The Summer of 1942

Chapter 30

Summer 1942 & USS COPAHEE

"Moonlight Serenade will still remind me of those lazy, idyllic evenings."

My week at the Royal Hawaiian was up on June 28^th and I reported back to Kaneohe expecting to go back on a flight crew.  That did not happen.  I was far over the average number of flight hours per month deemed maximum and was assigned to a month of ground duty.  Even though I was an aviation machinist mate second class, I found myself driving a gasoline tanker truck for a month.  That injured my pride but there was nothing I could do about it.

The truck was a 2,000-gallon tanker used to shuttle aviation gasoline from the tank farm to the PBYs on the ramp and to the fighter strip on the north side of the bae were carrier squadrons of F4F “Wildcat” fighters and Douglas SBD dive bombers were based while their carriers were in Pearl Harbor.  I had never driven a large truck (Grandpa Stanley’s little 1929 Chev truck hardly counted) but before long I was wheeling the big grey ten-wheeler around the base and through the parked airplanes like a veteran.

It was not long before brother Dick came up with one of his schemes.  Gasoline rationing for civilian and personal vehicle use had become very strict.  Extra ration coupons on the black market were expensive and hard to come by.  The big baby blue LaSalle with its gas-guzzling straight-eight engine was spending more time in the barracks parking lot than on liberty.

Dick had noted that the gasoline tanker carried two five-gallon cans of avgas in lower compartments on each side of the truck.  I do not recall what they were for, but old Richard figured out a use for them and came to me with a proposition.  He figured that the LaSalle would run fine, at least for a time, on 100-octane and might even have more pep than using ordinary 80-octane from a filling station pump.

Richard’s quick keen blue eyes had also noted that when I made a delivery to the fighter strip, I often used the base perimeter road past Hawaiiloa Hill and behind a large revetment.  For several second the fuel truck was not visible from the control tower or the base administration building.

In the past, Dick had been very penurious about allowing me to take the LaSalle on liberty my myself.  In fact, he simply would not lend it to me.  Now he tempted me by offering to let me use it one day a week if I would help him pirate a little gasoline.  When I demurred he said, “Hell, brother, you probably spill more than ten gallons every day!  No one is going to miss a cople of jerry cans full one in a while.”

Richard had been so confident in his plan that he had already scrounged two of the red five-gallon jerry cans and had them in the trunk of the LaSalle.  Through a bit of coordinated “sleight of hand” behind the revetment we had a few extra gallons of fuel and I did get to use the LaSalle once in a while when Dick had the duty.

The arrangement did not last very long because soon after we wrecked the LaSalle.  Dick, Glover, and I had been on liberty together and were coming back to Kaneohe at dawn so we could make muster.  Dick was driving, Glover was snoozing in the front seat beside Dick, and I was asleep in the back seat as we passed the Kailua junction and headed up a straight stretch of road toward the Kaneohe NAS main gate.

It was about a mile of perfectly straight road bordered by very shallow ditches.  We oculd have run off the road safely anywhere except one spot where a large kiave tree grew out of a low embankment.  It had a mass of gnarled roots at its base.  Just short of the tree, Dick fell asleep at the wheel and the car drifted off the road.  The right front end hit the roots and folded the wheel back under the engine.  Dick was not speeding but the impact threw Glover against the dash and my shoulder slammed into the back of the front seat.

Richard had not bothered to buy insurance on the LaSalle.  He knew that it would cost more to repair than he had invested in it so he simply allowed the Kaiua police to tow it away, then called the bank where he had gotten the loan for it and told them they could have it.   (We did see a Marine driving the LaSalle a few weeks later and the frame was so sprung that it went down the street somewhat crabwise!)

We were not without wheels for long.  Dick made some money in a couple of poker games and I got lucky in a crap game.  He borrowed a hundred fifty dollars from me one weekend and came back from liberty driving a brown Dodge coupe.  It was registered in his name but since I had provided half the down payment it was mine to use on occasion.  To my later regret, I neglected to get a Hawaiian driver’s license.

During the month I spent driving that gasoline truck, the build-up at Kaneohe Bay Naval Air Station accelerated.  The contractor completed the Number Two hangar and started refurbishing Hangar One.  Five new barracks buildings went up south of the mess hall to accommodate the influx of new men and new squadrons.  More airplanes arrived and soon VP-11 was up to full strength.  Scuttlebutt had it that a big campaign was developing on the Solomon Islands and it was rumored that we would be one of the first squadrons transferred to the South Pacific to operate off aircraft tenders.

With the fighting confined to the far reaches of the Pacific and the Japanese Navy no longer an immediate threat to Hawaii, our life was peacefully “normal”.  Dick and Diane rented a small house out in the Kaimuki district of Honolulu.  It was in a cul-de-sac off the Kam Highway just beyond the old Kaimuki theater.  I still have the address on a special liberty pass—1256-A Ekaha Street.

The raucous ambiance of the bars and cat houses of the Honolulu tenderloin held no fascination for me.  We who were shore-based preferred to do our partying and celebrating with shipmates in the quieter atmosphere of Waikiki.  When nothing special was going on and there was not a movie I wanted to see, I occasionally spent quiet liberty evenings with Dick and Diane at the Ekaha Street house.  Diane would prepare supper (I had my first encounter with Korean kim chee there) and we would spend the evening lounging around listening to Glenn Miller records.  Diane’s favorite was “Moonlight Serenade”. Moonlight Serenade will still remind me of those lazy, idyllic evenings.

The kim chee was another matter.  Diane loved it and Dick professed to like it, but that rotten cabbage never made a hit with me!  The evening Diane put it in front of me, it was fortunate that I had just opened a new quart of beer.  I had no aversion to cooked cabbage so I scooped up a forkful.  I don’t know what they put in kim chee for seasoning before they bury it, but it was as if I had a mouthful of angry hornets!  It took most of the beer to quiet it down.

The other problem with eating authentic kim chee is the “afterglow” on the breath.  For t least a day, a kim chee eater’s breath smells just like that fish in Hilo Harbor tasted—like a country outhouse on a hot day!  Beside it, the odor of garlic is mild.

It was during that “peaceful” summer of 1942 after the Battle of Midway that I had to come to grips with the grim realities of war.  Many images were often in my mind and in my dreams—that row of bloody bodies beneath the wing of that PBY on December 7^th, the noise strafing Zeros coming at us, exploding bombs, the grinning face of the enemy pilot who had circled us, the forlorn figure in that lifeboat and my near overwhelming desire to pull the trigger of the big machine gun.

What we were being subjected to and called upon to do was in no way consistent with my Christian upbringing.  I attended our Navy non-denominational church service but found no answers—only a reminder of the commandment “Thou shall not kill.”  We knew, however, that in war it is a matter of kill or be killed.

I finally found some solace in an unlikely place—the prologue of a play by William Saroyan, “The Time of Our Lives”, I believe.  It impressed me sufficiently and helped me to the extent that I still have a copy of the text:

“In the time of your life, live—so that in that good time there shall be no ugliness or death for yourself or for any life your life touches.  Seek goodness everywhere and, when it is found, bring it out of its hiding place and let it be free and unashamed.

“Place in matter and in flesh the least of the values for these are things that hold death and must pass away.  Discover in all things that which shines and is beyond corruption.  Encourage virtue in whatever heart it may have been driven into hiding by the shame and terror of the world.  Ignore the obvious for it is unworthy of a clear eye and a kind heart.  Be the inferior of no man, nor of any man be the superior.  Remember that every man is a variation of yourself.  No man’s guilt is not yours nor is any man’s innocence a thing apart.

“Despise evil and ungodliness but not men of evil and ungodliness—these understand.  Have no shame in being kindly and gentle but if, in the time of your life, the time comes to kill—kill and have no regret.

“In the time of your life, live—so that in that wondrous time you shall add no misery and sorrow to the world but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it.”

I carried that with me throughout the remainder of World War II.

The Battle of Midway: Part I

...those old piston engines talked to you at low power and sang a beautiful song in flight, very seldom complaining.

Chapter 29

The Battle of Midway

(I shall not attempt to provide a chronology of the vital turning point in the war in the Pacific—the very illogical defeat of the Imperial Japanese Navy at Midway Island on 4 June 1942, just six months after the sneak attack on the U.S. Pacific Fleet on 7 December 1941.  I shall, instead, simply relate my own very small part in the historic action.

                        To understand the details of the Battle of Midway, I highly recommend Walter Lord’s book, “The Incredible Victory”.  Mr. Lord is an unparalleled researcher and his account of the Battle of Midway is not only accurate, but also captures the atmosphere of the time.

Briefly, we found in later years that Admiral Yamamoto himself had predicted the fate of Japan after the attack on Hawaii.  His reaction to the apparent success of the raid which did not include destruction of our American aircraft carriers was to say, “I fear that we may have awakened a sleeping giant and filled him with a terrible resolve.”  He went on to predict, “We ( the Japanese naval forces) will run wild in the Pacific for six months—beyond that, I cannot answer for the consequences.”

The Battle of Midway was intended by the Japanese to draw out the American aircraft carriers (we were down to only three in the Pacific—ENTERPRISE, HORNET, and the crippled YORKTOWN) to their destruction and force the U.S. to sue for peace.  All of the Japanese military and civilian leaders realized that Little Japan could never prevail in a prolonged war with the might of the United States once its war machine had been activated.

That June of 1942 the U.S. war machine had barely begun to stir in response to the battle cry, “REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR!”, which had unified the nation overnight.  Meanwhile, Yamamoto had assembled the greatest naval armada of all time including Admiral Nagumo’s elite fast carrier task force, a main battle fleet including the mighty battle ship YAMATO, and an invasion fleet to take over the island.

We, on the other hand, were literally hanging on by our fingertips with no battleships, three aircraft carriers (with few squadrons of F4F “Wildcat” fighters, TBD torpedo planes, and Douglas SBD dive bombers), a few heavy and light cruisers, several destroyers, and perhaps three dozen of our slow and clumsy PBY “Catalinas”.  There was also a miscellany of a few Army B-17s, some obsolete Brewster “Buffalo” Marine fighters, and other land-based aircraft that would play no significant role in the Battle of Midway.

We were clearly outnumbered and out-gunned.  The Japanese pilots had proven on December 7^th, 1941, that they were superbly trained and our F4F Wildcats were no match for the fast, slashing Mitsubishi Zero fighters.  We had little chance of victory.  Fate had dealt Yamamoto a full house and the U.S. an inside straight flush.  Thanks to a handful of Douglas SBD dive bombers and some very incredible coincidences and circumstances, we drew to that busted flush and history records the outcome.  We broke the back of the Imperial Japanese Navy.

The incredible coincidence at Midway was the timing between an attack of some of our torpedo planes and the arrival of our first wave of SBD dive bombers.  In short, our initial attacks on the Japanese carriers had failed.  The first two or three of our torpedo attacks resulted in the loss of many of our planes and no hits on the enemy.

Our coordination was so bad that our covering fighters had lost track of the torpedo and dive bomber squadrons they were supposed to protect.  The dive bombers had also gotten separated from the torpedo planes with which they were to make the attack.  All squadrons had difficulty in finding the enemy fleet.

The torpedo planes found Nagumo’s carriers first and bored in to attack just as the enemy planes on the carrier decks were being re-armed.  Patrolling Zeros above the carriers promptly came down and had a field day shooting down American torpedo planes but leaving the higher altitudes without fighter cover.

It was then that the tardy dive bombers arrived over the enemy carriers at seventeen thousand feet.  With the torpedo planes keeping both the Zeros and the Japanese anti-aircraft fire occupied, the SBDs poured down on three of the Japanese carriers literally unopposed.  The one remaining Japanese carrier, HIRYU, would suffer the same fate later in the day.

History records that, to Admiral Nagumo and his staff, it appeared that they had been hit with a beautifully coordinated attack timed to perfection for just when the Japanese were re-fueling and re-arming their airplanes for another attack on Midway Island and to seek out the American aircraft carriers.

Actually, nothing could have been farther from the truth.  The American dive bombers had been launched from extreme range almost in desperation when it became apparent that the land-based airplanes and the torpedo attacks were futile.  The SBDs found the enemy barely before they were down to minimum fuel and would have to turn back.

The whole thing was almost an accident—but what a glorious accident for the United States Navy!  It left the Imperial Japanese Navy creeping back to the home islands in shame.  Japense survivors of the Battle of Midway were literally smuggled ashore in the dead of night and were kept in isolation lest the terrible defeat become public knowledge.  The Japanese press claimed a might victory because of the sinking of the YORKTOWN.

When asked what they would tell the Emperor, Admiral Yamamoto’s answer was, “Only I must answer to the Emperor.”)

After early breakfast at Kaneohe on that morning of 5 June 1942, Davenport and I went to the airplane on the ramp in the pre-dawn darkness to do our pre-flight checks.  When he shined a flashlight on the wing bomb rack, Dave groaned, “Shee-it!  Yesterday we were a suicide torpedo plane and now look—they’ve made a DIVE BOMBER out of us!! “  On each wing rack there were two five hundred pound contact bombs.

As it turned out, we were not expected to do any dive bombing.  When Marcy came to the airplane he stated that we would ferry the bombs to Midway for the B-17s that were helping pursue the retreating Japanese fleet, then we would fly rescue and patrol behind the running battle that was still in progress.

By the time we were airborne and headed for Midway, still leading the formation of PBYs , we had heard the scuttlebutt that three Jap carriers had been sunk the previous morning and a fourth went down in the afternoon.  We later learned that they had been four of the Japanese first-line carriers—KAGA, AKAGI, SORYU, and HIRYU.  All had been involved in the attack on Hawaii.  We also learned, to our dismay, that we had paid a price.  Many of our fighter, torpedo plane, and dive bomber crews had been shot down and survivors were scattered over the ocean in life rafts.  Part of our job would be to locate and rescue as many as possible.  We also heard that our carrier YORKTOWN had been hit hard and was being abandoned.

During our approach to Midway that afternoon, we made a wide sweep to the northwest of the island over the battle area looking for survivors.  In the distance we saw a towering pillar of smoke and flew toward it.  It was the listing hulk of YORKTOWN.  Two cruisers were standing by and two destroyers circled the stricken carrier on anti-submarine patrol.  The destroyer HAMMAN was alongside YORKTOWN and her pumps were pouring water into the burning hull of the mighty ship.

(That was the last we were to see of YORKTOWN.  While the HAMMAN was alongside, a Japanese submarine penetrated the destroyer screen and put two torpedoes into YORKTOWN and one into HAMMAN.  The destroyer broke in half and sank in minutes.  The depth charges on her stern racks were still armed and two of HAMMAN’s crew went under water with the stern, still struggling to disarm the depth charges.  They gave their lives in vain.  HAMMAN’s depth charges exploded beneath YORKTOWN and may have been the final straw.  The following morning, 6 June 1942, the big aircraft carrier slid beneath the surface.)

Midway was a dismal sight when we came in over the reef to land in the lagoon.  Bombs had pulverized most of the buildings including the PBY hangar at the seaplane ramp.  The water tower was down, the building containing the brig had been a direct hit, and black smoke was billowing from a large fuel oil storage tank.

The island looked worse than it was.  Having been warned well in advance by Naval Intelligence, everything had been dug into the sand.  Large underground bunkers were being used as barracks.  The hospital was under the sand.  Only some administration offices and the island mess hall were relatively intact above ground.  The beaches of the island were laced with barbed wire coils, marine machinegun nests, and anti-aircraft guns.  The little island was literally swarming with steel-helmeted marines, dungareed sailors, and equipment.

When we were pulled up to the ramp, Davenport and I quickly discovered that we had a problem.  The other PBYs were either from VP-71 or from the Patrol Wing Two squadrons out of Ford Island.  They had sent maintenance ground crews out in advance.  We were “orphans”—the only flight crew at Midway from VP-11 and would have to service and maintain our own airplane.

That was only the beginning of our problems.  The Japanese bombing attack the previous morning had not only shattered the hangar but had also knocked out the aviation gasoline system.  It was necessary to refuel the big wing tanks with a hand pump from barrels of gasoline delivered by truck from island reserves scattered in the sparse undergrowth of the island.  The entire crew itched in to help but it was still wearisome and it was nearly midnight when we finished re-fueling.  We were to be ready for takeoff at 0500 the next morning.

The rest of the crew headed for our assigned barracks but Dave and I discovered another problem.  Both engines needed a couple of gallons of oil.  We found that the island oil supply also was in barrels scattered in the underbrush.  I found the duty officer’s office and finally procured the services of the duty truck driver.  After nearly getting shot twice by nervous and trigger-happy marines still expecting a Jap invasion, we finally found a barrel of oil and trucked it to the airplane.  Then we had to pump the oil up to the engine nacelles with a hand billy pump.  It was after 0200 when we were finished and the airplane was ready for takeoff.  We did not bother to go to the underground barracks bunker.  We simply flaked out on bunks in the airplane.

The pattern for our sixteen-day stay at Midway was established. Up at 0500, takeoff at 0600, then ten hours or so of combing the ocean behind the battle searching for survivors or enemy submarines.  Only once did we stand down for a day so that Dave and I could accomplish our 80-hour engine checks and change the spark plug (twenty-eight plugs per engine).  During that two-week period, we were in the air a total of more than 180 hours.

(I must pay tribute here not only to Consolidated for building those sturdy PBY-5 Catalinas but also in particular to Pratt & Whitney for those always reliable fourteen-cylinder R-1830-92 radial engines.  They were the finest and most faithful airplane engines ever manufactured.  Modern jet engines simply scream—those old piston engines talked to you at low power and sang a beautiful song in flight, very seldom complaining.)

Heading Toward Midway

We quickly discovered that wartime meant rapid promotions.  Most of our replacement were recruits either fresh out of boot camp or from AMM school on North Island.  The last week in February I took and passed the examination for aviation machinist mate second class.  A month later, when I had been in the Navy for less than two years, I was notified that I have been promoted to AMM2/c.  I promptly went into town and ordered my first tailor-made bell bottom trousers.  My waist at the time measured twenty-seven inches.  I ordered twenty-seven-inch bell bottoms.  I had been in the Navy less than two years, but having been under fire on December 7^th, I considered myself an “old salt”.  I was just twenty years old.

During March of 1942 the Navy surgeons decided that we on the regular flight crews were subject to “flight fatigue” and decreed that we should fly only an average of 80 hours per month.  Much to my disgust, I was shifted to a night engine check crew.  On the 5^th of April I was assigned to a three-week aerial gunners’ course that had been initiated at Kaneohe.  It seemed like more “duck soup” to me and my log book shows that I scored 96% on the thirty caliber, 100% on the fifty caliber, 94% on the enemy aircraft silhouettes, and 96% on aircraft sighting.  I graduated as a qualified combat aircrewman on the 26^th of April and went back to a maintenance crew.

It was while I was in aerial gunners’ class, I believe, that we heard about General Doolittle’s raid on the Japanese home islands from the carrier HORNET.  Other than some hit and run raids in the South Pacific by Admiral Halsey with the carriers YORKTOWN, ENTERPRISE, and LEXINGTON, the Doolittle raid using Army B-25s flown from the HORNET was the only bright spot DURING THOSE DARK DAYS OF EARLY 1942.  The carrier SARATOGA had suffered a torpedo hit and was back in the states for repairs.  With most of the Pacific Fleet battleships out of commission for repairs or still sitting on the bottom of Pearl Harbor, we were truly a “thin blue line” in the Pacific.

Sometime during the spring of 1942, Richard came up with a new girlfriend.  Her name was Diane Koyama and she was a taxi driver in Honolulu.  I liked Diane.  She was brunette, of course, and her slim figure was surprisingly tall for her Japanese ancestry although the top of her head barely came above Dick’s shoulder.  She had a great sense of humor.  Most of Dick’s liberty time was devoted to Diane when she was not working and the chubby little waitress in the saimen stand was forgotten.

To my great delight I was transferred back to my old flight crew with Ernie Davenport on May 15^th.  Our pilots were not Clark and Willis, however.  Our PCC was an ex-AP, “Speedball” Camp, and our co-pilot was a new ensign, Gus Binnebose.  Our bombardier was Dick’s old buddy, Joe Brooks, now an aviation ordnanceman second class.

Sometime in late May we got the news of the Battle of the Coral Sea.  It was the first sea battle in history waged solely by aircraft from carriers.  The Japanese lost two small carriers and a tanker.  In return, we suffered the grievous and loss of the USS LEXINGTON, one of our few first-line aircraft carriers.  In addition, scuttlebutt had it that the YORKTOWN had been seriously damaged and was limping back to Pearl Harbor.

On May 25^th my flight crew was ordered to a one-week advanced base operation at little Johnson Island, far to the southwest of the Hawaiian Islands.  Accompanied by another PBY (I believe from VP-14) we flew daily patrols guarding the southwest approaches of the Pacific where the Japanese had been operation literally unopposed.

On or about May 30^th, the VP-14 airplane crashed during landing in the lagoon at Johnson Island.  Somehow the pilot hooked a wingtip during landing and the airplane cartwheeled.  The fuselage broke in half just forward of the tower.  Fortunately, all the crew member survived.  Working furiously form whaleboats, we managed to salvage the precious machine guns before the wing filled with water and the airplane sank.

Bringing the VP-14 crew with us, we flew back to Kaneohe on June 2^nd.  When we arrived at Kaneohe Bay we were amazed to find the parking ramp empty of other airplanes.  Richard had been rotated to ground duty in the parachute loft.  I found him at the barracks and asked what the hell was going on.

For once, Dick did not have all the answer.  He shrugged and said something like, “Beats the hell out of me, Con.  All I know is that apparently something big must be in the works.  Half of our airplanes were sent to Barking Sands on Kauai and the other half took off this morning to go to Johnson Island to replace you.”

“Since when,” I demanded, “does it take six airplanes to replace two”  That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Don’t ask me, bird brain.  I’m not running the goddam war!  Ask Admiral Nimitz the next time you have tea with him!”

We were further mystified the next day when my flight crew was instructed to pack gear for a week and sleep that night in the flight crew ready room at the hangar.  After evening chow our conjectures ranged the full scale.  Our old VP-11 skipper, Commander N.A. Johnson, had been temporarily replaced by a Commander Marcy.  His nickname was “Blood and Guts Marcy” and he had purportedly flown the last PBY out of the Philippines before the fall of Corregidor.  One of our radiomen thought perhaps we had been assigned to fly Mary back to the mainland.  Davenport squelched that hope when he pointed out that we had been instructed to pack only spare dungarees, not dress uniforms.  We hit the sack still baffled.

The next morning, June 4^th, we were wakened at 0400 for early breakfast and were instructed to get the airplane ready for launch.  On the ramp we were again puzzled—there was no armament on the external bomb racks.  Our bafflement continued when the pilots appeared.  They were accompanied by Commander Mary and each was carrying a zippered flight bag.

At takeoff Marcy was in the co-pilot’s seat and I had a chance to speak to the co-pilot, “Where we headed, Mister Binnehose?”

The rotund ensign shrugged.  “I dunno—just to Pearl right now.  Something is happening but I don’t know what.”

We flew around the island and landed at Pearl Harbor.  As soon as the airplane was drawn up on the Ford Island ramp, a staff car picked up the PPC and Marcy.  Most of the rest of us climbed down and squatted in the shade of the big wing.

Before long two bomb trucks towing 21-inch torpedoes on dollies pulled up under the wing and a crew of ordnancemen installed torpedo racks in place of our external bomb racks, then started hoisting the torpedoes into place.

“Shee-it,” Davenport exclaimed, “I guess we must be going out for torpedo practice!”

Meanwhile Joe Brooks was eyeing the big torpedoes.  “I dunno,” he said, “you ever go out to practice with anything but dummy torpedoes?  Them things up there are live fish!  Not only that, look at the other airplanes on the ramp.  They all got live torpedoes.”

He was right.  There were twelve other PBYs on the ramp and all were armed with torpedoes.  There was sudden inexplicable tension in our little group.  We were staring wonderingly at each other when our radioman, who had remained on board at the radio suddenly popped his head out the navigator’s hatch and yelled, “Hey, they just broke radio silence—there’s a helluva big battle going on out at Midway Island!!”

A chill ran through me as the implication of the live torpedoes hit home.  We were going to get a crack at the Japs!  Before any of us could ract. The staff car skidded to a halt at the wingtip just as the APUs of some other PBYs started sputtering.  Camp and Marcy piled out and waved us into the airplane.

We had the engines running in record time and were the first airplane that the tow tractor put over the launching ramp while the other PBYs were towed into line behind us.  We were soon to find that Marcy was the senior officer present on the flight; therefore, we would assume the lead position.

No explanation was offered while we took off then circled off Barber’s Point until all the other twelve airplanes were airborne.  They formed up with us in a large vee, then Marcy set course to the west northwest toward French Frigate Shoals and, beyond, Midway Island.

Once on course, Marcy finally addressed us on the interphone.  He informed us that the Japanese were attacking Midway and that their forces included an invasion fleet.  He stated that intelligence had known of the Japanese plan and that Midway was dug in and ready.  Our three remaining aircraft carriers, including the YORKTOWN that had been damaged in the Coral Sea action, were out there.  Most of us cheered when Marcy said that our orders were to find the enemy carriers and inflict maximum damage with a torpedo attack.  Only our new first radio man (whose name, mercifully, I forget) sank back white-faced in his seat and stared blindly at the set before him.  We would finally get a crack at the sneaky bastards!

(In retrospect, it was a comic opera situation—thirteen slow, clumsy PBYs setting out to torpedo enemy carriers protected by the fast, slashing Zero fighters.  Admiral Nimitz had marshalled every bit of force at his command and was scraping the bottom of the barrel.  If the Japanese, who already held Wake Island to the west of Midway, could capture Midway, it would become a spear point aimed directly at the Hawaiian Islands and, beyond, at the west coast of the United States.  Unbeknownst to us, we were facing the greatest fleet of Japanese warships ever assembled—and led by Admiral Nagumo’s fast carrier task force, the same that had made the attack on Hawaii on December 7^th, 1941.)

As we droned on toward our point of no return out beyond French Frigate Shoals, we sobered and started to reflect on our chances of success.  I sat in the tower as my adrenalin subsided and wondered about that.  Fear?  Yes, I felt the metallic taste of fear in my mouth and I knew that some of us would not come back.  There was just a chance, though, that some of us might get through and put a torpedo into one of those carriers.  My jaw was set in determination as I logged the engine instrument readings.  We would go do what had to be done.

It was not to be—that day.  Fifty miles short of our point of no return out pat French Frigate Shoals, Marcy contacted the other planes and led the formation in a sweeping turn that reversed our course.  He then came on the interphone, “Well, gentlemen, we have been ordered back to Kaneohe.  Word is that the Japs have air superiority over Midway and we have the chance of a snowball in hell of getting through.  Admiral Nimitz himself has ordered us back.”

All of us (except that nameless radioman) were crushed and frustrated.  Our guns were already rigged out and charged.  We had been all keyed up to meet the enemy in combat and, suddenly, we were running for home.  Our disappointment, however, was moderated by the sober realization that if the Japanese had air superiority and we flew toward their fleet, we would be picked off like sitting ducks on a pond.

(We were to learn alter that Admiral Nimitz had received word that Torpedo Eight, flying TBDs, had been completely wiped out during a torpedo attack without getting a single hit on the enemy aircraft carriers.  Only Ensign Gay survived and was picked out of the water by a PBY the next day.)

Marcy led all thirteen PBYs back to Kaneohe Bay.  During the flight back we got word on the radio that at least three Japanese aircraft carriers had been sunk by our dive bombers and that the enemy no long had air superiority.  It was too late, however, and we did not have enough fuel to go on to Midway.  We landed at Kaneohe.  When we were parked on the ramp, we were instructed to leave our gear aboard the airplanes, once again sleep in the ready room, and be ready for takeoff at dawn the next morning.  We would still get to Midway.  That delighted all of us except the radioman I mentioned—he turned in at the sick bay with “cat fever” and had to be replaced.

After evening chow, I went to the barracks looking for brother Dick.  He was nowhere to be found.  One of the squadron yeoman told me that he had one ashore on liberty that afternoon still thinking that we had flown off into the middle of the battle.  He had still not returned when we took off the next morning.

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 [DH1]