“We’re headed back to Pearl,” crowed Rocky Aldridge as he set his tray across the table from me. His plate was heavily loaded with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy—even cranberry sauce. It was Thanksgiving Day, 25 November, 1943, and the cooks in the officer’s mess had outdone themselves.
“Bull.” It was all I could manage to say with my mouth full of turkey. After a minute I added, “Where did you hear that scuttlebutt, Rocky? You know that rumors travel faster than truth on a Navy ship.”
“It’s for real, no rumor, Lou. A few minutes ago I reported to CAG on Prifly and overheard Jocko talking to Baldy Pownall. We’ve been recalled to Pearl for R&R, and refitting and replenishment.”
“I’ll bet we come right back here,” said George Coltrain. “There are more islands and atolls in the Marshall and Gilbert groups than there are fleas on a dog. And the Japs own most of them. The jarheads are doing a great job, but they need us—carrier-based air support. The Seabees have got a couple of runways set up but it’s not enough. If we’re gonna snatch the islands away from Tojo, it will take fleet carriers and navy pilots.”
At that moment I felt a sharp pain in my back and I grimaced.
“Are you okay, Lou? You look pale,” observed Rocky.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Every once in a while I get a blast of pain in my lower back, but it usually goes away pretty quickly.”
“Maybe you ought to have it checked out.”
“Naah. I’m fine.”
Jimmy Armstrong sat next to Rocky and dove into his food with a passion.
“Whoa, buddy. What’s the hurry?” asked Coltrain. “This fine cuisine is to be savored, not wolfed down.”
Rocky smirked, “Maybe he’s afraid someone’s gonna steal his plate.”
Jimmy chewed for a moment, swallowed, and then said, “No, I just don’t want to miss the show.”
“Show? What show?” I asked.
“Just before I came into the Wardroom mess, I was standing out on the starboard catwalk. We are overtaking a fleet oiler on our starboard quarter. I think they’re about to do a RAS, and I want to watch.”
“RAS?”
“Replenishment At Sea, Lou. Have you ever watched one?” Coltrain explained. When I shook my head, Coltrain said, “It’s worth watching at least once. It’s pretty cool.” So we all finished our Thanksgiving dinner, then traipsed down to the hangar deck.
**********
A chief petty officer motioned us over to a spot where we’d be out of the way. A bosun was running the evolution, using a megaphone as he barked out directions to the deck gang.
“Watch this, Lou,” Coltrain explained. “That fellow over there is attaching a light line, called the gun line, to a throw-weight. Using a special gun, he’ll fire the throw-weight over to the oiler. Their crew will attach the gun line to a stronger, heavier messenger line, and then our boys will pull the line back. They’ll be pulling heavier and stronger lines, until fin-”
A loud bang interrupted him. I could see the projectile (it looked to be about the size of a beer can) flying over to the oiler, trailing a thin black line. The oiler’s crew then bent the gun line onto a heavier messenger line. I watched as the Yorktown’s deck crew pulled progressively heavier lines back until finally a thick stranded steel cable connected the two ships. By this time there were several additional lines running between the two ships. A fuel line was suspended on the steel cable and pulled across the hundred feet or so that separated us from the oiler. Hanging from several of the other cables were heavy pallets of supplies being pulled across to the hangar deck.
“Anyway,” Coltrain continued, “that ship is a one-stop-shop. It’s a combination gas station, grocery store, and ammo dump. Those fleet oilers enable us to stay at sea indefinitely.”
“Well, the admirals might think that’s a good thing, but me? Not so much,” admitted Rocky. “As for me, I’m looking forward to a couple of days of R&R at Pearl. I hope this RAS doesn’t give the brass any ideas about extending our cruise.”
**********
“Wait a minute. Pearl’s that way,” Rocky said, “not this way. What gives?”
We were standing on the catwalk watching the sunset. The carrier and all of our screening cruisers and destroyers had been zig-zagging as was usually done in a combat zone. The frequent changes of direction were designed to frustrate enemy submarines by throwing off their approach and their target solutions. But the sweeping turn to the northwest just made by the whole carrier group could not be explained by zig-zagging.
“Something’s up,” Jimmy Armstrong said.
“Wonder if it has anything to do with the scout plane that landed ten minutes ago?” I said.
“I’ll bet it does. And I bet we’re not going to like what it means.”
A few minutes later the 1MC came alive with the piercing bosun’s whistle. “NOW HEAR THIS, NOW HEAR THIS. PILOTS REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR READY ROOMS. THAT IS ALL.”
“Uh-oh,” Rocky sighed. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Hustling to the ready room, we took our places along with our fellow fighter pilots and Commander Owen. Someone called out, “What’s this all about Commander?”
He held up his hands. “Hold on, men. I don’t know anymore than you do, except that the Air Combat Intelligence officer (ACI) is handling the briefing, going to each ready room in turn. So sit tight, I’m sure he’ll tell us all about it when he gets to us.”
A few minutes later Commander Kirk entered the room. We scrambled to stand at attention, but he waved a “cut” signal with his hands and said, “As you were, men. Please be seated.
“Sorry, boys, but we’re not going back to Pearl. Not yet, anyway” he announced. The ready room filled with groans and muttering.
“We’re not going to Pearl,” Rocky muttered under his breath. “I just knew it!”
Kirk looked apologetic. “Listen, men, I know you’re tired—we all are. But we’ve just been presented with a fat, rich target, something that will set back the Jap’s defense of the Marshalls, maybe permanently.
“This morning at Admiral Pownall’s request, CAG sent an Avenger to overfly Kwajalein and photograph the shipping in the atoll. The scout landed about thirty minutes ago with a report that’s just too juicy to pass up. That atoll is one of the largest anchorages in the Pacific, and it is jam-packed with shipping—troop carriers, oilers, ocean-going barges, transports, warships, virtually every class of ship in the Japanese order of battle, except for battleships or carriers.
“Gentlemen, Jocko Clark wants us to sink every ship in that lagoon. There are numerous seaplanes there as well, a smorgasbord of targets of opportunity.
“There’s just one catch, men. Kwajalein is a hornets’ nest of Zeroes. The place is literally buzzing with them. And what’s more, they know we’re here so there’s no advantage of surprise. Having three American fleet carriers within range of their torpedo bombers is every Jap pilot’s dream come true. I can guarantee you they want payback for what happened at Midway.
“Our Task Group should expect regular attacks from them probably starting tonight. We are planning on ruining their day. They are planning on ruining ours. They know where we are, and we know where they are. So there’s going to be no rest for the wicked the next two days or so. Captain Clark says we’ll have to fight our way in, and we’ll have to fight our way out.
“Gentlemen, we are going to need your special skills in order to survive the next forty-eight hours or so. We’ll be counting on you. If you’re not scheduled for a CAP in the next few hours, I recommend you get some sleep while you can. You’re going to need it.”
“Thanks, Commander Kirk” said Lieutenant Commander Ed Owen. He had taken over command of VF-5 while Commander Crommelin recovered from his injuries.
“Beginning with tomorrow morning’s CAP, each fighter squadron in the task group will be launching six planes instead of four, and each carrier will have six additional Hellcats spotted and armed and ready to launch as needed.”
**********
“BLUE-FOUR-ONE, this is CAIRO-BASE. Possible inbound bogey two-zero miles, your eleven o’clock, angels twenty.”
“Copy that CAIRO-BASE. Inbound bogey, two-zero miles, angels twenty. Investigating.”
“BLUE-FOUR, this is BLUE-FOUR-ONE. Increase to speed ‘Gate’, maintain altitude, maintain formation.”
This sounds interesting, I thought as I pushed the throttle forward. It had been an otherwise uneventful CAP and it’s easy to get bored. Other than a few scattered clouds down at angels fifteen it was a fairly clear evening. The moon and stars overhead provided enough light so that keeping formation was not too much of a challenge as long as you kept your head in the game.
Commander Owen was leading the CAP tonight. I was flying wing for Lieutenant Bozard. Lately Boz had been picking me pretty regularly to be his wingman. I must admit, I was rather proud of that fact.
“BLUE-FOUR, this is BLUE-FOUR-ONE. First guy to lay eyes on that bogie, your next two beers are on me.”
Well, that did it. When Owen upped the ante, we all tuned in. We searched and searched but came up with nothing. Was it a bogie, a bandit, or just a bad radar operator? No telling.
“BLUE-FOUR-ONE, this is CAIRO-BASE. Lost contact. Resume standard patrol.”
Nuts. So much for the extra beer.
Two hours later I was on the down-wind leg, preparing to land. As I came around on the final upwind approach I was momentarily distracted by the trail of phosphorescence trailing behind the carrier. It’s something you only get to see if you’re landing after dark. It struck me first how beautiful it was, and second, how few guys get to see it from the perspective of a night landing. I’m a lucky man.
I forced my eyes and thoughts back to the LSO with his illuminated paddles, made my corrections and caught the second wire.
**********
The Air Combat Intelligence officer pointed to a large map of Wotje Atoll. “Gentlemen, standing between us and Kwajalein are the airfields of the Wotje atoll. Wotje hosts a large seaplane base and many first-line fighters. If we want to drop a hammer on Kwajalein, we must get past the fighters and air defenses of Wotje. It is a literal beehive of Zeroes. While those Zeroes are a tempting target for you fighter pilots, remember that your primary mission is to escort the bombers to that big anchorage on Kwajalein. The Zekes on Wotje will attempt to break up the bomber formations. You must not allow them to do that.” The ACI finished his briefing, and then we started getting ready for the mad dash across the deck to our aircraft.
I checked the status board and saw that once again I was listed as Lieutenant Bozard’s wingman. As I was struggling into my Mae West, Bozard walked over and put his hand on my shoulder.
“Lou, a month ago you were a replacement pilot in VF-5. Not any more. The training time is over. I requested you as my wingman because you’re a fine pilot, you’ve proven yourself, and I trust you. You’re not a replacement pilot, not any more. You’re a member of VF-5 through and through. Make us proud, Lou.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. I’m honored. I’ll do my best.”
As I thought about it, the irony of the situation struck me and I chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just that for the last month your job has been to keep me out of trouble. Now, as your wingman, it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”
He grinned. “Don’t get cocky, Cobb. Let’s just see if you can keep up with me.”
I turned and checked the ready room clock then synchronized my watch to it. Turning back to him, I chuckled. “Challenge accepted, Boz.”
Just then the 1MC sounded, “PILOTS, MAN YOUR AIRCRAFT!”
“See you on top, Lieutenant.” I grabbed my flight bag and went up the ladder to the flight deck.
Soon the command blared over the loudspeaker, “PILOTS, START YOUR ENGINES.” Swiftly going through the engine-start checklist, I nodded at my plane captain. He did a visual safety check, then twirled his right baton, signalling me to start. I pressed the starter and the Hellcat roared to life.
Hellcats were always spotted forward on the flight deck because we need less room to get airborne. The heavier bombers were spotted further toward the stern, providing them with a maximum runway for take-off.
“LAUNCH AIRCRAFT!” bellowed the loudspeaker, and in no time I was following Lieutenant Bozard’s Hellcat up to our rendezvous point.
**********
“SCARLET-ONE-ONE, this is CAIRO-BASE. Radar contact, twenty bandits forming up, your two-o’clock, angels fifteen, distance twenty-five miles.”
“CAIRO-BASE, this is SCARLET-ONE-ONE. Copy that, bandits at two-o’clock, angels fifteen, twenty-file miles.
“SCARLET SQUADRON, this is SCARLET-ONE-ONE. Remember your job. Protect the bombers,” advised Commander Owen, who was leading the fighter squadron on this strike.
The Japs didn’t have enough time to climb above us at twenty-five angels and so they attacked from below, trying to splinter the formations of our torpedo and dive bombers. In no time we were weaving in and among them, breaking up their attack. It was a regular melee. You had to have your head mounted on a swivel just to avoid colliding with other aircraft.
“SCARLET-FOUR-FOUR, got one on my tail,” Bozard said, using my call sign.
The opposition might not have broken up the bomber formations, but our fighters were scattered like a handful of coins tossed onto the deck as we sought to blunt their attack. I saw Lieutenant Bozard about five hundred feet below me, twisting and turning as he brought his guns to bear on an enemy fighter, even as a Zero was on Bozard’s tail, matching his movements.
“I’m on him, Boz.” I hit the water injector, getting a burst of power, and dove after Bozard’s tormentor. Overtaking the Zero, I led it in a deflection shot. My machine guns connected, chewing a small hunk out of his tail. He broke off his pursuit of Bozard and ducked into a cloud. After that I lost him. It wasn’t a kill, but at least I got some lead into him and chased him away from Bozard.
All around me, Zeroes were being flamed. I counted at least five that were splashed—I later found out that our fighters had shot down eight Zekes, with a loss of just one Hellcat.
The Japanese attack was broken up and we continued toward Kwajalein. Two of our bombers were trailing smoke and reported injury to the flight crews. They jettisoned their ordnance and broke off, returning to the carrier.
The rest of our fighters and bombers continued on to Kwajalein. While the anti-aircraft fire was fierce over the atoll, there weren’t as many Japanese fighters in the air. Apparently they’d shifted them to Wotje, trying to head off our assault. Well—it didn’t work. Our bombers turned the Kwajalein runways into rubble and craters, then they started working on the shipping in the lagoon. They were scoring in a big way. After expending their ordnance they returned to the carriers, taking a more southerly route back to avoid the Zeroes on Wotje. When the bombers had exited, all of us fighters were turned loose on targets of opportunity.
I followed Boz down to the deck and made two passes at three hundred feet, silencing a pair of anti-aircraft emplacements.
“SCARLET-FOUR-FOUR, take out those seaplanes on the ramp before they can launch.”
“Copy that, SCARLET-FOUR-THREE. Roger wilco.”
I’d just finished my run on the AA emplacements, so I did a wingover and came back for a run on the seaplanes. I could see the props on several Kawanishi H8Ks (the Allied reporting name was ‘Emily’) spinning up. Diving down to about one-hundred feet, I stitched a pattern of destruction with my fifty cals across those big aircraft, leaving three of them engulfed in flames.
As I pulled out of my run I felt my Hellcat shake and heard something that sounded like a handful of ball-bearings being tossed onto a metal roof. The controls got a bit sluggish and my hydraulics were gone. I realized that one of their anti-aircraft guns had scored several hits on me.
I thought, I’m still flying, and I’m not losing gas. I’ve got some ammo left. Maybe I’ll take one more strafing run and return the favor to that AA emplacement.
Doing another wingover, I came around and focused on the machine-gun emplacement that must have scored on me. I bored right in on him, squeezing the trigger until my guns were empty. I remember seeing Japs diving over the sandbags, trying to evade the relentless stream of death I was sending their way.
**********
“CAIRO-BASE, this is SCARLET-FOUR-FOUR. I’ve lost my hydraulics, can’t lower the gear. Please advise.” I was orbiting in the landing pattern over the carrier with the rest of the aircraft returning from the strike.
There was momentary silence. I’m guessing the FDO was discussing with Prifly what they wanted me to do. Then the radio crackled, “This is CAIRO-BASE. Recommend that you ditch.”
“Roger that, CAIRO-BASE. Will ditch.”
Oh, brother. I really didn’t want to get my feet wet, but the carrier didn’t want me to risk fouling the flight deck with a crash landing. So I started descending, aiming off to the side of one of our screening destroyers and setting the controls for landing in the sea.
“SCARLET-FOUR-FOUR, this is CAIRO-BASE. Belay that last order. What is your ordnance situation?”
“CAIRO-BASE, my guns are empty, my ordnance expended.”
“Roger that, SCARLET-FOUR-FOUR. Orbit until all other aircraft are recovered, then attempt a wheels-up landing on the carrier.”
A few minutes later I was in the groove on my upwind final. I noticed that aft of the barrier the deck was clear of aircraft and a damage control party with fire extinguishers in hand was standing by. My eyes were glued to the LSO, but my controls were sluggish and I had to fight the aircraft to stay on course.
I got the cut and killed the engine. The plane fell like a brick and slammed into the deck, skidding forward, trailing a shower of sparks, until I was jerked to a stop by the barrier. Instantly the damage control party surrounded the aircraft, hosing it down with fire extinguishers. Surprised to find myself in one piece, I clambered out of the cockpit and jumped down to the deck. However, my legs were like rubber and I fell to the deck. Guess I was a little more nervous than I realized.
Commander Owen helped me up. “Lou, Jocko wants to see you on the bridge.”
Still a little wobbly, I made my way to the bridge. “Captain Clark, you wished to see me?”
He turned around. “Well done, Cobb. While everyone was landing ahead of you, Lieutenant Bozard filled me in on your heroics at Kwajalein. I’m putting you in for an Air Medal. This is probably the only time you’ll be rewarded for crash-landing on a carrier. Try not to make a habit of it.” With the slightest hint of a smile, he winked at me and turned away.
**********
That night the Japanese attacked the carriers in force, and it was a very close thing. While our CAPs shot down many of the Jap torpedo bombers, enough of them got through the pickets to start their targetting runs on our ships. Our gun tubs were firing non-stop, and the whole Task Group was raising a curtain of hot steel. As the torpedo bombers approached mere feet above the water, the depressed elevation of our guns meant our anti-aircraft fire was actually hitting our own screening cruisers a thousand yards distant.
The Yorktown narrowly avoided getting hit, the final attacker being shot down not fifty yards from the ship. The Lexington (CV-16) was not so lucky, but took a torpedo on the starboard side, killing nine crew members and destroying her steering. Nevertheless, she was still able to maneuver under her own power. The Task Group set an easterly course.
Finally, we were heading back to Pearl.
