大象传媒

This story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Robert H Allison.

Having caught the raft I discovered that it was up side down and would have to be righted if I was to get in. This just wasn't about to happen. I didn't have enough energy left in me to turn that thing over. So I just stuck my arm through the rope attached to it and hung on waiting for the rescue destroyer, the USS Fleming, DE 32. It was not long in coming. As it passed by it was still making a little headway. The cargo net was hanging down the side but there weren't two big sailors hanging on it to give me a helping hand as there had been on the Lardner. As soon as I was close enough I grabbed the net and turned loose of the raft. I have no idea what happened to the raft but I'm sure they picked it up. When I grabbed the net, because of the forward motion of the ship I was dragged under the water. I hung on and began climbing. The deck is only five or six feet above the water, but in my worn out condition it was a mile. Not only did they not help me up the net but they made me walk to sick bay. I would have gladly lain down in the basket this time. Not only did I suffer these indignities but also I had to wear a wet flight suit until I was back on the Steamer Bay. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they were there.
On this same day, Lt. (j.g.) George Vigeant's plane was struck by enemy antiaircraft fire and he was forced to make a water landing. As he was about to sit down on the water his plane exploded. He was lost at sea and was the final fatality for the squadron. In all the squadron lost five fighter pilots and two TBM air crewmen in the year and a half that it had been in commission.

The morning after my crash on the 15th, I was scheduled for a pre-dawn patrol with the skipper, Dunagan and Godfrey. Having lost my plotting board and all the maps and codes, I went the night before to the ACI (Aircraft Combat Intelligence) office to replace the missing literature. Lieutenant Bob Winters, the officer in charge, fixed me up with the board and most of the papers but said they were out of some and would get them to me.

About 0300 the morning of June 16th we were called to man our planes. Again this morning as it had been the day before, the sky was black, the weather was lousy, it was raining and the ceiling was about 500 feet. This morning we were to be catapulted off the deck. After checking out the planes we were guided on to the catapult one at a time. The skipper, Godfrey and Dunagan were launched and I was spotted on the catapult and hooked up. After getting the 1 finger windup and checking the magnetos, I received the signal for the two-finger windup. There I sat with full power, feet off the brakes, right hand on the stick, right elbow in my gut and my head back against the headrest. I was ready to go. Nothing was happening. I glanced out the right side of the cockpit and saw the deck officer giving me the cut engine sign. Then I heard the radio telling me to cut the engine and sit tight, that there was a bogey in the vicinity and the condition was "flash red". I sat there in the rain for about five minutes before I got the OK to start my engine. The other three guys had rendezvoused and were waiting for me some where beyond the formation of ships. This time when I was ready I was launched. I began to climb the plane to an altitude of three thousand feet where the skipper was supposed to be. I could not locate them so he said to meet them at target at point sugar. I replied with the affirmative. Again we were in the "flash red" condition and wouldn't you know that I would spot this orange glow. As far as I knew I was the only plane in the area so who or what was this orange glow? I was fairly close to it but the night was absolutely black and I could not see a plane. I know that it wasn't an American because the exhaust flames of our planes are blue. It could be the Japanese bogey because their exhaust flames are red or orange due to the inferior quality of the fuel. It could be a fire on a ship on the water which for me to identify would require me to fly back into the "flash red" zone. Common sense prevailed over heroism and I said to hell with it and took off for Okinawa. A later inquiry revealed that there were no fires on the ocean so maybe I missed my chance to score a "Kill". Too bad! I'm not sorry.

So now I'm on my way to point sugar. But where is point sugar? I pull out the plotting board, open it and "lo and behold!" no map indicating our rendezvous points. It was one of the papers they were out of and I wasn't smart enough to have checked. Well, I racked my mind to recall from previous flights where this point might be. I seemed to recall that it was about half way up the length of the island and on the west side. OK! I'll try it. I arrived at the place where I thought I should be but there is no skipper. This time he called over the radio to tell me they were about 5 miles due south of the southern tip of the island and circling. I would have to fly back across the island down the east coast for about 35 miles to get to them.

On the way down the east side I heard over the radio a message to a division of planes from another squadron from a command ship that there was a bogey on their radar screen about five miles from their ship at 3000 feet. Beings this was the area where I happened to be at that moment I became very alert. I looked down and could see the command ship and almost knew that they had me spotted as their bogey. I checked my IFF (identification, friend or foe) and it was on. I should have been recognized as a friendly. For safety's sake I kept watch for the division of our fighters and made a three hundred and sixty degree circle a few times looking for a bogey. The enemy had been known to slip up under an American plane, gain the protection of the IFF and move right into a formation of ships and make their Kamikaze run. I did not find any bogey and finally arrived under the over cast at the south end of the island. I eventually found the skipper still circling in a hole in the clouds. Upon joining up with them we returned to the carrier having fired not a single shot. I don't think he was too happy and I'll be damned if I was going to tell him about the map.
Our sorties against the enemy continued until July 24th at which time we and the Steamer Bay were ordered back to San Diego. The squadron was scheduled for decommissioning.

Continued.....
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