My Carrier War (15 page)

I received my landing clearance, made my approach and landed at the Naval Air Station. As I taxied to the squadron area, shut down the plane and headed for the squadron ready room, I was hoping for a message from Jean. I wondered if she had found a place for us to live. I stopped by the duty officer’s desk and he handed me two messages. One was a memo of a telephone call from Jean. The other was a written memo from the skipper’s office. I opened Jean’s message first.

“NORM, WE’RE ALL SET AT THE BOARDING HOUSE. THE GIRLS HELPED ME MOVE. FLYBOY, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR FLIGHT WHILE I WAS LEFT TO SOLVE OUR PROBLEM! WE HAVE BOARD AND ROOM, SO I EXPECT YOU FOR DINNER. NO OFFICERS’ CLUB TONIGHT. JEAN.”

Then the duty officer spoke, “Norm, that second message is from the skipper. He wants to see you.”

The skipper was Commander Butts, the squadron commanding officer. As I walked down the passageway to the skipper’s office, I thought, Now what? I’ve got enough problems with Jean and carrier landings! I don’t need anything else! I knocked at the skipper’s office door and as I entered, I heard him say, “Come in.”

“Ensign Berg, reporting as ordered, Sir!” “Sit down, Norm.” He came right to the point. “I understand that you and your new wife are having housing problems. In fact, I heard you’ve been evicted from your present living quarters. Something about having another man staying overnight in your room with your wife present.” As I stammered out my explanation of what had happened that night with George Hartman, his expression softened. By the time I finished, a slight smile replaced the grimness around his mouth and eyes that had greeted me when I first entered his office.

“Mr. Berg, you must remember that our Southern women are very delicate, especially the older generation.” He started to laugh. “I bet she said to you, ‘I don’t tolerate such behavior in my home!’”

I nodded my head.

“Well, Norm, what are you going to do now? Do you need the afternoon off to find another place to live?”

“Sir, I have a message from my wife. She has moved us to a boarding house a few miles from the base. There are three other married squadron officers living there. In fact, their wives helped my wife move. There’s bus transportation to the base area, so we’re all set.”

There was a long silence as my skipper seemed to study me—staring at me, and then finally he said, “Norm, I sense that you’re having some problems. The LSO tells me that you’re ready to start your FCLP training. It appears too, that your relationship with your wife is what—difficult? Perhaps I can help make things a little easier. I don’t want you under any unusual stress as you start your training for carrier work. I have a lot of confidence in you, Norm. You’re the senior ensign.”

He paused. “Starting today, you’ll have custody of my official sedan. You may use it only for transporting yourself and the other squadron officers from the boarding house to the base—no evening trips to the club, only official business. Understood? Any questions?”

The skipper’s car? What a privilege! No more buses. He trusts me and believes I can do the job. I can set the example as the bull ensign. Does he think I can become a leader? He must, giving me the official car to use. I won’t let him down. I can do it. I’ve got to do better with Jean. Stop resenting that she’s here with me. Remember I’m nobody without her help. She’s my anchor. I’ve got to put her first in my life. Put the airplanes second. Do it!

I left his office feeling that I was ready for my afternoon flight. I was scheduled for field carrier landing practice, and this time I would be answering the signals from the landing signal officer. God! What a jubilant feeling! I had the respect of the skipper. I knew I could live up to his expectations.

I grabbed a quick sandwich and a soda from the Navy Exchange food truck that sold snacks outside the squadron hangar and joined the three other pilots scheduled for the afternoon FCLP flight. When I told them about the official car, it seemed that I saw a new look of respect from all of them. They kidded me, too, about brown-nosing the skipper, but I just replied, R.H.I.P. (rank has its privileges).

By one o’clock, we were taxiing out to the duty runway and, after takeoff, we joined up and headed for Rogers Field. As we approached the field, I could see the landing signal officer standing at the end of the runway. The painted outline of the carrier deck was highly visible. The LSO was in position to direct my approach and landing. He would be on my left when I made my first approach to the landing area.

I was the number four man in the flight—the “tail-end Charlie.” The lead plane signaled us to move into an echelon to the right as we flew parallel to the left side of the runway. We were flying at an altitude of 1,000 feet, air speed 140 knots. As the formation passed the upper end of the runway, the lead plane descended with a 180 degree turn to the left. Each of us, after a five-second delay, followed the lead plane making our turn to the left. We were all now on our downwind leg with the runway on our left. I was at 500 feet of altitude as I lowered my landing gear and landing flaps. My air speed was about 90 knots. I could see the other three planes ahead of me. I could see the lead plane making his first landing on the runway.

OK, get ready. What’s my air speed? Eighty-five, too fast. Slow down; reduce throttle. I’m high; get down to below 100 feet. Lower the nose a little. Start the final turn to the runway now! Air speed! Get it down below 80. I’m still high. There’s the LSO. The paddles are up above his head. I’m too high! Now he’s moving the left hand paddle up and down. I’m too fast! Now both paddles are down below his waist...I’m low! Shit! Add power! I’m too slow. Don’t let it climb. Damn! A wave off! He’s waving both paddles above his head! A wave off—add power...get the gear up...ease up the landing flaps. Damn! It’s hot. I’m sweating. Get back in the landing pattern. Try again and get it right!

The four of us were now flying what was called a racetrack pattern around the field as we continued the FCLP training. Each pilot was scheduled to make six approaches to the runway, responding each time to the LSO’s signals.

After I took the wave off from the LSO, I climbed to 1,000 feet and made a slight turn to the right. I was now to the right of the runway. Flying straight ahead, I maintained altitude until I saw the number three plane ahead of me make a 180-degree left turn to the downwind leg of his approach. After waiting about five seconds, I made my left 180-degree turn to the downwind leg, altitude 500 feet, the runway on my left. I was ready to make my second landing attempt under the control of the LSO. I made my final turn towards the runway, saw the LSO and got another wave off! That day, I made three more attempts, but was waved off each time. I just couldn’t seem to slow the plane down.

I remember that I finally got a cut on my sixth and last approach. I sure welcomed that cut signal as I saw the paddle in the LSO’s right hand cross in front of his body. I closed the throttle, landed the plane, quickly raised the landing flaps, added power and took off again—a touch-and-go landing. The FCLP training was over for the day. I saw the rest of the planes orbiting the field waiting for me to join the flight. I added power and took my position again as tail-end Charlie. We headed back to the air station.

Damn! With the exception of my last approach, the rest were rotten. Only got one “cut” signal out of six attempts.

After the flight, we four pilots gathered in the squadron ready room with the LSO. I remember he had a little brown book where he had evaluated each of us. The rest of the guys had done pretty well. Only a few wave offs. Unlike my situation, this had not been their first FCLP training flight. I was still the new kid on the block when it came to FCLP. I knew I was rationalizing, finding an excuse for my lousy flying. I knew I should have done better. I had the most experience in the TBF airplane. The LSO turned to me.

“Berg, what in the hell were you doing out there? If I sound pissed, I am! High and fast, high and fast. Is that the only way you know how to fly? Your last pass was good though—a Roger all the way. But you were still a little fast. Now, I always find it necessary to speak, especially to you married guys, about carrier landings. You always tend to add a few extra knots of air speed in honor of your pretty new wives! Then, after that, you start adding extra knots for each kid! Believe me, guys! If you’re fast on the approach, I won’t give you a cut. Why? Because you’d be heading for a crash! That plane of yours will float right up the deck, your tail hook will miss the arresting gear, and you’ll be a crash waiting to happen. That’s all! Let’s secure for the day.”

I got out of my flight gear and into my uniform. No civilian clothes for us—Navy regulations required us to be in uniform when leaving the air station. Bill Austin and the other two guys living at the boarding house were waiting for me. I picked up the keys to the skipper’s official car from the squadron duty officer, and after a few lewd remarks about my status as the senior ensign, we headed for the boarding house and our wives.

I wondered what the boarding house would be like, and was glad Jean would have company. I knew it had been lonely for her with so much flying. I had seven days on, and one day off. I wanted some privacy and hoped the room had a double bed. Jean had been giggling about trying to get some rest in a single bed and claimed I kept waking her up in the middle of the night. I reminded her I was a hot Navy pilot, and maybe it was the danger and the excitement of the flying, but I had a hard time keeping my hands off her and wanting to make love to her. She said she wanted a baby, and I guessed we would probably have one.

I love her. I know she wants a baby. I know I’ll survive this war...I’ll make it.

After work, Bill and I gathered up the other two officers and headed for the officers’ club. We stopped for a couple of beers and then left for the boarding house. Suddenly, Bill said, “Turn here, Norm! The boarding house is just down the street.” I followed Bill’s instructions and turned, heading down the street to the boarding house. As I pulled up in front of the house, I saw Jean standing on the front porch. The house was old. I guessed it had probably been built in the 1890s. The broad front porch ran the full length of the three-story house. It appeared to be well-cared for. I got out of the car and went up onto the porch, gave Jean a warm hug and whispered my thanks for finding a place for us to be together.

Then I said, “What do you think of our car?” as I pointed it out. “The skipper let me use it to get back and forth to work. Not bad for an ensign, right?”

Jean turned to look at the car and pushed me away, saying, “So you and the guys have a car. Can you take me any place tonight? And don’t be so sure with your thanks. You haven’t seen our room yet.”

As we walked onto the porch, I had to explain that the car was only for transportation to work. Jean’s response was, “Big deal.”

We opened the front door and walked into an entry hall. “What’s that odd smell?” I whispered to Jean.

“It’s our landlady’s cooking. The girls tell me she cooks things like ham hocks and cabbage, eggs and brains, kidneys, beef tongue, even tripe, whatever that is. But wait till you see our room and the bathrooms—no showers, just tubs.”

I looked in on a living room as we headed for the stairs and saw some bookshelves filled with books that all appeared to be bound in leather. There was a large upright radio standing along one wall and a card table was set up next to the radio. The furniture, a couch and three overstuffed chairs, were old and worn-looking. The drapes were pulled, so the room was dark. It reminded me of an old funeral home. Not a very hospitable room, I thought, as Jean and I started up the stairs.

“Where’s our room, honey? What’s it like?” I reached over and patted her gently on her bottom. “Does it have a double bed?”

“Norm, can’t you keep your hands to yourself? You leave me to find a place to live and when you see me, all you want is the usual. Go pat one of your airplanes!”

We reached the second floor and, as I moved away from Jean, we started up another flight of stairs.

“Sorry, Darling, it’s just that I missed you today. The FCLP was real tough flying—flying so low and slow takes so much concentration. I’m fighting my fear all the time making those approaches.”

We reached the third floor and Jean led the way to a door. She opened it. “Here’s our love nest, flyboy. Try fighting your fears here. The bathroom’s down the hall, and we share it with Joe and Alice. If you listen—there, hear them talking? They’re home, and they fight a lot. Then, the worst part—you can hear them making up.”

Jean stepped aside as I entered the room. There was a double bed that sagged towards the middle, one old dresser, a desk with one chair and one worn-looking easy chair. I noticed a closet door, and one wall had a small window. There were throw rugs on each side of the bed. The rest of the floor was covered with linoleum. I walked over to the window to look out. All I could see was the back alley with a couple of dogs nosing through the garbage.

I turned back to Jean and moved quickly to her as I saw her tears. Then, through her sobs, I could hear her, “Oh Norm, it’s just awful! How can we possibly live here? It’s no problem for you—you’re gone all day.” She pushed me away and, looking at me through her tears, she said, “And then you come home, you pat me on my behind and think everything is all right. Well, it’s not all right and I want to know what you’re going to do about it! It’s either that or I’m going back to Bremerton where I still have a decent place to live!”

When I attempted to put my arms around her, she resisted. I couldn’t believe that we were having our first argument. I knew, though, that she was right. I promised her right then that I would contact the housing office at the base first thing the next morning. I would also ask the XO for some time off so we could search the newspapers for rentals. She seemed to feel a bit better. She indicated she realized that all the other wives were in the same situation. None of them were very happy in the boarding house.