My Carrier War (18 page)

Am I afraid of dying? No, I’m not afraid! I’m too good a pilot...too
well-trained. It can’t happen to me. It won’t! I have Jean and our baby.
It won’t happen to me...it just won’t!

The meeting broke up as the pilots from the bombing squadron left for their ready room in another area of the squadron hangar. We all had a flight schedule to meet. I saw that I was on the schedule for FCLP right after lunch. After that morning meeting though, the rest of the day was just routine. All I could think about was Jean leaving for Bremerton.

On the drive home, Bill and I decided we’d tell the girls about the squadron leaving for the Pacific right after dinner. Both the girls took the news quietly. There were no tears, only an acceptance of what they both knew was going to happen. Bill and I were going to the war.

Before Norm leaves, a formal photo.

The evening dissolved into a planning session: train reservations for the girls to go home, Jean to Bremerton, Betty to Spokane, Washington; closing the apartment, all the little details that had to be done; packages to be sent via Railway Express; clothes to be carried on the train. Jean and I agreed on a departure date. We decided on December 8, 1942. I felt this would allow us extra time in case reservations were hard to get. I told Jean I would arrange for the tickets through the Navy, as Bill would do for Betty.

That night, as Jean and I slowly undressed each other for bed, holding one another, we realized it would be like this for only a few more days. So little time to express how we both felt: our excitement about our baby, our enduring love for one another, and my promise that I would return to Jean and our child.

Before we knew it, it was time for Jean to leave. I took her to the train station in the official car. It didn’t seem possible that it had been only ten days since our Thanksgiving party. We still laughed, though, about the skipper’s car. “Is this official business, Norm?” Jean asked, but I could see a few tears as we parked the car. I said good-bye to my Jean that morning. As I waited on the train platform looking at my love waving good-bye from a train window, I felt my tears come. I had to make it back to her. I had to! I missed Jean, but I was relieved, too. I sensed Jean may have felt the same way. She was going home to have her baby and that was her priority. Now, I could concentrate on flying off a carrier and coming back alive. I would miss her and I loved her, but I had a job to do. I wanted to get it over with and to get back home.

According to the telegram I received at the squadron, Jean arrived safely in Seattle three days later. I was relieved she had had such a good trip. With so much military activity, train travel was often difficult. I didn’t learn until I received my first letter from Jean how she’d managed it. She had an uncle who worked for the Great Northern Railroad and he lived Seattle, so she called him from Chicago, which was as far as her Norfolk train reservation was valid. He arranged a bedroom for her on a train from Chicago to Seattle. Her letter read, “Norm, I traveled with twelve Army Air Force pilots. They took turns taking me to the dining car. Darling, I had a great trip. They were properly impressed when I told them I was married to the best naval aviator in the fleet.” I remember how much I loved her first letter.

The next few days were hectic. I had two more flights of FCLP. Man, I was ready for that carrier! I was getting all “Roger passes.” I also received an unexpected opportunity. Lieutenant Malanosky, our LSO, asked me if I’d like to fly the SBD, which was the type of plane that sank the Japanese carriers at the Battle of Midway. My log book showed two flights on December 5, 1942. I took that bird up to 10,000 feet and really did some practice dive-bombing. It was sure different from glide-bombing with the TBF! With the SBD, my dives were straight down, not the shallow dive we used with the TBF. I remember thinking, as I landed the SBD, that maybe I could get transferred to the dive-bomber squadron. No, I think the skipper wanted me in torpeckers [torpedo pilots].

An SBD - Navy dive-bomber, Douglas Aircraft Co.

Finally, on December 10, 1942, I was on the flight schedule for carrier quals. There were six of us scheduled for the afternoon flight. We were all in the ready room in the squadron hangar at the Naval Air Station when the morning flight returned. What a bunch of hot pilots. All six had qualified on USS
Ranger
. Bill Austin was one. “A real breeze, Norm. Nothing to it,” he yelled at me from across the room.

The ready room quieted down as the morning flight left for lunch. I didn’t feel like eating—a little nervous I guess. We’d been briefed about USS
Ranger
and the procedures we would follow for our carrier qualification flights. I decided to review my notes on the briefing before flying out to Ranger for the actual carrier qualification landings.

Ranger
’s flight deck was 634 feet long. The deck area used for landings took up about one-third the total flight deck. The landing area had nine arresting cables stretched across the deck. These cables were designed to stop the aircraft on landing. All our carrier planes had a tail hook attached to the back and at the bottom of the fuselage. As a plane landed, the hook would engage one of the cables. The cables were held about three inches off the flight deck by curved metal lifts. Each cable was attached to a hydraulic piston located below the flight deck. Each of the nine cables was set at a different hydraulic pressure. The first cable, for example, would give a fairly soft stop on landing; however, if the ninth cable was engaged because the plane landed long, the plane would stop like it had hit a brick wall. Just past the ninth cable were two barriers that could be raised or lowered by personnel standing at the barrier controls. When aircraft were landing, these barriers were raised. They were designed to stop any aircraft that failed to hook an arresting cable. If the aircraft landed safely, the barriers would be lowered. I knew, when my chance came to qualify aboard, my goal was to land so the plane would engage the first arresting cable.

As I turned to another page in my notes, I felt I needed to review the procedures I would follow after my first landing. I knew I would be expected to get ready to make a takeoff from the carrier. Each pilot needed six landings to be carrier-qualified. Flight operations would continue until all six of us had made our six landings.

After landing, the first action would be a flight deck sailor would detach the tail hook from the arresting cable. The pilot would then retract the plane’s landing flaps, retract the tail hook, and unlock the plane’s tail wheel. A flight deck director would approach the aircraft, signal the pilot to taxi ahead to the take-off spot. Once at the take-off spot, the flight deck director would signal the pilot by raising his arm and holding up two fingers. The pilot would stand on the plane brakes by pushing on the top of the rudder pedals, go to half power on the throttle and go over the take-off checklist, which consisted of about six items listed on a metal plaque on the instrument panel. The pilot would then give a thumbs-up signal to the flight deck director that he was ready for take off.

Control of the aircraft was then passed to the flight deck officer. This officer, wearing a bright yellow shirt, would take a position to the right of the aircraft where he had a clear view of the pilot in the plane’s cockpit. He would confirm that the flight deck was clear and would then raise his arm and start to twirl his hand with three fingers extended. This was the signal to go to full power on the plane’s engine. One final check of the instruments, and the pilot would salute the flight control officer to indicate, “I’m ready for take off.” The flight control officer would then turn and point his arm toward the bow of the ship. The pilot would release the brakes and fly the aircraft off the deck, making a slight right turn and begin to climb to 500 feet where he would then reenter the flight pattern around the carrier and prepare for another landing.

Suddenly, I heard, “Hey, Berg, better get your flight gear. It’s time to get those landings in and you’re our mighty leader. Let’s go!” I tossed my briefing notes aside and quickly got into my flight gear, which was all in my locker at the back of the ready room.

We each had a navigation chart board at our chairs as we did the navigation planning to take off from Norfolk and rendezvous with
Ranger
. She was operating about 65 miles due east of the air station at Norfolk. I called flight operations to check the weather and was given a report of: ceiling 2,500 feet broken; visibility twelve miles; wind from the southeast at twelve knots. When I asked about a weather report from
Ranger
, the reply was, “Sorry, we don’t have a weather report from Ranger.”

Despite this, I decided to launch, assuming the weather at Ranger would be OK for carrier work. All six planes were airborne and joined me in two three-plane sections a little after 1300 hours. I set up a heading of 087 degrees and headed for Ranger’s estimated position. After about 15 minutes, the ceiling began to lower. To stay clear of the clouds, I reduced altitude until we were flying about 500 feet above the ocean. Visibility was dropping too, and some raindrops began striking my wind screen.

Using my call sign and
Ranger
’s call sign, “Papa,” I radioed the rest of the flight. “Alpha flight, this is Bull. Close up. Contacting Papa One now.” The five other planes tightened up the formation. My two wingmen practically had their wing tips in my cockpit!

“Papa One, this is Alpha flight. ETA at Papa twelve minutes. Request weather conditions. Over.”

Very quickly, I received a reply, “Alpha flight operations canceled due to weather. Return to base. Out.”

“Alpha flight, this is Bull. Returning to base due to weather. Turning to a heading of 267 degrees. Maintaining 500 feet. Turning now.”

By the time we got back to the air station, the ceiling was down to 1,000 feet, and it was raining. I made the landing, taxied up our flight line and shut down. I just sat there for a few minutes. So much for carrier quals.

It was kinda of hairy out there. The guys did good. Nobody panicked. No one broke away on their own. Good discipline. We’re all home safe. I’ll buy the first round tonight. I must admit I’m looking forward to being with the guys. Squadron spirit is so important and so is discipline. This outfit has both. It’s going to be a great cruise!

The squadron’s next scheduled carrier quals were set for 12 December 1942. This time I rode as a passenger in the radio compartment of George Hartman’s TBF. George was a classmate from Corpus and the ferry command and a fine pilot. I trusted him. There were six planes in this flight. I was in the radio compartment of George’s plane as the flight headed out to Ranger,which was still operating off the coast of Norfolk. The plan was that after George completed his first landings, I would get out of his plane and wait on the ship until he completed five more landings. Then we would switch places and I’d take his plane and do my landings. George dropped me off after his first landing. I headed for the flying bridge, one deck below the ship’s bridge where
Range
r’s captain controlled the flight operations. I watched the landings until I saw George make his sixth landing. It was time to head down to the flight deck.

As George made his sixth landing, he followed the directions of the flight deck director to the take-off spot where I was waiting. We were ready to switch pilots. A flight deck sailor quickly put wheel chocks in front of the plane’s landing gear to keep it from moving. The plane’s engine was not shut down as George and I quickly changed places. I got settled onto the parachute and the seat belt and hooked up the plane’s radio to my helmet. The flight director gave me the signal to add power, brakes on, tail hook up, wing flaps down. The wheel chocks were removed.

Then the flight deck officer in his yellow shirt raised his arm above his head and he began rotating his hand, three fingers extended. He was looking at me, waiting. I checked my instruments, all OK. I flipped him a hand salute, his arm dropped, pointing forward as I went to full power and released the plane’s brakes. Man, that ocean looked mighty close as I cleared the flight deck and made the slight right turn and climbed to 500 feet. I was ready for my first carrier landing. I turned to the downwind leg: gear down; tail hook down; landing flaps down; altitude 300 feet; air speed 85 knots.