My Carrier War (32 page)

Christmas that year was a new experience. It was the first Christmas for our six-month old son. He loved the small Christmas tree we put up in the living room. A local family invited the three of us to their home for Christmas dinner. It was delightful—a bottle of wine with a wonderful dinner and some little presents for Donnie.

We had to stay at the hotel for New Year’s Eve. We couldn’t find a babysitter for Donnie. The skipper and his wife went to her parents’ home in San Diego, so we were alone. I wanted Jean to go down to the bar with me, but she wouldn’t leave Donnie alone in the room. So I went alone. I wanted to celebrate. I remember coming up to our room around three o’clock in the morning. I barely remember Jean coming down to the bar asking me to come up. I didn’t go with her, and Jean locked me out that night. I woke up the next morning in the hallway, realizing that I’d passed out. That’s how I ushered in 1944.

The damn bar is so handy and I’m trying so hard. I want our pilots to be the best; they have to be to survive. I know; I’ve been there. Those red and yellow streaks of light arching toward my cockpit…that plane exploding in front of me. Got to go out there again. The booze helps.

Afterwards, I tried my best to stay out of the bar. Later in January, I came home from a day of flying just as Jean was coming in with the baby.

“Everything all right?” I asked. “Where have you and Donnie been?”

Jean got Donnie settled in his playpen. “Norm, I’ve been to see the doctor.” She paused, looking at me. “ I’m pregnant. The doctor just verified it.”

That’s the last thing I want right now! Another baby. I thought Jean was taking care of it. It must have happened when she joined me in Oakland.

I reached out to her as she came into my arms. She was crying. “Norm, when I left Bremerton, our family doctor fitted me with a diaphragm. I thought it would be fine. I wanted to wait until you came back from this cruise. I’m sorry.”

I held her until her crying stopped. “Darling,” I said, “it’s all right. We both wanted another child. It’s just that this one is coming earlier than we planned. Just be sure that you take care of yourself and the baby. I’ll be fine. I’ll make it home to you and our two babies, Jean. Don’t worry.”

Early in February, the squadron received advanced orders to plan a move to the Auxiliary Naval Air Station at Watsonville, California, on March 1, 1944. It was the usual procedure to base us closer to the torpedo training area in Monterey Bay. We would complete our live torpedo training there.

With gas rationing and travel limitations, the owners were renting their summer homes in the Monterey area to military people. Through a real estate agent, Jean and I rented a lovely completely furnished two-bedroom cottage. We were anticipating the transfer of the squadron on 1 March. For once, I felt as though I was preparing for Jean’s and my future.

On February 17, 1944, my 24th birthday, Jean had a birthday cake for me. Donnie helped blow out the candles. We were still at Crows Landing. After Donnie went to bed, I wanted Jean to come to the bar with me. I wanted to continue celebrating. She looked at me and said, “Norm, why don’t you go on down? You’ve been working hard, and it is your birthday. Go ahead. I’ll stay here with Donnie.” I went to the bar.

It must have been about ten o’clock when a woman, I guessed her in her thirties, entered the bar. I knew her. She was married to the commander of the air station at Crows Landing. I asked her where the commander was. She told me he was away at a conference. So I bought her a drink, and we sat at the bar talking. We’d had a couple more drinks when I felt her foot rubbing against my leg. I lit a cigarette for her. Her hand touched mine as we looked into each other’s eyes.

Suddenly, she made her move. “It’s getting late, Lieutenant. I’m staying here tonight. My husband is picking me up tomorrow. We’re going on a little vacation. I’d better go up to my room.”

I followed her up the stairs. Her room was on the same floor as mine. I blocked the entrance to her room with my arm. “Do I get a good-night kiss?” I asked. She smiled at me. “Lieutenant, I think that’s your wife standing in the doorway to your room there at the end of the hall.” She slipped under my arm and opened the door to her room as I turned and saw Jean.

I slept on the couch in the livingroom that night.

The next morning, Jean gave me an ultimatum. “Norm, I’m ready to call my father for the money to get Donnie and me a train ticket to Seattle. Is that what you want? I can’t live with you this way. I’ll go to Watsonville with you only on one condition. No drinking!” I agreed. I had no choice. I wanted her to stay. I couldn’t let my marriage fail.

What in the hell is wrong with me? I don’t need another woman. Jean is a beautiful lover; it’s just the baby. We can’t find time alone and it’s the pressure of getting ready to leave. Wonder if I’ll run out of luck this time? Maybe Watsonville will be better. No booze, though. Got to do it. Jean’s talking about staying in Watsonville after I leave. She should go home to have the baby. Get a place of her own until I get back. I don’t want her here alone. Damn! Sometimes, it’s just too much.

As scheduled, the squadron moved to the air station at Watsonville, California on March 1, 1944. Again, Jean and Donnie rode with Harry Bridgmen in a Navy truck for the trip to our new home. Harry took Jean right to our rented house. I joined my family late that afternoon after flying one of squadron planes to our new base. Jean and I were looking forward to a pleasant couple of months in our rented cottage. It had two bedrooms, a bath, a living and dining area, and a kitchen. It was completely furnished, including bedding, linens, dishes, and cookware. Donnie had his own room too. The furniture was Mission California, light in color and bulky in appearance. It was perfect for the Monterey area with all its sunshine and warm weather. There was a lovely fenced in yard loaded with flowers and thick green grass. Donnie loved it.

 The town of Watsonville was a small farming community, as well as a vacation spot for the Bay Area population, but it was more than that. It was a very supportive community for service people. The local Army National Guard unit had been mobilized in 1940 and sent to the Philippines for duty. We learned that nearly every family had suffered a loss of a loved one when the Japanese invaded the Philippines. The local people were friendly and helpful to all of us. We were looking forward to our assignment at the air station there.

That evening, Jean and I were out on the front porch. Donnie was in a swing chair bouncing up and down. We’d finished dinner, and I was sober. I was not stopping at the officers’ club, but was coming home in a car pool with other married officers who lived in the area. I was telling Jean that our departure date must be getting close. We had been notified by COMFAIR Alameda that the squadron was scheduled for carrier qualifications on March 5, aboard the carrier USS
Copahee
. She was a Jeep carrier about the size of Chenango. I heard our phone ringing in the house. I went in and answered the phone. “Lieutenant Berg, this is the Naval Air Station duty officer. A confidential message for VT-28 just came off the teletype. I can’t read the entire message because of its classification.” I asked him if there was a date in the body of the message. When he replied, “Yes,” I told him to read me the date. All he said was, “15.” I put down the phone. I knew Jean and I weren’t going to have a couple of months. I knew that date was our deployment date for the Pacific. I joined Jean on the porch.

“Who was it?” she asked. I told her what I thought. The squadron would be leaving about March 15. She lifted Donnie out of the swing and they both sat next to me on the porch settee. We sat silently, then Jean spoke.

“Oh Norm, I wish I could stay here until you come back! We’ve talked about it before, but it’s so perfect for Donnie and for me. I know you believe I should go back to Bremerton to have the baby but, honey, I could have the baby here just as easy.”

I looked at her. “Jean, please. Bremerton has the Navy Hospital where Donnie was born. Both our folks are in Bremerton. You have no one here in Watsonville. Darling, I would worry so much—you would be alone. Please understand my feelings.”

“OK, I know you’re right. I’ll go home, but I’ll have a place for us when you get home. We’ll be waiting for you, darling. I know God will bring you home to me.”

We put Donnie to bed and we held each other for a long time, unable to sleep as we thought of the future that we faced apart.

The next week was busy with planning for Jean’s trip back to Bremerton. I found a 1940 Chevie two-door coupe with good tires. I wanted Jean to have a car while she was waiting for the baby. I called Dad, and he wired $1,500 for the car via Western Union. Jean’s mother agreed to come down by train, to drive back with Jean and Donnie. Jean’s mother was only with us for one night. I had to tell her that Jean was expecting. On March 10, she and Jean left. Jean’s mother didn’t say good-bye.

The squadron took delivery of nine new TBM aircraft, and on March 14, we flew to N.A.S. Alameda from Watsonville. There, the planes were loaded aboard USS
Barnes
, a Jeep carrier used for transporting our aircraft and personnel to Hawaii. That evening, the squadron officers went to Frisco. We had dinner at a French restaurant, then went to the Top of The Mark for a final dance with the lovely girls of San Francisco. We had an early evening. We had to be back aboard the ship by midnight. We were on our way. Rip and I had a stateroom—two bunks, one desk and a wash basin. I lay in the upper bunk. Sleep didn’t come easily.

God, help me make it home!

The smells of San Francisco Bay and the smoke of the cities around the bay faded as the smell of the sea touched my senses. I was on the flight deck of USS
Barnes
as it moved under the Golden Gate Bridge. We had loaded all our aircraft aboard back at N.A.S. Alameda and were now on our way to Hawaii. I could feel the swells of the Pacific Ocean against the hull of the ship as we headed out of San Francisco Bay. It was a familiar sensation—it was hard to realize it had only been seven months since my last trip on a carrier. The last time I passed under that bridge, I was on my way home. I certainly didn’t know then, when
Chenango
moved under the Golden Gate last August, that I’d have to face my old fears again. I hoped it might be different this time.

I believed, however, that we were better trained for combat this time. In our four months of training at N.A.S. Norfolk, before our first deployment to the Pacific, we felt we were barely trained. Our aircraft for this second tour were better equipped for the cruise. These planes had high frequency radios that certainly would have eased the hazards of the long navigational flights we flew from
Chenango
. No longer would we worry about radio silence or having to use a square search to find our carrier, we could rely on the carrier’s radar for help.

In addition, we would be operating off the carrier USS
Monterey
. She was a new carrier and had been operating with the Pacific Fleet since being commissioned early in 1943. Because of the need for additional carriers, the Navy elected to convert some cruiser hulls into light carriers, classified as CVLs. Her hull was initially designed for a light cruiser with a power plant that produced 32 knots of speed. The aircraft complement on USS
Monterey
would be 24 fighter aircraft and 9 torpedo planes. The carrier’s faster speed would be a great advantage. Aircraft would come aboard much slower than was possible on
Chenango
, and the landings would be much safer.

I took a final walk back to the flight deck and watched the Golden Gate Bridge disappear from sight. I didn’t feel like walking forward to watch the bow of the ship slide through the Pacific. Somehow, I felt that I was going the wrong way, away from Jean and Donnie. I went below to the ready room. I didn’t want to think about the future—I was afraid it might hold too much pain, too many threats to my future.

That evening, the skipper, Art McHolland, called a meeting of all pilots. He’d scheduled Joe Anson, our air intelligence officer, to give us a briefing on the coming operations. Joe stood and began the briefing.

“Guys, in August of 1943, a conference was held in Quebec, Canada. Attending the conference were President Roosevelt, Prime Minister Churchill, and representatives from both China and Russia. The purpose of the meeting was to set priorities for conducting the war against Germany and Japan.

“At that meeting, the decision was made for our naval forces to launch a series of attacks against key Pacific islands held by the Japanese. The key Japanese islands were defined as those where the Japanese had constructed airfields from which their aircraft could control our sea routes as we moved across the Pacific. The first of those attacks was in November of last year when we invaded the island of Tarawa. Our Marines took terrible losses in that battle. In fact, the American public was shocked. They were asking why we wasted so many lives on such a small, seemingly unimportant island. The public soon understood as our aircraft began operating from the captured airfield on Tarawa, protecting our sea routes and our carriers from what would have been land-based Japanese aircraft. The plan was intended to eventually defeat the Japanese.” He stopped, looking at us. “Any questions so far?”

A question came from the back of the room. “Joe, are you saying that we’ll take every airfield that the Japs have built in the Pacific?”

“No, some we’ll just bypass. If the airfield is no threat to our advance in the central Pacific, we will not invade the island. The Navy planners use the term ‘island hopping.’ We will, though, keep those airfields we bypass under attack by aircraft based on the fields we have captured. The constant attacks will cut off all supplies to the enemy. We won’t need to invade them since they will no longer be a threat to our forces.”

He stopped, poured a cup of coffee, took a sip and continued. “Let me bring you all up-to-date on our forces. Believe me, we have enough to do the job. When we launched the invasion of Tarawa, we had 17 carriers involved in the attack.” He looked at me. “Norm, it’s a hell of a lot different than when you and I were on old
Chenango
. Remember operating around Guadalcanal in early 1943? We had the carrier USS
Enterprise
and three Chenango-class carriers. Those were converted oil tankers with a top speed of 18 knots.”