Sunshine and smooth seas characterized the first few hours out of Honolulu. We then entered an area dominated by the northwest storm track. Several fronts were reported, extending from Alaska to the southeast. Clouds began to lower, and the seas to rise. For the rest of the journey we would see nothing but stormy weather and rough seas.

 

As we progressed, I had time to review and evaluate the past few months. During the process I recalled many incidents, both sad and funny, which cannot be tied to a specific date or place. Some will be recounted in the next few paragraphs.

 

When not flying, or on reserve, many pilots (including myself) used to stand on the Air Officer's Bridge and watch the returning pilots land. It was during these times that I witnessed several rather gruesome incidents.

 

As we were returning to Ulithi aboard the Essex, a CAP was launched. Shortly after join up, one of the pilots radioed that he couldn't get suction on three of his tanks, and requested permission to land. As he touched down and caught a wire, his belly tank hit one of the metal cleats on the deck. This caused a spark that ignited the overflow from the tank. The plane was instantaneously engulfed in flame. The pilot seemed to be stunned, and made no attempt to get out of the cockpit. By the time the deck crews had reduced the flames sufficiently to rescue the pilot from the cockpit, he was burned over much of his body. He was removed to sick bay, but by the time we arrived at Ulithi he was dead.

 

During one of the Strikes on Japan, Air Group Three launched its fighters. Shortly after take off, Bill McElroy experienced trouble getting suction in his tanks. Bill radioed for an emergency landing and came in. He was loaded with a 500 pound bomb, six 5-inch HVAC rockets, and 400 hundred gallons of gas. Bill knew he might have trouble with such a heavily loaded plane. When he landed, the belly tank hit a cleat and the plane burst into flames. Almost before the fire was noticed, Bill had jumped out of the cockpit and ran for the tip of the wing, jumped off, and if a deck hand hadn't stopped him, would probably have ended up going off the deck into the sea. We all had a good laugh over this one.

 

Another time while standing on the Bridge, the guns of a landing plane shorted out and sprayed the Island Structure with .50 caliber bullets. The place I occupied was sufficiently elevated so that none of the bullets struck in my vicinity, but two of the deck crew just outside the Island were wounded. After that, I was extremely careful where I stood.

 

Original policy had been for returning flights to jettison, into the sea, any unexpended ordnance. After deciding this was a great waste of ammunition, rockets, and bombs, we were directed to land aboard with all unused ordnance.

 

One day, after returning from a sweep, I landed aboard, rolled out of the gear, and taxied to the forward area of the deck to park. After parking, I crawled out on the wing, reached back into the cockpit for my plotting board and stepped down toward the deck. Just before my foot touched the deck, I heard a whooshing noise. As I looked down, a five-inch rocket whipped by exactly where I had aimed my foot. I clutched the side of the plane, pulled myself up and looked around. The plane that had just landed was still in the arresting gear, and the deck hands were running around in consternation. It seems the landing plane had four rockets left, and as the arresting gear stopped it, three of the rockets flew free and zipped down the deck. After that I always looked around and made sure the spot, where I intended to step, was clear.

 

For both take off and landing the cockpit canopy was always left open to facilitate escape in case of an accident. For landing, I always elevated my seat so that my head was very slightly above the height of the canopy cover. This made it easier to see the Landing Signal Officer. The canopy was opened and closed by a rotating crank. When the canopy was fully open, a nipple on the crank fitted into a hole. This was supposed to prevent the canopy from slamming closed when the arresting gear stopped the plane.

 

On this particular day, I made what I thought was a beautiful carrier landing. Suddenly something hit me in the head and everything took on a soft rosy glow. I could see the deck hand giving me the signal to gun the engine and exit the arresting gear. I couldn't seem to obey his signal. Finally, my head began to clear, and I realized the canopy had snapped closed and whacked me a good blow to the head. After parking, I investigated and found the nipple had sheared off. Later all planes had a metal bar installed which could be moved in front of the canopy when in the open position. This bar was sufficiently strong that a sudden stop would not result in a failure.

 

On another day an incident occurred, which could have been fatal. The "Pilots man your planes" had sounded over the loudspeaker, and we all rushed to the flight deck in preparation for a strike on Formosa. After starting my engine, I began to check controls, instruments and gas supply. The gauge for my right tank indicated half-full. This bothered me so I called the plane captain up to the cockpit and showed him the gauge. I asked him to remove the tank cap and check visually. After looking in the tank he signaled that it was full. I was happy because I didn't want to abort the flight. After being airborne for a while on the right tank, I noticed the gas gauge began to drop from the half-full position. I realized the tank had been only half full when I took off. I switched tanks to allow the overflow to bleed into the right tank. During the flight I burned the gas from my other three tanks. Finally I had to switch back to the right tank, many miles from the carrier. As we were returning to the Task Group, I watched the tank approach zero, with no ships in sight. When I finally entered the traffic pattern, the gauge was registering zero. My fear was that the engine would quit while I was in my landing approach behind the carrier. Finally I was in position for a cut, but because the plane landing before me was still in the gear, I received a wave off. A wave off is mandatory, but I knew I couldn't make it around for another landing, so I defied the wave off and landed. As I was given the signal to taxi out of the arresting gear, I gunned the engine and it quit. The fact that I had run out of gas in the arresting gear was the only thing that saved me from some sort of disciplinary action for not obeying the wave off.

 

The plane captain and I had a long talk after that incident. He swore he had topped off all the tanks, but under normal conditions I should have had at least forty gallons left when I came aboard.

 

As part of our flight gear, we were issued beautiful, white scarves, about two feet wide and 8 or 9 feet long. They were great neck protectors during high altitude flights in winter weather. They were long enough to wrap around the neck two or three times. During one combat mission, I had been rather busy in the cockpit, and I guess I had allowed the scarf to become partially unwrapped. As I flew my downwind leg preparing to land, I rolled back the canopy. Immediately the wind whipped the loose end of the scarf outside the plane and along the fuselage. That action automatically pulled my head to the rear and outer edge of the cockpit. The scarf drew tight and I was gasping for breath, while I tried to untangle myself. I finally freed the scarf, which floated away, and I finished the landing. So much for long scarves in the cockpit.

 

Of all the things encountered by carrier based planes in the Pacific, the most daunting was anti-aircraft fire. The Japs, like all combatants, had surrounded their land based targets with a full complement of anti-aircraft batteries. These batteries of weapons included large guns, up to 5-inch, which could reach to more than 20,000 feet and hurl explosive charges which fragmented into shrapnel; medium sized guns similar to our 40 mm's; smaller guns similar to our 20 mm's; and machine guns similar to our .30 caliber weapons. In addition the soldiers stationed around the installations fired rifles.

 

As a plane diving on a Jap installation neared the ground, the smaller, faster firing guns were brought into play. During the dive, it was possible to watch the approaching fire, highlighted by the use of tracers. The pilot knew that each little flash of light represented a bullet heading his way. Once committed to a dive, there was no way to outmaneuver the oncoming fire. All the pilot could do was dive steeply, in order to present the smallest possible target, and hope the enemy gunners were not properly leading the target.

 

To dive into this curtain of fire, day after day, was probably the most nerve wracking experience carrier based pilots had to face.

 

In contrast, aerial combat presented better odds. Aerial combat pitted man against man, and plane against plane. Combatants were free to maneuver to the best of their ability, with the hope of scoring hits on the opponent. The outcome, to a large extent, depended upon the skill and ability of the pilot. In diving on a military installation, survival was totally a matter of chance.