LAUNCHING ACTIVITIES
The aircraft have all been “spotted” (placed in their take-off position by blue-shirted Airdales, i.e., plane pushers). When Flight Quarters sounds (the bugles sounds, then the Boatswain’s pipe sounds, and then he intones, “Now all hands, man your flight quarter stations”), the pilots jog out to their aircraft. The brown- shirted plane captains strap them in the cockpit and the loudspeaker again intones, “Now all hands, stand clear of propellers, prepare to start engines, start engines.” If not already there, the Airdales go to an unoccupied wheelchock. After a period of time of warming up the engines, the yellow-shirted aircraft director indicates to the Airdale to pull the wheelchock of the first aircraft to launch. The yellow-shirt passes this aircraft along to the next yellow-shirt farther up the flight deck, to the point where the plane will be launched. All this is done by hand-signals, and all the while the Airdale proceeds along side the aircraft with wheelchock in hand (in case, for any reason, he’s told by hand signals to place the wheelchock back around the wheel). Once in this position, a yellow-shirted air officer takes control of the aircraft: by hand signals, he tells the pilot to rev up the engine. When it sounds right, and when the pilot gives a thumbs-up, the air officer strides forward while thrusting his arm forward to tell the pilot to release his brakes and proceed with the takeoff. The aircraft roared down the 420 feet of flight deck to gradually lift off. The ship’s speed, plus the existing wind velocity combined to give the pilot 35 mph air velocity in addition to his own speed. This process would be repeated every 20-30 seconds until all ninety or so aircraft were launched.
Part of this process requires the use of the deckedge elevator, as well as to some extent both the forward and aft elevators. These elevators take aircraft from the hangar deck to the flight deck. One elevator is close to and aft of the island, one is opposite the island, on the port side edge of the flight deck, and one is up forward in the middle of the flight deck. Each elevator is operated by a green-shirt. The turn-around-time for an elevator is 45 seconds: 12.5 seconds to descend to the hangar deck, 10 seconds for the aircraft to taxi onto the elevator, 12.5 seconds to ascend to the flight deck and 10 seconds to taxi off the elevator. These elevators were operated by hydraulic pistons and by hydraulic cables and pulleys on the deckedge elevator.
Previous to the above process, when the flight deck is packed cheek-to -jowl with aircraft, the deckedge and the forward elevators were used to bring aircraft from the hangar deck to the flight deck, up forward. (The engines would already be revving up on the hangar deck so as not to waste any time. The hangar deck had large metal “curtains” that could be rolled up overhead so that running engines wouldn’t asphyxiate those on the hangar deck. The aircraft brought up on the forward elevator would be launched by catapults, two of which were situated in a 90-foot slot within the forward part of the flight deck. These too were operated by the green-shirts, but it was the blue-shirted Airdales that muscled the aircraft into precisely the correct position. Within the slot would run an hydraulically powered shuttle. A sturdy cable would loop around the shuttle and around two cleats on the aircraft. There was a bar, connected to another cleat
236
attached to the flight deck and also to the tailsectionof the aircraft, to restrain the aircraft while it was giving full power to its engine. The yellow-shirt air officer would go through the same pre-launch hand signals, and when the engine “sounded” right and the pilot gave thumbs up indicating all was ready in the cockpit, it was “Go!” The green-shirt would push the release button so that the hydraulic piston and shuttle were forcefully sent down the slot, the aircraft with it. About 10-20 aircraft were thus launched. The catapult process was used because of the crowded deck, but the other method was faster.
After an Airdale pulled a wheelchock, he had to go back among the packed aircraft so as to repeat the process. He had to do this about four to five times per flight operation. This was a dirty business. As Andrew Faltun said in his book, “The flight deck was a dangerous place, strong winds and blasts of propwash could knock a man into the path of whirling propeller blades and crewmen had to perform flawlessly ... “
A typical launch-process will be described from an Airdale’s point of view, with the reader along side. (There will be those who say that pulling a wheelchock is trivial, a mere bagatelle. Perhaps they can be disabused of this idea as they’re taken through the process of pulling a wheelchock. And I’ll take every precaution not to get “carried away” with my use of adjectives. To put it directly, this description will be to the blunt, understated side. Just keep in mind that a great deal of what’s said involves one’s state of mind as much as what’s happening to him physically. Finally, pulling a wheelchock is not about “pulling a wheelchock”; rather, it’s about GETTING TO a wheelchock. There’s the rub. One could say that pulling a wheelchock is simplistic, but it’s NOT SIMPLE.
Flight Quarters has been sounded over the PA system by bugle, then by boatswain’s pipe, and next by boatswain’s vocal order. You subconsciously have a sinking feeling, subconsciously wondering whether this will be the time that something untoward happens, when go wrong. In short order the pilots appear, climb into their aircraft, and then fire off the cartridges that in turn cause the aircraft engines to cough into life. Those engines range from the 1800-hp SB2C Helldivers to the 2500-hp/2800-hp F4U Corsair fighters. The aircraft are ranked in orderly rows, row on row. Exhaust smoke fills the air as the engines are revved up, producing a mean, roaring growl of a sound from unmuffled engines. The volume of the sound dominates the mind. The sound is palpable in that the vibrations that cause the sounds are the vibrations that thoroughly rattle your brain. To say that it’s disconcerting is wildly understated. Face it, the unrelenting engine-noise is a punishment. (To this day, I still hear ringing in my ears.) For those of us who don’t like noise, this is an unmitigated Hell.
So this then is how we start the wheelchock-pulling process. Now keep in mind that these aircraft are large. As they tower over you they diminish you. Along with their dominating size are their huge propellers. The diameter of the F4U and F6F propellers are 13 feet. At rest, these propellers are huge, while when they’re in motion, they seem still bigger, even if they’re only a blur. But you’re definitely aware of what makes that blur. It so happens that the distance between the wheels of the aircraft (F4U and F6F) are also just about 13 feet. This isimportant because you now know that the tip of the propeller extends no further than the aircraft’s wheels. And after all, it’s the tips of those propellers that are the “bottom line”.
Now it’s time to pick out which wheelchock we’re going to go to. Noticing that the adjacent aircraft’s wheels are about 10 feet apart, we know that if we walk the imaginary line equidistant from those two adjacent wheels, we’ll have a sufficient distance of 4 feet between each shoulder and the tip of the propeller to either side of us.
237
Sometimes, though, that distance is reduced to 3 feet from shoulder-to-proptip. (And at times, the wheels of adjacent aircraft were only 5-6 feet apart, because space on a training ship was at a premium.) Keep in mind that we have a 35-mph ambient wind at our back at all times (because of the existing wind and ship’s speed). Also be aware that the deck is unstable, especially so in heavy seas. So let’s line up between two aircraft on that imaginary line and move forward. Always look straight ahead: if we look to the right, we’re apt to drift to the left (to avoid what’s on the right). Naturally, this could be catastrophic. This passage between the two aircraft is dicey, but certainly manageable. To my knowledge, no one ever walked into a propeller. But never do this in a nonchalant way. T he 35-mph wind and the unstable flight deck and the 4-foot leeway should be reason enough. Again, there are no second chances here, even though after a thousand times I thought I had it all figured out. Be diligent, each and every time. But regardless, fear has a way of concentrating one’s mind.
Once past the blurs on the right and the left, a semi-panic will no doubt set in. The enormous windblast from the propwash of the two aircraft you just passed will cause you to “freeze”, I guarantee it. (Here, “freeze” is not to be confused with the wind-chill factor when we operated in the North China Sea.) You won’t want to do anything except, figuratively, catch your breath. You’re now in a bona fide treacherous situation, one you never really get used to. I didn’t. With the tremendous hurricane-force winds at your back and two furious 13-foot diameter buzz saws only a few yards in front of you, you’re only thinking of how to save yourself. (True, there is a tail-section between you and those buzz saws, but being swept under that tail-section is not only very possible, but also very unnerving. At times, it was almost as if there were a giant hand trying very hard to force you into those lethal, ferocious blurs. You’re now literally fighting for your life, and this irresistible force thundering at you “I want you dead!” This is SERIOUS, and we can’t try it over again if we make a mistake. (Is the above fanciful? “NO”).
So what to do. Hit the deck, that’s what. Make yourself as small as possible and push back against the wind, with a vengeance. At the same time, grab the nearest cleat (in the flight deck) that you can. Hold on to it as if your life depends on it, because it does. Even though the thrashing doesn’t stop, you can crawl on your hands and knees to where you have to go: an unoccupied wheelchock. Above all, keep your wits about you. Sounds dumb, but, for sure, its not always an easy thing to do. Panic has a way of doing things that a clear mind wouldn’t. (Perhaps I should have said earlier that no one, on my ship, was ever lost getting to a wheelchock. Who knows, maybe all the Airdales on my ship were all “experts” at this sort of thing.) But again, don’t ever let anything distract you, not the horrendous noise, not the irrepressible wind, nothing. One stratagem that is sometimes useful is to get MAD, at the noise, at the wind, at whatever will bolster you at this legitimate time of need. After all, isn’t the wind your mortal enemy? Yes, it is, and the noise is no friend of yours either. In addition, as often as not, the wheels of adjacent aircraft were only 6 feet apart, because space on the Antietam, a training ship, was at a premium. Try to arrange it so that you’re moving down columns, not along rows. In the former case you’ll be moving between blurs, which is better than moving in front of blurs, as you would if you did the latter. The former case is manageable, the latter case is VERY dicey, and it puts you closer to eternity. This is no place for daredevils and their ilk. We didn’t have any. What’s to be gained by unnecessarily putting yourself in harm’s way? So crouch down, grab cleats, crawl on your hands and knees, avoid frontal confrontations with the aircraft if possible, and finally so arrive at a “safe haven” that is an unoccupied wheelchock. When your aircraft is in position to queue up to go to the launch point, you walk along side it, wheelchock in hand, to that point. After your aircraft is launched, go back to the waiting aircraft and repeat the process. And then go back and do it again, and again, and... (Recall this: 90 aircraft/flight operation x 2 flights/day x 2 wheels per 45 Airdales = 8 times a day. Now 8 times per day x 7 days x 4 weeks x 12 months = 2688 of these significant events a year. Actually, it was 365 x 8 = 2920 a year. But then again, we were operational only
238
12 of the 13 months that I was an Airdale.) It can now be said that you have taken a big step toward becoming an Airdale, where the launchprocess was dominated by that ever-present triumvirate consisting of the violence of the propellers, the deafening noise of the engines, and the overpowering force of the propwash. So then, at the command “Start Engines”, let’s take another look at this launch-process as we approach, down the flight deck, that phalanx of aircraft, row on row, column on column, as fancifully described: The inert air craft, those sleeping giants, start to come alive, first whining, then sputtering, now coughing, then taking hold and roaring into their full-throated anger and defiance, DARING you to approach. And approach you do, most usually with inward trepidation, to this direful confrontation, always alone, to enter that world of man against giants.
239
FLIGHT DECK ABOVE, HANGER DECK BELOW
Here’s an interesting view of the ship showing both the flight deck and the hanger deck at the same time. The F6F Hellcat is sitting on the catapult ready to be launched. However, this isn’t a normal launch procedure because there are no (green-shirted) catapult men near the Hellcat, there’s no catapult officer there, and that tractor at the left wouldn’t be just sitting there. But there certainly is someone in the cockpit of the Hellcat. It’s probably the brown-shirted plane- captain. Each aircraft has a brown-shirted plane-captain. His one job is to be responsible for that aircraft. He’s somewhat similar to the squire that each knight had back in the days of the “knights-in-shiningarmor” (although he wasn’t a mechanic). At launch-time he’d climb onto the aircraft to help the pilot strap himself into the cockpit, and do whatever else the pilot required in preparation for the forthcoming launch. He’d also keep himself apprised of the condition of the aircraft and make sure that the pilot was satisfied with that condition. This view also shows that there’s space under the flight deck for the so-called gallery deck, a deck that provided for various offices. However, at this particular location, that space was taken up by the catapult machinery. Most of those seen on the hanger deck were no doubt hanger deck Airdales. Their domain was the hanger deck and the aircraft on the hanger deck, while we were in the V-1-F Division (“V” was the Air Department, “l” was the first section, and “F” was the flight deck) .
240
241
CATAPULT TIME
A TBM Avenger torpedo aircraft approaches the catapult position. (As previously mentioned, the Avenger was the biggest singleengine aircraft of WWII. The fact that we had twenty of them on board was a tribute to the capability of an Essex-class carrier.) The central point of this picture is, of course, that Airdale clutching the wheel-strut of the TBM as he strains to walk along side it with the very powerful propwash directly in his face. One could say that this picture epitomizes the Airdale’s function, namely, to accompany an aircraft, at launch-time or parking-time, to its destination. He’s there beside the wheel to pull the wheelchock. He’s there, walking, no, struggling, beside the aircraft as it proceeds to its launch or parking spot. And he’s “tied” there next to the aircraft until it’s either launched or parked. In a way, one could say that this is a picture of an Airdale “at his office”. Meanwhile, the yellow-shirt can be seen at the right, directing the pilot’s actions: apply the right brake, apply the left brake, apply both brakes, rev up the engine, and never take his eyes off the yellow-shirt. It’s not clear what the Airdale to the left is doing. Maybe he’s a red-shirt (armaments) doing his thing. Note the engine-exhaust pipe, right above the Airdales head. This is not only an egress for spent combustion products, but it’s also a conduit for the mind-boggling and disabling racket that only a 1.600-hp internal combustion engine can make when it’s unmuffled and revved up. The ringing in my ears has yet to diminish since that time fifty- five years ago. But then, one has only to consider the Purple Heart recipients to realize that what I have is not much more than a mere bagatelle.
(I can remember, full well, what’s happening in this picture. This Airdale’s facing an immense, invisible force that’s blasting him headon. As the engine revs up to move the aircraft forward, he strains to hold onto the wheelstrut. All the while, he’s being “consumed” by the roar of the engine. One could say, tongue-in-cheek, that he’s being physically abused by the monstrous propwash, while at the same time he’s being emotionally abused by the monstrous noise of the engine.)
242
243
CATAPAULT TIME II
As a follow on to the previous picture, here an F6F Hellcat is being escorted to the catapult position. A Hellcat, to the left, is just about to be launched. The phone-talker to the right holds a board that contains last-minute info that’s passed on to the pilot. The Airdales have left the area after they pushed and pulled the aircraft into the launch position. (That they disappeared from view is puzzling.) The Airdale here, holding the wheelchock, is in the standby mode until that Hellcat (#16) is launched. Thus, the engine of the Hellcat is essentially at idle at this time. When #16 leaves, this pilot will give full-throttle to the engine to advance this aircraft to the catapult position. Consider the fact that if this Airdale extended his left arm straight forward, he would almost have his finger-nails “neatly trimmed!” (Don’t let that slender arm fool you; it’s sinewy, not skinny.) The propwash winds, as here, could be, and were, very violent, depending on their direction and the engine’s rpm. As an aircraft wheeled first to the right, and then to the left, and as the engine revved up to move the aircraft forward (producing winds up to 100-mph), the winds became not only violent, but also treacherous. If an Airdale was not alert to what was happening around him, he would be hit, and hit hard, by this wind. That part was relatively benign. The treacherous part was the traffic in the area. If one were slammed hard, and unsuspectingly, into the path of an oncoming aircraft, the result would be SERIOUS. This treachery was an ever present presence on the flight deck during flight operations, and it was always “caveat emptor”, where “safety” was that which was being bought. (Looking at this picture, I can “feel” the terrific vibrations generated by that propeller as it relentlessly and continually “punished” the air around it. It was, well, awesome.)
(I can remember, again, this scenario as if it happened yesterday: it was very disconcerting when the aircraft revved up and moved forward while you were being forcibly moved backward. And it was just as disconcerting to be battered and physically handled by something that you couldn’t see.)
244
245
PREPARE TO CATAPULT
We’ll now get down to the purpose of an aircraft carrier: launch and land aircraft. This is an F4U Corsair being prepared for a catapult launch. The green-shirted catapult personnel are attaching the launch-cable to cleats on the aircraft so that it can be “sling-shotted” off the deck. Notice the shuttle in the groove in the deck. That pipe next to its left wheel is to assure that it’s lined up properly. The machine guns are covered over with masking tape to protect the gun barrels from the salt air. The Antietam had the later versions of the Corsairs which had 2800-hp engines. The noise was shattering when you stood next to a revved up engine, especially since they weren’t going to reduce the engine’s power by using mufflers. Here the pilots are revving up the engines in preparation for the launch (take-off). A clearer view of the catapult operation will be shown in some following pictures, but it’ll be said now that the blue-shirted Airdales positioned the aircraft on the catapult, while the green-shirted catapult men did what is shown in this picture. (The tip of the propeller, though not seen, extends out to each wheel. The Corsair (here) and the Hellcat both had 13-foot diameter propellers. Now that’s imposing. Standing next to one made you feel diminished.)
(I can remember well the sense of foreboding that I felt as I stood in front of the “business end” of an aircraft as it was revving up its engine, especially when your options were few or none.)
246
247
PREPARE TO CATAPULT II
Same situation, different aircraft. Although this aircraft is bigger, the engine horsepower is less, for some reason. In fact, this Avenger was the biggest single-engine plane of the war. At this point in the picture, the pilot will cut the engine power, release the brakes, and then the Airdales will push the aircraft backwards to take up the cable’s slack. Once the cable is taut a green-shirt will connect a releasing-bar to the tail of the aircraft. This bar is securely affixed to the flight deck. When the launch-signal is given, the bar is disengaged from the tail of the aircraft (which is being given full engine-power), the pilot releases the brakes, and the shuttle is hydraulically forced forward, taking the aircraft with it. In this way the aircraft is “flung” down the flight deck and lifts off under the control of the pilot. Since the aircraft needs up to 70-mph to become airborne, and since the ship-speed plus the ambient wind over the front of the flight deck is 35-mph, the speed of the aircraft down the deck is about 35-mph. This is of course done from a standstill situation, and is accomplished in about two seconds. (I the steam-powered catapults of present day carriers are more powerful.)
(I can remember the heightened anxiety that grew as I approached, closer and closer, to a menace that wasn’t all that visible: to be fanciful, did that “windmill of death” reach out to here, or here? This was literally a matter of feet and inches.) (Actually, this didn’t apply here at the catapault; it applied back aft in that phalanx of aircraft, row on row, column on column, that awaited launch-time.))
248
249
GREEN-SHIRTED CATAPULT MEN AT WORK
Here one F4U Corsair is just lifting off, one is being directed to the left catapult and one is heading for the right catapult. The aircraft, as is seen, move about under their own power. It isn’t until they are fairly well-positioned over the catapult that the Airdales (that bunch in the right middle of the picture) start pushing the aircraft into the precise position. The aircraft moves into position by the pilot using his throttle and his brakes. Full throttle and right brake will wheel the aircraft to the right with the right wheel being the pivot point. All of the pilot’s actions are controlled by the aircraft director’s (yellow-shirt) hand signals. Precise positioning is aided by that (removable) pipe shown in the previous picture (by the aircraft’s left wheel). You’ll notice it in this picture just above the right wing of the middle aircraft. Those people on the deck are yellow-shirted plane directors, green-shirted catapult men, and mostly blue-shirted Airdales. When things go right, an aircraft is catapulted every 30 to 60 seconds. Notice that there’s a Corsair on the right-hand side catapult (the white star on the left wing tip).
(I can remember mentally counting these “brutes” as they taxied forward toward the catapault, one by one, to take their place in line for the launch.)
250
251
ONE GONE, TWO TO GO
This is the same drill as in the previous picture except that these are F6F Hellcats. The three people on the right at the far forward flight deck are green-shirted catapult men who are retrieving the cable that pulled the F6F down the flight deck The catapult is clearly seen here as the slot running forward and aft, and parallel to (and next to the dashed line). The left F6F is poised to get the “Go!” signal. This drill is necessary practice for the pilots, but it’s also necessary practice for the Airdales and the catapult men. The wind-stock, lower left, is not something I remember having seen on the Antietam, at least not at that location. But it does indicate that the wind’s direction is directly down the flight deck.
(I can remember thinking about that little wooden glider I had, many years previous, as I sling-shot it upward with that elastic band. Here was the same thing, only bigger.)
252
253
TEAMWORK IS THE NAME OF THE GAME
Even the large SB2C Helldivers could be catapulted. You get a good view here of the Airdales pushing the SB2C backwards to make the launching-cable taut. The crew on the left has just finished with their SB2C, while notice the yellow- shirt directing the middle SB2C to the right, and in the very lower left corner is another yellow-shirt stopping an SB2C (out of sight) with raised arms and fists. These catapult launches should take about 30-60 seconds per launch, maximum. It must be remembered that those aircraft already launched have to circle the carrier until all the aircraft are airborne. So obviously, wasted time translates into wasted gasoline. Notice the radio masts, on the right, are lowered so as not to impede the aircraft. That SB2C just airborne looks like it will dip a little lower before it starts to gain altitude. This would not be unusual, although at times the aircraft would go into the water.
(I can remember the (unexpressed) satisfaction I felt by being a part of the team that was making this whole operation successful. A very small cog in a very large enterprise.
254
255
THE ANTIETAM (CV-36) LAUNCHES ANOTHER ONE
I had to include this picture because it was taken on board the U.S.S. Antietam (CV-36). This picture shows well the yellow-shirts (bottom middle) directing the F4U Corsairs. All those people crouching are green-shirts, while that bunch in the center are Airdales. They’re bunched together because they (the yellow-shirts) don’t want people wandering around. They want to know where everyone is as they direct the aircraft, with their backs to where the catapults are. (For all I know, I’m in that bunch of Airdales.) The Corsair at the bottom left will be directed to the right-hand side catapult. So, as they proceed up the flight deck, the aircraft alternately go right and left, unless there’s a problem at the catapult (lining up the aircraft, mainly).
(I can remember being pleased that this ship, this “Number 36”, was “my team”. I don’t know when this picture was taken, but if it was between April 1945 and May 1946, then I was “I was there”, probably freezing on that raw day, consideringthe wind-chill factor.)
256
257
LEANING INTO THE PROPWASH
Even the large TBF/M Avenger can be catapulted, as shown here. Actually, the big TBF/M and SB2C became airborne sooner than the smaller F6F and F4U fighters. This was a function of their smaller wing-area. Notice the personnel leaning into the wind-blast of the Avenger as it applies full power to its engine. If you’re not ready for it, it can move you from where you want to be. The TBF/M will retract its landing gear about “now.” The windchill on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier was of course a factor to be reckoned with, and endured. It’s to be noted that during flight operations there was always an ambient wind of 35-mph across the front of the flight deck due to the ship’s speed plus the existing sea-wind into which the ship would be heading. This windchill, away from the aircraft, was manageable, and the Airdale could cope with it satisfactorily, even in the colder China Sea area. However, when the Airdale was in among the aircraft during flight operations, the propwash would “freeze” him: he was made physically immobile just when it was most important to be agile. These icy windblasts would also cause him to be mentally distracted by the distress engendered by the frigidity of those windblasts. With those infernally spinning propellers only a few yards, or feet, away from him, the situation was potentially VERY serious. It was then, to be sure, that an Airdale was literally fighting for his very life. He was fighting while in the thrall of those lashing, frigid winds, winds that not only tried to force him toward the oblivion of those propellers, but also winds so cold that they denied him the ability (agility) to resist that force. This is when he (I) felt the most vulnerable: when his faculties were grossly diminished (by immobility, both physical and mental). But to quote, “All’s well that ends well”. (Yes, easy to say now, but how about then?)
(I can remember the steady, slow pitch and roll of the ship as on a calm day such as this one. There was always the constant din as the aircraft maneuvered to get into position for launch, and then there was a crescendo of noise as an aircraft was sling-shot off the deck.)
258
259
SILHOUETTE I
I’m partial to black-and-white silhouettes because they give the very essence of the scene. The stark silhouette of the aircraft-director (yellow-shirt) in the foreground, his arms upraised, along with the equally stark silhouette of the aircraft right in front of him, both tell the complete story, less the “frills” of the details: The yellow-shirt is waving the F6F Hellcat forward to take his place in line preparatory to launching off the deck of the carrier. To the left are two Airdales running toward the F6F for some reason which is not clear. Another thing that’s not clear is why the accompanying carrier is not also heading in the same direction as this carrier is, and why it isn’t up to speed (notice its lack of a wake). It’s the wake of the carrier that we’re on that’s of significance also. That wake indicates high speed, but more importantly, it evokes a sense of having traveled a great distance: There are many far-away places to leave from, and to go to. The song “Beyond The Blue Horizon” comes to mind, and that horizon reaches in all directions. What’s out there? What’s to come? Are you sad, or glad, to leave what’s back in your wake? Many and sundry thoughts are evoked by just gazing at that wake as it’s being churned up. And besides, the ocean, with its blues and its greens and its whites and its many shapes and forms can be endlessly fascinating. Combine that with the ever-changing sky and one has a feast for the soul, if he’s so inclined.(I can remember, as a Quartermaster Striker, sitting at the after-bridge, looking down at this precise view. I found the goings-on to be engrossing, and it was somewhat as if I were sitting “in the best seat in the house”.)
260
261
SILHOUETTE II
The F6F Hellcat at the right is taxiing to its take-off spot. This picture, as was the previous one, was taken in the bright sunshine. The Navy photographer, being what has to be an “artist,” pointed his camera toward the sun to catch this dramatic vision. The essential features of this scene are captured, devoid of all extraneous details. To me, this picture is like a magnet, riveting my attention to the aircraft, the Airdales, the broad expanse of the flight deck, the even broader expanse of the ocean, and that majestic Essex-class carrier framing it all. A blue-ribbon goes to the photographer’s mate who let us remember things of history, things of enduring significance. Bravo!
(I can remember ................)
262
263
PACKED DECK
(What follows probably will sound, and seem, somewhat excessive, a neophyte’s hyperbole, but be assured that it’s the “real deal”, to use the vernacular.) About one-half the ninety aircraft have been launched, and at 20 to 30 seconds per launch, there’s about another quarter hour of flight operations. Because there were 45 Airdales on the flight deck, each Airdale pulled four wheelchocks (90 aircraft times 2 wheels equals 180, divided by 45.) The Antietam, being a training ship, had another ninety aircraft launch in the afternoon. Notice that the aircraft are closely packed. Now consider that the 13-foot diameter propellers of the F6Fs and the F4Us reach out as far as their wheels. Thus (and this was common), if the aircraft were spotted (placed) so that the adjacent wheels of adjacent aircraft were ten feet apart, this then would leave only four feet between your shoulder and the tip of the propeller as you walked between the two adjacent aircraft. If the two adjacent wheels were only six feet apart, your shoulder would be only two feet from the propeller tip. Since the propellers were merely a blur, you couldn’t help wondering if that lethal tip wasn’t even closer than two feet. No matter, yours was but to go to a wheelchock and be ready to pull it. It was this unknown quantity that made the situation so treacherous. Then throw into the mix the fact that the flight deck was not a stable platform due to the ship’s pitching and rolling and heaving motions. If you were beyond the first row of aircraft, there were of course the extreme hurricane-force winds from the propeller-washes of the aircraft all “gunning” their engines at FULL RPM. When in among that mass of aircraft, you quickly hunker down (crouch down) so as to better resist the tremendous wind-blasts that are literally compelling you, forcing you, toward those “tempestuously” whirling propellers in the next row down. That ferocious blur of propellers looked for all the world like some huge, gaping maw looking to devour you. In that mass of aircraft, surrounded by all that sound and fury, you felt completely alone and isolated. You also felt overtaken (at least initially) by an unvarnished, pervasive FEAR that no picture in this book could convey. Not to be melodramatic, but it was at these times that you were literally, yes literally, fighting for your very life. Once I reached an unoccupied wheelchock, I grabbed hold of the wheel as if it were a life-line (which it was). The noise, that unmuffled, horrendous, mind-numbing engine noise, was like a throbbing, living physical force. It was your own personal enemy, almost as much so as that propwash-wind that WAS a physical force that was fiendishly intent on pushing you back, back toward those damnable propellers only yards away from you. This was a veritable assault on your person, your psyche, pure and simple. For those of us who don’t tolerate noise well, it was Hellish. But it was, after all is said and done, a manageable stress, as long as one kept his wits about him, and learned how to be “accommodating”.
264
265
ROW ON ROW, COLUMN ON COLUMN
This picture caught my attention because of how clearly it shows the ranks of aircraft, row on row, column on column. It’s such a typical scene, even though it’s only a partial deck-load. (We regularly had many more aircraft on the Antietam. Missing in this picture are the 30 F4U Corsairs and the 20 SB2C Helldivers, both of which folded their wings in teepee- tent fashion. There are about 45 aircraft showing in this picture, while the usual complement of aircraft on an Essex- class carrier was 100: 30 F6F Hellcats, 30 F4U Corsairs, 20 SB2C Helldivers, and 20 TBM Avenger Torpedo aircraft.) Where the photographer was in order to take this picture is a puzzle. The only “obvious” answer is that he climbed atop the mobile derrick to take this picture. Keep in mind that all the aircraft in this picture were previously up forward, having taxied there after having landed. So, after flight operations (landing operations), the Airdales had to move them all back aft as seen here. There were some small tractors that were used for this purpose, but much of it was done by simple manpower: we pushed the aircraft back aft. Usually there was an Airdale in the cockpit to apply one or the other brakes, allowing the aircraft to pivot about a wheel. Even though this was a simple-minded job, “somebody had to do it.” And yes, it was also a tedious job. As is said, “there’s no rest for the weary”, especially when this job is done day after day, week after week, month after month. You don’t see the propellers, but they’re there, spinning furiously, while at the same time, notice that the wheels of adjacent aircraft are only about six feet from each other. Right now, the aircraft are warming up their engines. Soon the Airdales will make their way to a wheelchock. On the Antietam, we’d already be there. That’s just the way it was: each ship had its own procedures.
(I can remember, when next to an aircraft that was warming up under full throttle, what a powerful force was being generated. It felt like the very deck itself was trembling underneath you. It was a “violent” experience. It was a “minitornado”. It was “earth-shattering”. It was 2,500-hp being unleashed, full blast, no holds barred.
266
267
GETTING INTO THE QUEUE
Airdales are about to help the F6F unfold its wings as it taxies out under the direction of the yellow-shirts. These aircraft aren’t tightly packed and usually you don’t see F6Fs so far back in the pack. Another thing I never saw were shirtless people on the 5-inch gun mounts (or anywhere else). This shirtlessness didn’t make for a “tight” ship. You see the yellow-shirted aircraft directors, but you don’t see the blue-shirted Airdales because they’re back there among those aircraft. The F6F behind the tail of the outcoming F6F seems to be having trouble starting its engine and might have to be pushed to the aft elevator to go down to the hangar deck for repairs. Notice the 20-mm guns on the outside of the catwalk to the left in the picture. That’s a TBF/M Avenger out of view to the right. Its wing is very “thin” while its wing- shadow is broad. I would say that because there are shirtless personnel lounging about, the ship is not in the was-zone. On the other hand, they could well be the gunners who operate that gun-mount, and because it’s so hot in the gun- mount, that’s their “uniform.” Besides, I can’t envision the gunners of that mount letting others lounge there.
(I can remember thinking, during launch-time, that here we are doing this again, just like we did yesterday, and just like we were going to be doing it tomorrow. “Will it ever end”?)
268
269
FLIGHT QUARTERS HAS SOUNDED
Flight Quarters must have just sounded because you’ll notice several people have their hands up to their head: they’re unbuckling the straps of their flight (cloth) helmets so that they can buckle the straps under their chin. There are some Airdales already by wheelchocks, there are pilots going to their plane, and there are plane-captains helping pilots get ready. Soon you’ll hear over the loudspeakers “Stand clear of propellers, prepare to start engines, start engines.” Then you hear, from all directions “whines,” next broken “coughs,” and then the guttural roar of the engines as they combine to drown out any other sound. One unmuffled engine is enough, but ninety of them, all at once, can be mind-numbing. It drives out all thought except that which is immediately in front of you, or next to you. Fortunately, this deck is not closely packed. Subjectively, I think noise volume increases exponentially with the number of aircraft on deck. As you approach it, one aircraft, looming large and revving up its engine, is formidable. A whole phalanx of aircraft, “shoulder to shoulder,” revving up in front of you is truly a force to be reckoned with, and sometimes gives one the impression of its being a single, large entity permeated by malice.
(I can remember “Here we go again. ‘Another day at the office’. And here come the pilots, being tested again. Will this be the day that will change someone’s life forever? or perhaps, even end it?”
270
271
FLIGHT OPERATIONS NEARING COMPLETION
The unusual thing here is that TBF/M between the F6Fs. Usually (always) all the F6Fs are together, all the F4Us are together, all the TBF/Ms are together, and all the SB2CS are together. At least they were on the Antietam. All the aircraft on that front row have an Airdale at each of its wheels, as well they should. I don’t know what that bunch of Airdales are doing there at the bottom of the picture, unless it’s that they just walked an aircraft up the deck, wheelchock in hand, until it was in its take-off position. (More on this later.) But in any event, they should be walking back to the aircraft to find another wheelchock to pull. Recall that there are 45 Airdales, 90 aircraft, and two wheels per aircraft. It’s a sure thing that an aircraft isn’t going to budge until both wheelchocks are pulled, and only the Airdales do that. (Again, that sunbather on the 5-inch gun-mount(?).) On the right, middle, is a yellow-shirt signaling the pilot to advance so as to position himself for take-off. That take-off position is about sixty yards further up the flight deck. The person at the bottom, right, is crouching down because of the propwash (windblast) of an aircraft that is in the process of running down the flight deck for take-off.
272
273
OLD GLORY, LONG MAY SHE WAVE
This picture was actually taken some minutes before the previous picture. The action here is on the right-hand side, one aircraft at a time being “peeled off” and directed forward to its take-off spot amidship (opposite the island-structure). Most usually the Airdales crouch low to the deck when they’re in among the aircraft, so as to present a lower profile to the propwash windblasts. There’s always wind on the flight deck, but it was never a steady wind. Sometimes an aircraft would wheel about (pivot) and you’d get a strong windblast that would knock you down if you weren’t prepared for it. And the direction you’d be pushed could well be that which place you in harms way. So constant attention to the flow of activity during flight operations was a must. Always being in the “tension mode” made this quite straightforward. And I didn’t wear holes in the knees of my dungarees for nothing. Although the total activity on the flight deck during flight operations was an exercise in teamwork, each individual Airdale was on a strictly solo enterprise, an enterprise that involved only him and those “infernal” machines, machines that didn’t necessarily stay put. You didn’t confer with a leader, you didn’t coordinate with a buddy, you didn’t depend on what someone else did, you just set your jaw and proceeded forth, dare I say it, into possible oblivion. A picture such as this one does look prosaic. But the sounds and the wind-forces add dimensions that can only be hinted at with mere words. One can brace oneself for an onerous task, and he can brace himself to do it again. He can even brace himself to do it throughout the day. But when he realizes he’ll have to do it all over again the next day, doubt sets in. Is he good for another day? The answer is “yes,” because that’s his job and there wasn’t an Airdale on the Antietam who didn’t methodically do so, day after long day.
274
275
MOVING THEM OUT
The yellow-shirt, with his arms upraised and back aft of the aft elevator (outlined in the middle of the picture,) has control of the F6F that’s facing at an angle. (The camera’s shutter-speed is so fast that the propellers appear to be motionless.) In the front is an SB2C in front of a TBF/M, both of which are off to the side and not part of this flight operation. With the six F6F Hellcats lined up across the flight deck, you get a good idea of how close the aircraft, and thus the propeller-arcs, are. (This will be discussed several times throughout this book because it was such an integral part of an Airdales life.) The wheels of a Hellcat are 13 feet apart (and the tip of the propeller reaches out as far as the wheels). It’s also clear that the wheels of two adjacent Hellcats (and Corsairs) are about 10 to 12 feet apart here in this picture. Then, for a 2-foot wide person to walk between these two Hellcats, his shoulders will be 4 to 5 feet from a propeller- tip. Now if the wings of two adjacent aircraft were touching (and this didn’t happen infrequently), then there would be about 4 feet between adjacent wheels. An Airdales shoulders would then be only 1 foot from the tip of a propeller. Add to this the fact that a revved-up engine made the prop become a blur, and you have a situation where the squeamish-factor was multiplied. I guarantee it. But as they were wont to say, “Hey, it’s just another day at the office”.
(I can remember every picture in this book (except the crash/fire pictures of the last chapter) as if it were a “couple of days ago”. And every picture in this book is an integral part of my memory-bank, for good or bad. I chose every picture with that being the overriding criterion: was I “a part of this picture”? If not, then it isn’t in this book. After all, this book is a step away from being my diary from January 1945 to May 1946. That’s why no one was allowed to have any input to this book.)
276
277
MAINTAIN YOUR INTERVALS
We’re getting close to the end of flight operations (two each day). These TBF/Ms have essentially one yellow-shirt each as they proceed up to the launch-point. The TBF/M to the right has problems and is being towed to the deckedge elevator to go down to the hangar deck for repairs. Perhaps it has low oil pressure. At the upper right is the wake of a ship that’s available should an aircraft not be able to gain altitude, but instead goes down into the water. Notice the barrier- wires across the deck. When aircraft land, these barriers are raised to an upright position to stop an aircraft whose tail- hook hasn’t caught an arresting-gear cable (wire). Notice all the way back there are only four bombers to a row. The fighters would be five to a row since they’re smaller, and where the deck widens, there would be six to a row. Space is obviously at a premium, so none can be wasted.
278
279
“SWIMMING UP STREAM” AGAINST THE PROPWASHS
These yellow-shirts and blue-shirts are trying to advance against the propwash of an aircraft that was just given the “Go!” signal to take-off (launch). Further back, you’ll notice some Airdales locking a wing into place. That wire that’s making a 45-degree angle is an arresting-gear wire that has been pulled back out of the way of the elevator, so it can be used during flight operations if need be. It’s possible that that Hellcat had just come up on the elevator. In that way, they can still launch all the aircraft even though all the aircraft can’t be on the flight deck at the same time. It would have come up with the engine running because the aircraft need about five minutes of warm-up time. Anyone behind a warming- up aircraft has to absorb terrific windblasts. Because aircraft are taxiing this way and that, everyone must maintain a “heads-up” attitude.
280
281
SPREAD YOUR WINGS AND FLY
Here, the SB2Cs are “peeling off” as they get into line for the launch-process. They’re unfolding their wings as they go because they don’t need the assistance to do so as do the F6Fs, whose wings are folded to the back. This procedure made possible launches every 20 seconds, and complete launch procedures in about 30 minutes. So the first aircraft off was in the air 30 minutes before it could go on its mission. The yellow-shirts with dark pants are rated enlisted men (usually chiefs), while the yellow-shirts with tan pants are commissioned officers. The yellow-shirts with their arms up in the air have control of an aircraft, and will “pass” that aircraft to the next yellow-shirt down the line. This happens for each and every aircraft, and the pilots have no options during these procedures. Notice the eight 20-mm guns to the starboard side of the flight deck.
282
283
ROW ON ROW, COLUMN ON COLUMN
As part of the flight operation, the aircraft have to spend five minutes warming up their engines. It always seemed much longer, and maybe it was. Usually, we went to the aircraft before they started the engines, but here that doesn’t seem to be so. Again, this seems to be a different flight deck configuration in that the F6Fs, to the left, are back aft with the SB2Cs. Whatever arrangement they’re in, that bevy, that assemblage of aircraft was a sight to behold, especially when they were all “fired up” and generating a sound heard no where else. On the Antietam, those two columns of Hellcats on the starboard side would have been up front of the bombers (SB2Cs and TBF/Ms). This was SOP (Standard Operating Procedure). I never had a preference for one aircraft over another. It was just a matter of taking “the next ione in line.”
284
285
ALMOST FINISHED
Notice in the picture that each “unpacked” aircraft has an aircraft-director (yellow-shirt) in control. The pilot takes his directions from a director at all times. Thus the aircraft is passed along up to the take-off point. But before the aircraft can taxi forward, an Airdale has to pull the wheelchock. On the Antietam, since we were a training ship with a complement of 100 aircraft, the flight deck was packed full of aircraft at the start of flight operations. So most always, unlike the pictures in this book, the SB2C’s and TBF/M’s were parked with 10-12 feet between adjacent propeller tips, and the F6F’s and the F4U’s were parked with just 6-8 feet between their adjacent propeller-tips. Using the 6-foot number, there were only 2 feet from each shoulder and a propeller tip as an Airdale walked between two parked aircraft. The Airdale now had to make that “trip” between and among those parked aircraft to find an unmanned wheelchock. Once he did that, he stayed there until that aircraft was directed to taxi forward. The Airdale pulled the wheelchock and walked along side the aircraft all the way until the aircraft reached the take-off point on the flight deck. He then left the wheelchock at the side of the flight deck and returned to the still chocked aircraft to repeat the process. A simpleminded process, yes, but not a simple thing to do: this was not a placid, static, noiseless scene as portrayed in the picture. In reality, it was a “volcanic” environment. Pictures can only hint at the sound and the fury that is an integral part of these pictures. So let’s start the process as the Airdale confronts the “roaring masses” of aircraft just awaiting his approach. For starters, there was a constant 35-mph wind over the front of the flight deck during flight operations, as well as the pitching, rolling, heaving deck under foot. Now there were three factors involved: there was the noise to tolerate, the wind to negotiate, and the propellers to avoid. The noise of a 2,000-hp to 2,800-hp unmuffled engine was a deep, guttural, shattering “physical” presence, and if you didn’t like noise, it was HELL. The hurricaneforce wind, among the aircraft, was like a giant hand moving you to where you didn’t want to go. And the propellers, well, they seemed to be everywhere, and everywhere close. It was a formidable specter, those two huge 13-foot diameter propellers, perhaps only 6 feet apart, spinning furiously and menacingly right in front of you. They were even more so because they were merely a blur, and you couldn’t know precisely how far they extended. You used as a key the position of the wheels to mark the extent of the propellers. But if you concentrated on just one wheel as you approached, you’d tend to drift toward the other adjacent wheel, toward eternity. SO, look straight ahead, brace yourself, stay loose but not too loose, don’t give in to the noise, and proceed forward. Just remember (how could you forget?) that you have only one chance to do it right. (“But hey, it’s just another day at the office”.) Once past the propellers, you instinctively crouch down, staying close to the deck. If you have to crawl, you crawl, and KEEP YOUR WITS ABOUT YOU. You’ll probably have to grab hold of the cleats in the deck so as not to let the propwash push you toward and into the ferociously spinning prop in front of you, not but a few feet away. Now you have to find an unoccupied wheelchock. If you’re lucky, there’s one right in front of you. If your unlucky, you’ll have to negotiate your way under the aircraft to get to the next column of aircraft, and hope for an unmanned wheelchock. This maneuver was more difficult because you were now DIRECTLY in front of the propeller with only an aircraft’s tail section between you and that propeller. (The propwash of the aircraft (A) that you were under was forcing you toward the prop of the aircraft directly behind that aircraft (A).) Now, those cleats in the deck were definitely your salvation from death and destruction. Fight the winds, fight your fears, fight to stay alive, and somehow “claw” your way to a wheelchock and “safety”. I have no reservations in saying that, to put it mildly, I never did get over the trepidation that accompanied this process. Fortunately, this will never have to be done again.
286
287
REV ‘EM UP AND MOVE ‘EM OUT
Those lean, mean fighting machines that were the Corsairs are moving up to their launching position. The reason they were called lean and mean was because, in the latter stages of the war, and after, they could carry a 5,000-lb bomb load (not shown here). It was an impressive sight, and to be sure, their range was certainly curtailed. Speaking of “range”, notice the “range” of those propellers. What can be easily seen in the picture was only a mere blur in the real world. This made things more problematic when they and you were moving about on the flight deck during flight operations (both launching and parking). Also, here again, that white object underneath the Corsair is an auxiliary gasoline tank. There are many that have said that the F4U Corsair was the best fighter aircraft of the war. I’ll leave that argument to the experts. But it certainly looked like the best fighter. You can see multiple bombs and rockets under its wings. Here again, the Corsairs are placed to the rear of the flight, contrary to our practice of having them up front. But then, maybe this ship didn’t carry SB2Cs and TBF/Ms. Actually this might be the Korean War. It looks like perhaps those are AD- Skyraiders back aft to the right. Again, I’ll leave that to the experts. But the F4U Corsair was “all airplane,” especially those, which we had on board later on, with 2,800hp engines. Note the elevator’s outline on the flight deck.
288
289
HELLDIVERS BRING UP THE REAR
It’s the SB2C’s time now. The yellow-shirts have control of the front SB2C, the one in the first row, far right, and the front row, second from the left. When I say control, I mean that the pilot is watching that controller (yellow-shirt) and following his hand-signals. For the SB2C in front, the hand-signals will be “apply some break pressure to the right wheel and give it some throttle.” This will wheel the SB2C to its right. When he gets to the centerline, he’ll apply some left-brake which will place it on the centerline and facing straight ahead. A yellow-shirt, when he controls an aircraft, “always” has his arms in the air so the pilot has no questions. The yellowshirt makes a fist if he wants the brakes applied, and pulls his open hand in consecutive motions toward himself to indicate “release that brake.” Thus does the yellow- shirt control the aircraft.
290
291
NOW THE HELLDIVERS
The last F6F Hellcat is on its way up forward, and now it’s the Helldiver’s turn (four of the Helldivers must be down on the hangerdeck). This ship seems to have a fair number of yellow-shirts, both commissioned and non-commissioned. It’s my recollection that on the Antietam we had maybe as many as ten non-commissioned yellow-shirts, and five commissioned yellow-shirts. But I have to say that that’s only an educated guess. I believe that we also had as many as 45 blue-shirted Airdales. In any event, there was always work to be done, and we “always” seemed to keep busy (if pushing an aircraft can be called “busy”). The Airdale, being at the bottom of the totem pole, never had to show much in the way of initiative, i.e., “command decisions.” But he did know what had to be done, and when he saw these things that had to be done, he did them (as long as they didn’t counter the “command decisions.”) A prime example of this was going to a wheelchock during launch operations. No one ever said, “go pull a wheelchock.” The Airdale just did it. The wheelchocks were there to be pulled, it was his job to pull them, and so he just did it. There was no discussion about who was going to do it, there was no discussion of when to do it, there was no discussion of how to do it, there was no discussion at all. The aircraft had to taxi forward, and there’d be no taxiing unless and until those wheelchocks were pulled. This was the Airdales’ job, so he just did it. In a way it was like taking distasteful medicine: just do it and get it over with, without any kind of fuss. As a matter of fact, it soon became a mere routine, but a routine that always kept you on the edge, a razor-edge of anxiety that was internalized. I can absolutely guarantee to you that there was never even a hint of bravado on the flight deck. That was a constant, while the methods of getting to a wheelchock was the variable.
292
293
HELLCAT ON DECK
I like the view in this picture because it puts you down at flight deck level. It makes one feel more a participant than an observer. It also shows how the bridges (Admiral’s, Captain’s, Air Boss’, and Signal) overhang the flight deck. The launch operations haven’t started as yet, as witness the yellow shirt’s hands in his back pockets, and the lack of commissioned officer yellow-shirts (they wear kaiki pants, not the blue dungarees). Perhaps the ship has not as yet turned with the wind, or perhaps the engines have not yet warmed up long enough. When the aircraft go to full throttle during this warm-up time, the noise is ear-shattering. The sound-waves generated by the engine, and the prop-wash generated by the propeller are, I must tell you, meting out a full measure of physical punishment to that Airdale next to the aircraft’s left wheel. The Airdale on the right has backed off to preserve some semblance of composure.
294
295
MORE HELLDIVERS
The plane-captain on the wing of the plane at the left is about to remove the brace supporting the wing. There’s someone on the other side ready to do the same thing. The other SB2Cs need the same attention. Various of the aircraft already have Airdales at their wheels. Apparently, only the front SB2Cs are going to be launched since they’re the only ones under power. This is not a packed deck; there’s a lot of space between the aircraft. Note the Airdale at the center bottom of the picture, with his shirt being blown upward. He no doubt is going back into that array of aircraft to get to a wheelchock. The SB2C, front right, apparently is having trouble starting its engine. If this persists, a group of Airdales will push it to the deckedge elevator, where it’ll go to be repaired on the hanger deck. Looking further back, there are others also not “fired up.” “What goes on here?” Maybe it’s only going to be a small flight. All I know is that the Antietam never had small flights. You can’t train very well if you do that.
296
297
HELLCATS IN FRONT OF AVENGERS
Some aircraft have fired up their engines, others are trying to. It isn’t often that a plane can’t get fired up, because when they land, they get repairs right away, if needed. If they can’t be fixed on time, they’re not put on the flight deck. The mechanics do much of their work at night so that the aircraft are ready to go the next day. The Airdale at the wheel of the F6F, front left, looks like this plane’s a dud. He should be going to another one, if so. It’s hard to tell if this is merely a truncated flight, or if aircraft have already been launched. I’d say the latter, but with so many non-fired-up aircraft, maybe it’s the former case. That there could be so many dudengines is hard to believe. “On the Antietam,” we never had such a situation.
298
299
AVENGERS IN BACK OF HELLCATS
This side of the flight deck looks OK, although the aircraft in the front row, second from the right seems to be having trouble cranking it up. A yellow-shirt is about to take control of the plane at the far right, and the other two aircraft have yellow-shirts getting in position to take control. The yellow-shirts have decided ahead of time which plane is brought forward first, which second, etc. They (the yellow-shirts) have a display-board cutout of the flight deck, with scaled cutouts of each plane on board. This model of the flight deck is about six feet in length, and is in a compartment in the island structure, just off of the flight deck. As the aircraft on the flight deck are moved around, so too are the cutout aircraft placed on the flight deck cutout. Thus they know where each aircraft is, what its condition is, and what the Air Boss wants done. So before launch-time, the yellow-shirts have everything planned out so that things proceed smoothly.
300
301
STAY IN LINE
This is a good example of each aircraft being under the control of a yellow-shirt. These yellow-shirts are enlisted personnel, about twenty-five years old, and all of them are “petty officers.” This means that they are rated, such as Radioman First Class (if in the Communications Division). Most of them are Chief Petty Officers, the highest enlisted rating. There’s then a divide, starting with various grades of Warrant Officer, who stands between the enlisted personnel and the commissioned officers, who in turn start with Ensign. This picture doesn’t impart the dynamics of the action going on. These aircraft are not standing in place very long. Recall that what’s required is a launch every 20 seconds. This in turn means that all the yellow-shirts are working as a team. No individualism here. If it were so, there’d be accidents. Accidents did occur, but not during the launch process, for the most part. As was mentioned in the previous page, the launch process was well mapped out ahead of time, and the yellow-shirts acted as a team. For the Airdales, it was pretty much each man to himself. There were things to do, and you did them. No one ever, ever said, “go pull that wheelchock.” You knew what had to be done, and you did it.
302
303
QUIET BEFORE THE STORM
They’re going to start the engines soon. The SB2C, front left, already has, as has the one at the front right, out of sight. I have to say that this intermittent starting of engines was “not how it was done on the Antietam.” Instead, flight operations started by a command over the PA system: “Stand clear of propellers, prepare to start engines, start engines!” Then it was about five minutes of enginewarm-up before the aircraft proceeded to their take-off point, about 420 feet from the front end of the flight deck. In this picture, here again I don’t know why some of the F6F Hellcats are located among the bombers. This was not SOP (Standard Operating Procedure). Launch operations are definitely in the offing because the Airdales are positioning themselves at the wheelchocks. Also, I’ll say it once more, presumably the last time: all the Airdales on the Antietam wore blue shirts, blue cloth-helmets, and goggles (and flight deck shoes that prevented skids). I can only say, here, that this picture was taken earlier in the war, before the above gear was made available. If nothing else, it gave the Airdales some degree of professionalism that I thought was a very useful thing to do. Being at the bottom of the (ship’s) totem pole, the Airdale deserved it.
304
305
ONE CAUTIOUS, ONE CASUAL
This is the same picture as the preceding one, shifted to the right a little. The cautious one can be seen, in a semi- crouch, in front of the SB2C whose engine has not been fired up yet, while the SB2C to his left has just been powered up, and is generating a fair amount of propwash (his engine is not yet at full RPM). This Airdale has to be concerned about when the SB2C to his right is going to start its engine. It’s poor “protocol” to move close in front of an aircraft during flight operations, unless YOU CAN’T HELP IT. Now the casual one, the one with his hand on his hip, is also in the propwash. Pretty soon that propwash is going to become serious, and his attitude, both mental and physical, is going to change. But maybe he was an “old hand” and he wanted to project that image. When that man-made hurricane shortly comes to full force, images count for little, I can vouch for that. I believe it was a matter of becoming mentally accommodating to the environment of the flight deck during launch time that was the key to survival. One had to somehow reach a level of confidence that made navigating that assemblage of aircraft an act with a certain modicum of assurance. In truth, though, that level of confidence could never be reached …..as well it should not have been. There was no such thing as acquiring a “comfort-level”, and there could be no such thing as nonchalance on the flight deck during flight operations.
306
307
“START ENGINES”
The U.S.S. Antietam (CV-36), being a training ship, always had a full complement of 100 aircraft on board. We had 30 F4Us and 30 F6Fs fighters, as well as 20 each of SB2C and TBM/F bombers. This meant that for launch operations the flight deck was tightly packed, with some of the aircraft ready to be lifted from the hanger deck (there being so many on the flight deck). They could be lifted from any of the three elevators. The forward elevator usually wasn’t used for launch operations because it was too far forward of the catapults. The forward elevator was used to take aircraft down below after having landed aboard during landing operations. “Tightly packed” means that aircraft, with wings folded, were almost touching, wing to wing. Thus, the distance between the tips of the propellers of adjacent aircraft was very often only 10 feet, or less, allowing precious little room for transiting between and amongst the aircraft during flight operations. That 10-foot number was the most nettlesome one with which an Airdale had to contend. (That, and the 6 to 12 inches that pertained during the parking operation.) I can’t remember that I ever got used to those numbers, even after a period of a year of being an Airdale. In truth though, I never had an ACTUAL close call. You get a knack for understanding the vagaries of wind velocities and the ship’s motions. Also, you get a second sense about what aircraft are where, and which one is going to move next and in which direction. In short, you learn acute awareness without even realizing it. We never did have an accident due to the carelessness of an Airdale. So again, “All’s well that ends well”. Notice the Airdale, or rather probably the brown-shirted plane captain, at the middle right. He has his arm in the air to indicate to the pilot that the propeller-area is all clear and that he can safely start his engine. By the same token, he himself isn’t that far away from the propeller of the TBF/M that’s in back of him. This is no place to be careless. And again, the Antietam never mixed F6Fs and TBF/Ms together.
308
309
HEADS UP, YOU’RE NEXT
These F6Fs have obviously been warming up for some time, as witness the Airdale, in the center, sitting by a wheel. However, the F6F to the right is now being brought out, to go to the launch-point. The yellow-shirt is giving the pilot the “come forward” motion with his arms, and the Airdale has removed the wheelchock. Why he has two wheelchocks I don’t know, unless he took it upon himself to get the one from the other wheel also. I wish I could impress on the reader the feelings of being in the grip of a huge hand as the propwash “grabs” you, along with the horrendous noise as the plane revs up so as to move forward. It isn’t as if you put your foot on the car accelerator and you move. Instead, the propeller has to be given a few moments in order for it to “take hold” of the air so as to pull itself forward. This requires maximum rpm, i.e., maximum power, and so maximum power is required because an aircraft has to be launched every 20 seconds. Notice the arresting-wire pulled back from the elevator. This is done so that the elevator can be used to bring other aircraft, already warming up, to the flight deck. Getting back to Airdales, he would like to face toward the back so as to avoid the propwash in his face. If he did that he wouldn’t be able to see when the yellow-shirt wanted to bring his aircraft out and into the column of those waiting to launch.
310
311
SPREADING WINGS
Here the Airdales are helping the F6F unfold its wings. Until this is accomplished, the Airdale keeps the wheelchocks in place. Notice that the propeller is turning slowly, so there’s not that much power available to operate the hydraulics to unfold the wings. I don’t know why, but it was only the F6F that required that we do this. The yellow-shirt, arms outstretched, is telling the Airdales to pull the wheelchocks from the wheels. In all my time on the flight deck, I never saw any vestiges of ego by anyone. Ego was never a factor, never a consideration. If there was something that had to be done, the closest person did it, right away. It was never “Well I did that the last time, now it’s someone else’s turn.” In effect (and in practice), it was always your turn and you didn’t give it a second thought. It wasn’t so much a team doing teamwork, but rather individuals doing things that represented teamwork. If it was clear that something had to be done, it was done by the closest person, and no one had to say a word. To be candid, this unspoken “teamwork” was in fact an unspoken satisfaction.
312
313
READY TO MOVE FORWARD
Unfolding the wings is completed. An Airdale will now pull a latch under the wing to secure it in the locked position. This takes but a few seconds to do. At the signal from the yellow-shirt that the aircraft is to move forward, the Airdales will pull the wheelchocks and deposit them at the side of the flight deck. All these things are of course done wordlessly (as if a word could be heard). That is, no one has to tell anyone what to do. What has to be done is done. It’s definitely not a case of, “Well, it’s your turn now”, or, “why don’t you do it?”. I never saw a case of anyone having to be told to pull a wheelchock, or having to be told to walk an aircraft to a parking spot, the two most dicey jobs to done. Also, Airdales quickly learn that it’s always “heads up” time during launch operations and during parking operations. No one ever shouted “look out” because it would never be heard anyway. This was no place to be distracted by ulterior thoughts. Alertness was the word, unspoken teamwork was the way, and dependence on others was folly. It all worked very well, accidents or not.
314
315
WINGS SPREAD II
Again we see the F6F being “unfolded.” Here, all engines are up and running, and you can be sure that the noise is deafening. Between the noise and the ferociously whirling propellers, those aircraft look very “angry.” They’re just straining against their “leashes” to go and do harm. Such is that thing called “war.” This is a static picture, but be assured that significant things are happening here. Again, note the arresting-wine stretched around the elevator. In fact, maybe that Hellcat was just then brought up on the elevator. Even though the propellers aren’t visible, one always is aware that its tip extends out to each wheel. This is a parameter that one never, ever forgets, at one’s peril. That whole environment is one of slashing winds and everlasting uproar. Woe be unto you if you don’t pay attention. But then, how could you NOT pay attention?!
316
317
BUSY DECK ON THE U.S.S. ANTIETAM
This shows flight operations on the Antietam, as per the National Archives. It’s a good indication of how the yellow- shirts “hand off an aircraft up the line” to the take-off point at about 400 feet from the front of the flight deck. This picture also shows how you reflexively crouch down when moving behind the propwash of an aircraft. It’s an almost Pavlovian response. That there were other aircraft moving around made it even more so. So it’s stay low, grab the cleats in the flight deck if necessary, stay alert and aware, and things will turn out alright. ( And yet, I wonder, given my grossly unsettled state of mind, given my severely debilitated physical condition, and given the milieu in which I found myself (as in this picture), whether all these years since that time weren’t meant to be, and that I’ve been living on borrowed time. This is just an off-the-wall, momentary, yet honest, editorial comment, of no particular import.)
318
319
AWAITING LAUNCH COMMAND
The signal flags provide a partial frame for these flight operations. The two brown-shirt plane-captains on the left have fire extinguishers to put out a fire, should one occur, when an engine is started. Now that they’re started, they aren’t needed anymore. This is a static picture: the Air Boss isn’t ready yet. Or the ship hasn’t turned into the wind yet. Or, who knows? Notice the spectators on the catwalk. In a way, they were spectators at a drama that was unfolding right “in their lap.” It was a daily drama: “any series of events having a vivid emotional, conflicting, or striking interest or results.” Flight deck operations were certainly “a series of events,” they were always “vivid” with an “emotional” content, having a “conflicting” scenario (will it go bloodless, this contest between man and machine?), and it was of “striking interest” to those involved, with the “results” hopefully benign. (That’s the way it flowed out of my pen, and I think I’ll leave it be as is. Free-association that flows unhindered sometimes has its place.)
320
321
A LEAN MEAN FIGHTING MACHINE
The Marines were the first to fly the F40 Corsair operationally (from land airfields), but in April 1944 the Corsair joined the fleet after having had the kinks worked out vis-a-vis carrier launches and especially landings. (The Corsair would be in special demand because it would be effective, with its high rate-of-climb, in combating the newly arrived Kamikazes.) The Corsair had, among other things, a defective stall-characteristic. At stall speeds the left wing would rapidly drop, causing a sudden rotation of the aircraft that was added to the ever-present torque induced by the powerful engine and large propeller-blades. Being so close to the deck, there was no recourse to the pilot, and a crash was sometimes the inevitable result. Another defect the Corsair had was a very elastic hydraulic system in the wheel-struts. This meant that if the pilot (and Corsair) were too high above the deck when he cut his engine to make a touchdown on the flight deck, the strut-mechanism would compress excessively, and then react excessively in the opposite (upward) direction. This in turn would mean that the Corsair would bounce upward too much, and sometimes so much so that it would skip over the arresting wires and into the barrier-wires, if not skip clear over the barrier. The personnel up forward would then be in jeopardy of being overrun. (See the “Landing” chapter.) As it turned out, the aforementioned kinks never were completely corrected, and so, accidents did happen. But if ever there was an aircraft that looked more like it meant business, I’ve yet to see it.
322
323
IN THE GLOOM OF DAY
This picture depicts well the epitome that best represents the fear and trepidation, and yes, at times, the sheer, unadulterated terror that directly imposed itself on and gnawed at one’s very psyche, many times a day, day after day. Here, the deck is still slick from the rain, no friend of the Airdale. It was bad enough to have had to have withstood the literal brute-force winds of a deckload of aircraft revving up full blast without having had to contend with the unsure footing of a slippery deck. As you approached that phalanx of aircraft to get to a wheelchock, they took on the depressing look of huge malevolent creatures that seemed to take on a life of their own, ready, willing, and able to do you grievous harm. They looked mean, they sounded angry, and they were, well, overwhelming. Getting to a wheelchock in that horde of aircraft was the ultimate confrontation between dutiful volition and serious intimidation. Conjure, if you will, being in the middle of a violent hurricane, on an unstable platform, with the incessantly shattering engine noise that muddles your mind, all the while trying to avoid those furiously spinning, 13-foot propellers that are only yards away, then but feet away from you. You want to go this way while an invisible, “irresistible” force wants you to go that way, a way which often would lead to certain oblivion. Perhaps it was merely a veneer of fortitude covering a basic fear that was one’s sustainer. However, as long as one was well aware of the fundamental parameters of getting to a wheelchock, it then became simply a matter of wrapping that fear in doing what was right, thereby becoming “confident” that all would be well. In any event, it was also a matter of “this is my job to do, so this is what I will do”. And maybe, just maybe, it was simply a quiet expression of manifesting one’s self-regard, one’s self-respect, one’s self-esteem. These are, after all, things of primary significance and importance to anyone wanting to be “one’s own man”. (Let it be said, here and now, that daredeviltry was, and is now, absolute anathema to me, not to mention, just plain dumb and stupid.) Finally, let’s be frank: an Airdale’s mindset was certainly that of survival, wheelchock or no, and the very essence of an Airdale’s nightmare can be encapsulated in this one picture. Maybe too much has been made of this so-called “sojourn into Hell”, but there it is, it’s but “yours is but to do and …” Nothing more, nothing less.”324
325
READY TO LAUNCH
Another quiescent time. Why, I don’t know. But it does provide a good view of the Corsairs, as attended by the Airdales, biding their time. The pods in the wings are some kind of radar, and it was used by the night-fighters. That’s all I know about that. Those spectators in the catwalk weren’t there during landing operations. Not allowed. Notice the tail-wheel swivel, making possible abrupt turns when wheeling about on the flight deck. The question has been posed: how many men were there in this “fraternity” of Airdales? The following discussion will account for the genre that served on ships that had propeller aircraft whose wings folded. This essentially covers the period from 1943 to 1948, only five years. There were 24 Essex-class carriers (CV), 8 Independence-class carriers (CVL), and 70 escort carriers (CVE). The CVs had about 45 Airdales, while the CVLs had about 30, and the CVEs about 20 Airdales. This gives rough figures of 1080 (CVs), 240 (CVLs), and about 1400 (CVEs), totaling 2720 Airdales. Now double this number to account for turnovers, etc. and the figure is about 5500 Airdales who served from 1943 to 1948. (Using the parameters as found in “A Heritage of Wings (1997),” pages 166-167: in 1945 there were 17 CVs, 8 CVLs, and 71 CVEs. In 1947 there were 3 CVBs, 8 CVs, 2 CVLs, and 7 CVEs.) There will never be such a genre again, EVER. (Keep in mind that this group, these Airdales, were “just the guy next door”, and they were as unprepared for this job as anyone who had just walked in off the street. There was nothing special about him except the fact that he did his job, and he did it well.) Notice the Airdale at the second Corsair, its right side. He’s sitting back, apparently relaxed. My own personal mode at a wheelchock was almost exactly like the Airdale at the first Corsair, holding onto the spokes of the wheel, and keeping a sharp lookout for the yellow-shirts. I was the “new boy on the block”, while he was probably “an old salt”. My approach developed holes in the knees of my dungarees (not blue jeans), because I used my knees for this purpose all the time.
326
327
HOLD ON
This Airdale, at the right wheel, is doing exactly what I did: holding onto the wheel as the pilot revs up the engine to full power in preparation for launch. This is a trivial undertaking certainly, this holding on, but when the noise that’s generated by a 2,800-hp unmuffled engine is factored in, it becomes less trivial, by a large factor. The wind generated by the propeller is fierce, but this too is tolerable under these conditions: you’re low, you’re holding onto something substantial, and you know it won’t last more than 5-10 minutes at the most (?). Some people tolerate windblast fairly well, while others (motorcyclists) relish it. Then there are those others of us who merely endure it. But in the situation pictured here, it’s the noise that reaches such a crescendo that a certain disorientation occurs. “Only the noise exists”, and everything else is blocked out. This can be dangerous, in the extreme. (But it’s true, again, there are those who relish loudness, for some peculiar reason.) It’s a depressing noise, it’s a punishing noise, it’s an ugly noise. It’s a noise with no merit except to say “ I have the power to soar skyward”. This is good for the pilot, bad for the Airdale, especially when it gets to the point where one’s thought-processes are actually and literally dominated by that all-encompassing, palpable noise. Even though that Airdale looks impassive and composed, chances are that he’s agitated and under significant duress, mixed in with a certain amount of unknown expectations: after all, that’s a big, powerful “live” machine he’s next to.328
329
COORDINATION NEEDED HERE
The next two pictures are parts of a larger picture. These two pictures give a good rendition of flight deck activity during “Flight Quarters.” The yellow-shirts controlling the aircraft, the Airdales hunkered down, the aircraft moving out and forward, wheeling about right or left, packed aircraft row on row, strong, buffeting wind, and that infernal noise that engines combine to make. One of the yellow-shirts, to the left, is going in front of that Hellcat that’s warming up. He’s probably protected somewhat from the wind on that side, but he better be careful because the wind on the flight deck has a way of being intermittent: from not much, to a strong blast. If the latter, while you’re in front of such an aircraft (warming up), it could be a real problem. That’s something the Airdale must learn: avoid problems.330
331
COORDINATION NEEDED HERE, II
The previous picture puts you in the picture, or at least, it should. And just because this happened twice a day, for seven days a week, and twelve of thirteen months, it doesn’t mean it was “old hat.” True, you got used to it, but you didn’t “get used to it.” There’s a truism there someplace. The yellow-shirt to the right is giving the “come on” signal to the Hellcat at the right, and the pilot of that Hellcat has his eyes “glued” on that yellow-shirt. This is the one place where an enlisted man (the yellow-shirt, and a 1 st or Chief Petty Officer) has COMPLETE control of a commissioned officer (the pilot). The one thing different here is that on the Antietam, we, the Airdales, jogged along side the wheel of the aircraft, wheelchock in hand, until the Hellcat reached the take-off point.
332
333
“SPREAD WINGS”
The yellow-shirt, with arms outspread has indicated to the pilot of the Hellcat to unfold his wings. The Hellcat needs assistance doing this, thus the Airdales lifting up on the wings. Again the auxiliary fuel tank under the Hellcat is clearly seen. In this picture, the Hellcat in the rear appears to be approaching fairly close to the one in front of it. As a consequence, the yellow-shirts must not only be aware of the aircraft moving about, but also have a good understanding of what’s being accomplished: moving each aircraft, in turn, to a line of aircraft that approach and reach the take-off point, one-third of the length of the flight deck from the front of the flight deck. This was most often done without a hitch, a hitch that would have one aircraft run into another aircraft. This would cause all kinds of havoc, most notably that of flying shrapnel from the aircraft that was being “chewed up.” Being behind the aircraft that was doing the “chewing” was a hazardous place to be. If it happens, it happens so fast that there’s no chance of avoiding the shrapnel (should you be behind the “chewing” aircraft). However being alert to evolving situations was always a good practice. Now one might ask if there was training for such eventualities and the like. To my knowledge, there was no such training, whatsoever. However, having joined the Airdales several months after the ship became operational, maybe there was such training and I missed out. At any rate, I received nary a single word about the “dos” and the “don’ts” of flight deck operation. The job was never explained. It was rather merely a matter of observing the other Airdales and then emulating them. But then, how hard is it to pull and put a wheelchock? In some respects it was very easy and simple-minded. In other respects it was very difficult and nerve wrecking. The bottom-line, though, was “sink or swim.”
334
335
WARM UP TIME
This a close-up of a previous picture. Notice the person standing on the wing at the left. He’s probably the rear-seat gunner of that SB2C. They’re rated enlisted men who are paired up with a specific pilot. They too are called Airdales, but obviously of a different type. This is a loosely packed deck, not at all like what we had on the Antietam with 100 aircraft. It looks like they just started engines because that SB2C at the upper left is not cranked up. Again, notice that Airdale who’s running in front of the SB2C that also isn’t cranked up. Since he’s behind a plane that is cranked up, he has a potential problem when and if the aircraft to his right does crank up (the engine starts), right then. Things happen abruptly, and intermittently, and so things can’t be assumed. That’s why it’s said that that Airdale (upper right) shouldn’t presume that the aircraft to his right will remain dormant. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be taken for granted during flight operations, except at one’s peril. The conditions on the flight deck during flight ops were unforgiving, and the margins of error were all too often small.
336
337
IT’S A HARSH NETHERWORLD IN THERE
To my way of thinking, getting to a wheelchock was, almost each and every time, an exercise in survival. T hat everyone survived made it no less so. That each exercise didn’t last long didn’t diminish its life-and-death significance where quite often the Airdale’s life was very much on the razor’s edge, and at the same time he wasn’t allowed options. And no less imposing was the underlying pure dread of understanding what was involved in the daunting task that lay in front of him: negotiating a “forest” of aircraft while in the clutches of furious, overwhelming wind-blasts and engulfed in the horrendous, guttural noises of the unmuffled engines that served only to disorient the senses. The sight of 13-foot propellers spinning ferociously, unrelentingly, unforgivingly was the apex of the triumvirate of “wind, noise, and propellers”, where the wind was his sworn enemy and the noise was both his taunter and his tormenter. That he had to do this, pull 8 wheelchocks a day, was a tribute to his perseverance, in my humble opinion. It was irrelevant that he HAD to do it. What was relevant was that he DID it, day after long day, all alone when back amongst the aircraft as they warm up. It’s you against this towering, powerful machine. Sometimes, as the aircraft are warming up, and the ship heads into the wind, causing it to heel over a considerable amount, you think for sure that the aircraft is going to topple over on top of you (naturally it can’t because there’s an aircraft right next to you). The sensation derives from the fact that if the propeller is rotating in the same direction as the ship is keeling over, the aircraft starts to literally bounce up and down (The wheel doesn’t leave the deck). The upward motion of the aircraft and the heeling motion of the ship continue to make you think it’s going to topple over on top of you.
338
339
GETTING READY TO LAUNCH
Another close-up of a previous picture. “Listen to”, and feel, the bruising, pounding reverberations of the engines against the 5-inch gun-mounts. Whenever the aircraft cranked up, there was a sense of being engulfed in a confounded tumult: a violent commotion. That definition of “tumult” neatly describes one’s sensations when in those surroundings. These sounds epitomized the violence that was always close at hand. The sound itself was a “violation”, not to mention the obvious danger on all sides. Unfortunately, those sounds also created an enduring legacy of a condition called “tinnitus” that’s as yet ringing in my ears. (But then, what do I expect for one who has a “sensitive nervous system”, as my doctor told me before my enlistment. All I can say is that it wasn’t so sensitive that it couldn’t endure twelve months of continuous assault on the flight deck. The obvious rejoinder is: how about the pilots who “followed” that noise for hours on end? I don’t know.)
340
341
READY TO GO
Notice that the Airdale on the left side of the Helldiver to the right (his head and shoulders are right above the cowling of the Helldiver). He’s in the process, I believe, of removing that rod that’s supporting the wing. Another Airdale must do the same thing for the right wing. (The Helldivers were unique in requiring these supports for their wings. The Corsairs didn’t need them.) Why the Airdales are only now removing the supports, I don’t know. Since the Helldiver is already “fired up”, that Airdale has his work cut out for him. Notice the Airdale at the Helldiver’s left wheel. He’s all hunkered down due to the windblast of the propwash, while the Airdale on the wing is fully exposed and is thus in a precarious situation (there was some friction-material on the wing next to the fuselage to provide traction). Anyway, poor planning, that. Apparently the same exercise is going on as shown by that Airdale on the right wing (at the upper left of the picture). However, there’s no rod there. What goes on? Perhaps he’s the plane-captain, and he’s giving the pilot something at the last minute. That seems more plausible, but again it’s poor planning because it’s going to be difficult to get out of that treacherous situation: it’s a “jungle” in there, and while he’s facing a terrific windblast, he has a Hellcat right close behind him that’s all “fired up”. When he leaves that Helldiver, where does he go? to the left? Forward? Backward? Or just hold fast until the aircraft clear out? It’s a jungle in there, and the worst thing to do is to become panicked. That’s when one does foolish things, and there are not valid second chances. If it was just the wind, it wouldn’t be bad. If it was just the noise, it wouldn’t be bad. If it was just the propellers, it wouldn’t be insurmountable. But when it’s all three at the same time, there are moments when it SEEMS actually insurmountable. But it’s all a perception, because no one was ever lost in that “jungle”. (You’ll notice that sometimes I use the present tense, and sometimes I use the past tense (syntax). When one writes about being “there”, this happens and I plead guilty to not properly observing the correct syntax.) Finally, this picture shows the reverse protocol of the Hellcats being in font of the Helldivers. And in addition, the “packing factor” here is low. The Antietam “always” had a high packing-factor.
342
343
NONCHALANCE AND RETICENCE
Another close-up, same picture. One Airdale’s lying low, while the other one is “taking it on the chin.” Two different approaches. At the upper right SB2C, a plane-captain appears to be checking out something in the cockpit. These last-minute glitches can be a nuisance to those who are trying to run a smooth launch operation. This casual-cautious duo have been mentioned before, and I believe I was right in the middle of that spectrum. After a period of time you do reach a certain “comfort level”, but never beyond a certain point. There are too many sounds and forces out there to allow such a cavalier manner. Notice that the casual one is even without a cloth-helmet and goggles (as is the cautious one).
344
345
DON’T DO ANYTHING RASH!
I still can’t figure out what that fellow is doing, unless maybe he’s a plane-captain who’s just now leaving the plane and is taking the route behind the propeller, instead of IN FRONT of it. Good thinking, because there are no doubt aircraft in front, out of the picture, which are sending blasts of air back to this SB2C. Notice the yellow-shirt looking to the right to see if he should send the SB2C forward. It was my observation that none of the pilots ever appeared to be casual about what they were doing, when in an aircraft, on the flight deck during flight operations. To the contrary, they all seemed to be fixated on a yellow-shirt, taking meticulous directions from the yellow-shirt. It was as if they were very well aware that they were “driving” a lethal machine, and there was never any relaxation on their part when taxiing about on the flight deck. At least, that was my perception. That Airdale, crouched down and running, actually looks like me, sans helmet, goggles, and flight deck shoes, when I first joined the Airdales. I don’t remember such an occasion though. Maybe this not remembering is because to have run so close to the propeller, even behind it, was such a fool-hearty thing to do, even for a newcomer, that I “washed it off”, while at the same time I hope having learned from the experience. What probably happened here was that “I” arrived at the left wheel, found it occupied, and then made my “escape” as best “I” could without giving the situation all that much thought, other than “LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!”Neophytes must learn, even if it’s the hard way, as depicted here. (The more I think of it, the more I believe this is a picture of me. It conforms to my attitude of directness, i.e., find the shortess path to safety, even though the shortest path isn’t necessarily the safest. At least I wasn’t dumb enough to run in FRONT of the propeller where there were also strong winds coming in from the right side of the picture from aircraft up forward! Live and learn, or should it be, “Learn and live”).
346
347
ALMOST FINISHED
A yellow-shirt on the left is giving the “hold” signal to the Avenger while an unseen yellow-shirt on the right is directing the Helldiver on the right. An Airdale is at the Helldiver’s right wheel, chock in hand, as he walks along side it until it gets to the take-off point. There should also be an Airdale at the left wheel. Why a battleship is trailing the carrier, I don’t know. We always had a destroyer trailing us, and leading us. The former to pick up pilots that crashed during flight operations, and the latter to ferret out submarines, so I was told. Battleships were used among other things as a floating platform for 5-inch anti-aircraft guns, and 40-mm anti-aircraft guns. I was impressed that an Essex-class carrier had about the same amount of anti-aircraft firepower as the battleship. The Japanese wanted the carriers first and foremost because of the damage that carrier aircraft could inflict on their navy and land fortifications. A carrier could hurt them more than any other ship could.
348
349
FROM HANGER DECK TO FLIGHT DECK
The SB2C has just reached the flight deck from the hangar deck below. The Airdale has removed the wheelchock so that the SB2C can pivot on the right wheel, under the direction of the yellow-shirt, and taxi to the launch-position. The Airdales nearby are there to lend assistance if needed. No doubt none will be needed. (The yellow-shirt is indicating to the pilot, “Brake your right wheel and apply some throttle.”) This isn’t as easy as it looks because if the SB2CC swivels too sharply, the tail will swing out over the edge of the elevator and onto the safety net. On the other hand, maybe the SB2C just came onto the elevator so as to go down to the hanger deck. This could be the more likely situation because the Airdale by the wheel looks as if he’s going to chock (place the chock) the SB2C. The stance of the other Airdales reinforces this thought.
350
351
READY, SET, GO
Here this SB2C is in the launch-position, about as far as the middle of the island superstructure (420 feet from the bow of the ship). The launch-officer (usually a pilot) gives hand signals by twirling his left forefinger held above his head, indicating to the pilot to apply full power to the engine. After the sound of the engine sounds right, and he sees the wing-flaps are down, and the pilot gives a thumbs up (indicating proper rpm, oil pressure and whatever else), he lunges forward, bringing the flag down vigorously and pointing it forward. At this, the pilot releases the brakes, pushes the “stick” forward to raise the tail of the plane to a horizontal position, and off he goes. These big planes (bombers) usually become airborne sooner than the fighters because of having more wing-area. Most usually the wheels leave the deck before they reach the end of the flight deck.352
353
THE HELLDIVER’S TURN
This SB2C Helldiver is about to get the checkered-flag “go-signal” from the yellow-shirt aircraft-director. The larger aircraft (SB2C Helldivers and the TBM Avengers) start their take-off run from further back, near the aft 5-inch gun mounts. These SB2Cs also get additional lift from the extended flaps on the forward, outside edge of the wing. When these flaps are extended, the contour of the wing is altered such that the airflow over the top of the wing has further to go than that below the wing, thus adding lift to the wing at the slower launch speeds. When the SB2C Helldiver makes a diving-run on a target, at say 30 degrees from the vertical, it deflects the wings’ trailing-edge, slotted, inboard flaps 30 degrees both upward and downward so as to limit its vertical dive-speed. I suppose this improves the accuracy of their bomb-release. Notice how closely the yellow-shirts bring out each aircraft in turn. As the SB2Cs taxi forward, they simultaneously spread their wings, so as to speed up the launch process. There seems to be a surfeit of yellow-shirts here, and it’s probably because they’re bringing the aircraft from only one side at a time, instead of from both sides simultaneously. That would tend to cause a “traffic -jam” in the center portion of the deck. But each ship has its own protocol in these matters. The Antietam did both sides at once This was probably because, since we came along latter, we had the benefit of others’ prior experience. By just looking at these “behemouths”, one would think they would lumber about on the flight deck. Not so. Although they weren’t nimble, they were able move about quite “smartly” and quickly. They were deceiving in this respect, and as a consequence, one had to be alert at all times. And obviously, all had to be done visually. There was no shouted “look out!” done on a flight deck. Each man was responsible for himself, which was fair enough. After all, we were “professionals”, weren’t we? (tongue-in-cheek)
354
355
EASY DOES IT
This a good view of the yellow-shirt bringing an aircraft forward. The Airdale at the right wheel is still there, as he should be. This is in case there’s a stoppage in the operations for any reason, he’ll be there to chock the wheel as a safety precaution. There should also be an Airdale at the left wheel, chock in hand. This looks as much like a launch operation as anything else, but it’s not clear. If it’s not that, then it’s respotting the flight deck. The only other possibility is that the SB2C is approaching the catapult. The Airdale here too has no cloth-helmet or goggles (?) But he’s holding onto the wheel-strut because of the propwash. This is Standard Operation Procedure (SOP), besides being a necessity, because that propwash is STRONG.
356
357
SETTING UP THE CATAPULT
The yellow-shirt’s directing the pilot as the SB2C is being positioned on the catapult. The Airdales are trying to jockey the tail right over the catapult-slot. The left wheel is against the positioning-bar, and the launch-officer is standing by to go through the launchprocedure of “wing-flaps down, rev up engine, check instruments, engine sounds good, and GO!” The yellow-shirt is an enlisted man (probably first class or Chief Petty Officer). This is so because he’s wearing dungarees (not “blue-denims”). The other yellow-shirt is a commissioned officer (probably an ensign or second lieutenant). This is so because he’s wearing tan trousers. Soon the green-shirted catapult men will appear to hook-up the catapult-cable. Be assured that the yellow-shirt director knows he’s outside of that left wheel, and so is out of harms way.
358
359
CHECK RPM BEFORE LAUNCHING
This picture shows the same plane being launched from about 520 feet from the front end the flight deck. And the launch operation is the same as it was for the catapult procedure (flaps down, rpm instrument satisfactory, oil pressure OK, the engine sounds right, now “Go!”) Right about now, the sound is “ear-splitting.” It just goes with the territory. And the louder it is, the better they like it (the more decibels, the more power).
360
361
HELLDIVER LAUNCH TIME
The Helldivers, being a larger aircraft start their take-off run about 150 feet further back than the Hellcat and Corsair fighter aircraft. This one is opposite the 40-mm guntub (There’s a 40-mm guntub just forward of it, under the flag). Those are all officers in kaikis, an unusually large number of them in one spot. But there are probably just a few more Helldivers to launch, so there’s little need for aircraft directing by yellow-shirts back aft. The Helldiver is about to get the launch-signal. The officer thinks the engine sounds right. If I’m not mistaken, the TBM Avenger Torpedo aircraft have already been launched. This is because, although the TBM was the largest single-engined aircraft of WWII, its wing-area was so large that it generated more lift earlier than the SB2C shown here. So the SB2Cs were the last to launch so as to give them more runway to lift off.
362
363
“GO! !”
Here we see the “GO!” portion of the launch-process. Also, the tie-down cleats are clearly seen. (These are used in heavy weather to secure the aircraft by tying them down to the deck.) The pilot has just released his brakes to start his trip down the flight deck. But for some reason the Hellcat is not heading straight. Unless he applies a little breaking to his right wheel, he’ll head toward the catwalk to the left. So he must quickly straighten himself down the center of the flight deck, or else he won’t have enough speed to lift off the deck by the time he reaches the end of the flight deck. Small details, but big consequences.
364
365
“IT DOESN’T SOUND RIGHT YET”
The yellow-shirt, to the left, has brought this F6F to the launch- position, and now the launch-officer (a pilot) is calling for “apply power to the engine.” Another yellow-shirt is controlling the other F6F. Here the launch-officer is listening for the right sound from the engine, indicating that the engine is operating properly. If it isn’t, and at this stage that isn’t very often, he’ll have to taxi to the forward elevator to be taken down to the hanger deck. But most usually, he’s only listening for the “right sound,” the sound that indicated all conditions are “Go.”366
367
“HOLD IT!”
Same launch-procedure, different view. The person to the right of the launch-officer provides him with any info that he should know about, for each particular plane. But I was never privy to what this might be, unless it was some maintenance info. A good guess is that the person on the right is that aircraft’s “plane-captain,” the one responsible for seeing to it that that aircraft is in good operating condition. Although he’s probably a mechanic, he’s not the on