My Carrier War (31 page)

When Rip and I compared our dates in the Guadalcanal area, we discovered that in March 1943, he was with a Navy task force of battleships and cruisers off Guadalcanal. The task force was protecting the cruiser
Chicago
after she had been damaged by Japanese planes. At the same time, I was flying off
Chenango
. I told Rip about our skipper’s offer to support the task force with aircraft and the refusal by the task force admiral. He didn’t want
Chenango
, “that 18-knot carrier,” in his task force.

After learning about each other’s flight experiences, Rip filled me in on VT-28. “Norm, the skipper here is Lieutenant Art McHolland. For nearly three years, Art’s been assigned to the training command teaching cadets to fly, so he’s ready for a fleet assignment. We currently have 14 officers assigned, including two nonflying officers. Our complement of torpedo planes is nine. The squadron has a complement of 35 enlisted personnel to serve as air crewmen.”

He stopped. “Norm, this squadron has been organized with a new concept. When we are based at a Naval Air Station, the maintenance of our aircraft will be performed by personnel attached to it. When we go aboard the carrier, personnel assigned to the ship will perform all maintenance on our planes. All we have to do is fly the birds.”

He paused for a moment. “I guess that about covers it, Norm. Now, any questions?”

“Three questions, Rip. What’s my job going to be? Do we know which carrier we will be assigned? Do we have a deployment date? I’m married and my family wants to join me as soon as possible.”

He laughed. “You’re certainly direct. I like that. You sound like you’re ready to go to work, Norm. You’ll be the squadron’s operations officer since you have the most experience in carrier operations. I want you to set up a training program for the pilots based on the syllabus set by the Commander Air Pacific (COMAIRPAC.) We don’t yet have a firm deployment date, but it will probably be no earlier than April 1944. We are assigned to USS
Monterey
. She’s been designated as a CVL (aircraft carrier, light), just commissioned this past year. She’s not like your old 18-knot carrier,
Chenango
. This one is built on a cruiser hull and will do over 30 knots.”

He looked directly at me. “Norm, I’m glad you’re aboard. This outfit needs your combat experience as well as your carrier experience. Your office is just down the hall. As soon as the skipper comes in, I’ll bring him down to meet you. Let’s get together for dinner tonight at the club, OK?”

I left Gift’s office and walked down the hall to my office, which had a sign on the door that read, “Operations.” It wasn’t much—no window, a scratched old wooden desk, and a gray metal file cabinet. There were two wooden “in” and “out” baskets. The “in” basket was already full.

I sat in my new office after that meeting with Rip wondering if I understood the reason for my assignment. The squadron leadership had no carrier experience nor direct combat experience. The junior pilots had just completed their advanced training and this is would be their first squadron assignment. I was the only one in the squadron who had both carrier and combat experience. The highest rank in the squadron was lieutenant. As pilots getting ready to fight a war, we were all equal. My job was to get us ready for combat.

I pulled a bound binder out of my “in” basket. It was the flight training syllabus from COMAIRPAC. It was almost identical with the training I did back in Norfolk: glide-bombing, gunnery, tactics, navigation, FCLP, torpedo tactics, and night familiarization (fam). Nothing was new here about our training. Then I remembered what Rip had said: this aircraft complement would be nine TBMs, not TBFs.
The TBM versus TBF Aircraft
The TBM was identical to the TBF in performance, but they were built by General Motors rather than Grumman Aviation that built the TBFs. The Navy made the decision in 1942–43 to have Grumman Aircraft build only fighter aircraft because there was a need to increase production of fighter aircraft. Grumman was building both fighter planes and torpedo planes; consequently, some Grumman engineers were transferred to one of the General Motors plants, and the plant was redesigned to manufacture torpedo planes rather than automobiles.

W
ith tailhooks down, TBF/TBMs ready for landing on USS Hornet. (Courtesy of The Tailhook Association and The Hook)

There were some improvements in the TBM over the TBF. The TBM had two forward firing .50-caliber machine guns, one in each wing. Also, it had an autopilot, a shoulder harness rather than the old lap belt, and high frequency radios in the radioman’s compartment.

I sat there at my desk knowing that this cruise was going to be different than
Chenango
and Guadalcanal. Flying the TBM, a plane with better armament and better radios on board, gave the pilot an extra safety factor. No more radio silence with the high frequency radios. Operating off a new, faster 30knot carrier was going to be much safer too. We would always have at least 30 knots of wind over the deck for takeoffs and landings.

Still though, at the strangest moments, perhaps over a drink or thinking of Jean, that nagging memory returned. The sound of those bullets hitting my plane, those red and yellow lines arching for my cockpit, the plane exploding that night at Bougainville. I was still going to fly missions attacking the enemy. Some of the flying would be routine, such as antisub patrols and search missions for enemy shipping. I had no choice; I was going to fly against the enemy again, and I was going to lead others.

I shook off the thoughts, put the binder with the training syllabus into a drawer in my desk and turned again to check my “in” basket. There was a letter from Jean! It had been hidden under other papers. I tore it open. It was only one page, but the message was clear.

“Norm, I’ve had to move back with my folks. After you left, my mother insisted that I couldn’t stay in the apartment. I think she wanted me home with her and Daddy so I could take care of the house while they both worked in the Navy Yard. It’s terrible here. Both Mom and Dad come home from work, start to drink, then the fighting starts. Please, when can we join you?”

I called Jean that night, and we set a date for her to join me. I told her I would find some place to live. She reminded me of the time she arrived in Norfolk with no place to live, but this time she was laughing.

The next weekend, I found one room with a bath and a small kitchen in a private home in nearby Oakland. I felt very lucky to find even a room. Housing was very critical in the Oakland area. The room was close to the bus line, so I could get to work. Jean and Donnie arrived by train on October 12, and we moved in. We had no crib or bassinet for the baby. Jean didn’t bring them with her on the train. Donnie slept in a bottom dresser drawer, and Jean bathed him in the kitchen sink.

I was happy to have Jean with me, but I found that the close living in one room with a baby was trying. It had been different when I was home on leave. We had the use of Dad’s car. We could get out, go shopping, visit friends. All we had here in Oakland for entertainment was a radio in the room and the baby. We had no car. We couldn’t go out except to take a walk with the baby. Our dinners in the room were difficult too.

Jean was not the best cook, especially when trying to prepare a meal in a very small kitchen. I began stopping at the officers’ club after work. My excuse to Jean was that it was part of squadron life—we had to socialize—to relax from the stress of flying. I would get back to our room about 1900. Donnie would usually be fed and ready for bed. Jean and I would then eat a simple supper as soon as Donnie was asleep, and then I would want Jean to go to bed.

T
his is tough living. The club helps...a few drinks...being with the guys...flying again. Responsible for the training; all those new pilots. They don’t know about combat; getting shot at. I want sex with Jean to forget those nights at the Canal. The baby is always here...I love her and him. It’s so damn complicated. Wish Jean would come to bed; I get aroused just looking at her.

Almost a month had gone by since I’d reported to the squadron. We were getting organized. Flight training had commenced with familiarization flights in the new plane, the TBM. I was in my office at the squadron one afternoon when a dispatch arrived from COMFAIR Alameda.

The squadron was moving to an outlying field at Crows Landing, California, on October 30. Crows Landing was a small farming community about 100 miles south of San Francisco. The airfield was still under construction, but offices and ready rooms had already been completed, as well as barracks for the enlisted men and a BOQ for single officers. Torpedo Squadron 28 would spend the next four months at Crows Landing, training for our combat mission and, when finished, joining the Pacific Fleet aboard the carrier USS
Monterey
. With just 48 hours to prepare for moving the squadron, the action was hectic. Arranging for transportation for our personnel and getting the squadron records and files packed all had to be done in just a couple of days.

Personally, I had a major problem too. How would I get Jean and the baby to Crows Landing? We had no car, and I was scheduled to fly a TBM to the new base. Jean and I talked about her and the baby taking a bus because there were no train connections. Jean didn’t think a bus trip was feasible. I looked at the transportation schedule for the move and saw that Lieutenant (jg.) Harry Bridgmen, our personnel officer, would be driving a Navy truck to Crows Landing, which would carry our personnel and operation records. I asked Harry if he would pick up Jean and the baby at our room in Oakland, then drive them to the hotel in Crows Landing where I’d made reservations. He agreed, and Jean told me the trip went very smoothly. Donnie slept the entire trip.

Jean and Donnie in Crows Landing, CA

That night, Jean, Donnie, and I moved into the local hotel in Crows Landing. We had two rooms, a bedroom with a bath and a living area with a small kitchen. The rooms were nondescriptive with inexpensive furniture. The living room had a couch, one overstuffed chair, and a table with a lamp. A slightly worn rug laid on the floor, and the bed sagged in the middle. The kitchen had a two-burner gas stove and a refrigerator. Previously that afternoon, I’d bought a crib and bassinet, and that evening, we unpacked and got settled. Jean seemed pleased with the arrangement. The skipper and his wife had the other two-room suite on the same floor as ours. They had a young child, too, so Jean had some company. The hotel was clean and pleasant with a small dining room and a bar. There was no officers’ club at the field. I figured the bar at the hotel would served as my “O” club.

The flight training was rigorous. During the time at Crows Landing, I pushed the pilots hard to complete the training quickly. Each pilot was scheduled for at least two flights per day. I flew as an observer, watching individual pilots as they carried out the assigned training missions. After each flight, I would debrief the flight, pointing out problem areas I’d observed. I watched, especially, for problems like a slow join-up of a formation or poor glide-bombing technique by an individual pilot. Good formation join-up meant better fuel consumption for each aircraft. Time wasn’t wasted waiting for planes to join the formation. Poor bombing technique meant missed targets. The idea was to hit the target with the bomb. My goal was for each pilot to complete 155 hours of training. Flight time spent on each phase of training was: 60 hours glide-bombing; 20 hours practice torpedo runs; 35 hours tactics with fighter and dive-bombers; 15 hours gunnery; and 25 hours night flying. These totals would meet the requirements of the COMAIRPAC training syllabus.

Life for Jean and I was filled with surprising contradictions. There were times when we were very happy. We had a surprise at Thanksgiving when my folks came down for a visit. We all had dinner together in the hotel restaurant with the owner and his wife. My father was still operating a restaurant in Bremerton, so he and the hotel owner had a good deal in common. My mother had a wonderful time with her first grandson. It was a great visit, especially for Jean. My mother stayed with Donnie while Jean and I took a bus to San Francisco for Christmas shopping. We had dinner and went dancing at the Top of the Mark. The last bus got us back to Crows Landing at two o’clock in the morning.