each of you will acknowledge, by radio, that you see the target.”

He picked up a small wooden aircraft model and held it up as high as he could reach.

“Now, listen up. After you each acknowledge that you see the target, I’ll signal for each of you to form a single column behind me.” He backed away from us, creating a space on the floor where he drew a circle with a piece of chalk.

“Watch the aircraft model as I talk. We want to make our dive into the wind—let’s say it’s out of the north. Remember the wind direction. It’s important. Estimate the direction and velocity so you can adjust your aiming point on the target. It will give you a better chance for accuracy in dive-bombing.”

Instructor demonstrating dive-bombing with a wooden aircraft model.

We watched as he moved around the chalk circle on the floor with the model. “OK, now we’re downwind of the target. Notice that the model is not as high. We’ve dropped down to 8,000 feet. We’re ready to dive. Watch the model.” He moved the model, simulating a diving turn to the right; he moved it downward towards the floor. “Be sure your dive brakes are extended. The dive brakes will extend on the upper and lower sides of your lower wing. They create drag and help control your air speed in the dive. The ideal dive speed is between 170 and 180 knots at the bomb release point. The bomb release point should be no lower than 1,500 feet.” He stopped, looking at each of us.

“Be careful here. You may not have the target centered in your bombsight. You want a hit, so you may want to continue the dive. You want that hit! Guys, I can’t think of a worse way to die than to hit that target with your plane because you didn’t pull out in time! Pull out by 1,500 feet!”

Damn! How can I keep my eyes on the target, on the air speed and the altitude, and hit the target? Maybe it won’t hurt to go a bit lower if I’m almost on the target. What if it was a Jap ship I was diving on? Wouldn’t I stay in the dive longer? Don’t even think about it. This is training, Norm. Pull out at 1,500 feet!

After a long pause where he looked at each of us, he reminded us again. “Remember 1,500 feet! OK? Now reduce throttle as you start your dive. It will help control your air speed. What you want is a steep dive—at least 80 degrees in relation to the ground. That way you present a small target for enemy ground fire and your bombs will go almost straight down to the target. This is why dive-bombing is such a fine attack weapon. Now the pull out.”

He moved the model upwards again. “Start your pullout no lower than 1,500 feet. You’ll experience some Gs on your pull out. The pull of gravity is forcing your plane down. You’re fighting against gravity when you pull out of the dive. Just keep a steady pressure on your controls; tighten your belly muscles to help keep your blood from moving to your lower body as it reacts to the pull of gravity.

As you level out, the G pressure will disappear. After your dive, climb back to 8,000 feet, and continue your dives individually until you complete six dives. After my first dive, I will circle the target as an observer. When the last plane makes its final dive, I will circle the target until you all join up on me and we’ll return to base. Any questions? OK, let’s go.”

Our takeoff from the base was smooth, and we quickly joined up on the instructor and headed for the target area.

This should go OK. After all, it’s like gunnery except we’re diving more steeply and on a ground target rather than on a gunnery target. This target’s not moving. It’ll be easy compared with gunnery. Don’t black out on the pull out. Be careful. Just a steady pressure on the controls. There goes the instructor on his dive. There’s the smoke from his bomb—a hit! Where’s the wind from? Get ready! Here I go!

First, I pulled back on the throttle, then opened my dive brakes. A metal flap extended on the upper sides of the plane’s lower wing. The same kind of a flap also extended on the bottom of the plane’s wing. The flaps had holes in them to allow the passage of air. The dive flaps served as brakes on the air speed as the plane went into an almost vertical dive. By controlling the speed of the dive, a pilot had time to center the target in the telescope sight located just ahead of the pilot’s cockpit. By controlling the speed, the dive brakes also gave time to pull out of the dive at a controllable speed.

Man, I’m really steep! Don’t let the plane skid. Fly it smooth and easy. There, the target is in my sight. Got it. What’s my air speed? Check the altimeter. Got to pull out by 1,500 feet. Damn, I’m sliding out to the right from the target. Get it back in the sight. Roll this bird back to the left. Two thousand feet. Drop the fucking bomb! Now pull back on that stick. Pull! Tighten your belly. Don’t black out. Where did my bomb hit? There’s my smoke. Right on the edge of the target. Close the dive brakes. Let’s get back up for another dive. I’ll lay it right in the middle of the target next time.

Between March 15 and 26, I made 31 flights. The training program was really pushing us, most likely because of the war. The flights were either gunnery or dive-bombing. My log book shows the 17th, five flights; 18th, five flights; 19th, three flights; 22nd, five flights again. Finally, on March 26, just three flights, but they were my last ones. My training was completed.

Graduation and New Orders
There were about ten of us. We all reported to the CO’s office of N.A.S. Corpus Christi, and Captain Bernard, the CO, pinned those Navy wings on our uniforms. I was designated a naval aviator and commissioned an ensign in the Navy with a date of rank of December 10, 1941. My graduation was on March 30, 1942. I had a total of 239.3 hours dual and 156.3 solo flight time.

This was just the last part of the good news that I had shared with Jean. I had called in early March to tell her that we had received our orders. I had orders to the Naval Air Station, Floyd Bennett Field, New York City, New York. I suggested a date for our wedding between April 10 and 15. She set the date for April 12, 1942. Our honeymoon would be in New York City. I had it made. We would be together.

I departed Corpus for Seattle by train April 1. I’d ordered tailor-made uniforms while at Corpus, and I was wearing my “aviation greens” on the train. This was a work uniform worn only by officers attached to aviation units. Dark green trousers with a khaki shirt and a dark-green jacket buttoned down the front. It was worn with brown shoes. The Navy’s non-aviation officers referred to us as the “brown shoe Navy.” We loved it; we were different. We had wings on our uniforms.

When the train arrived in Portland, Oregon, I was about six hours by train from Seattle. I left the train and checked into a hotel room. I had my blue Navy uniform pressed, the one with the single gold ensign stripe and the gold Navy wings. I had my black shoes shined and got a haircut and a shave. I called Jean to tell her of my arrival time in Seattle. She and my folks would meet me.