Read Online My Carrier War by Norman E. Berg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Norman E. Berg
Tags: History, World War II, Military, Biographies & Memoirs, Leaders & Notable People, Professionals & Academics, Military & Spies
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rpms look all right. Is my radio working? Maybe I’d better call the air/sea rescue plane. Wait a minute, all the instruments are normal.
I realized that nothing was wrong with the airplane. It was me. I was flying in a different environment and out of sight of land, with none of the visual landmarks I was used to. It was my fear of this new environment that had me hearing and seeing things that didn’t exist. I took a deep breath.
Start concentrating on your navigation, Norm. The plane is performing OK. Here’s the plotting board. What time are we due at the turning point? Let’s see. It’s 75 miles from Corpus. I’ll estimate actual speed over the water at 140 knots because I have a slight head wind.
I looked down from the plane’s cockpit, checking the sea conditions. I spied only an occasional white cap. The ocean appeared quite calm, with no wind streaks visible. Good, the estimate wind velocity and direction we got at the briefing are holding. I remembered my ground school nav lesson: occasional white caps and no wind streaks...estimated wind speed eight to ten knots.
I checked my watch. We took off from Corpus at 0935. My estimated speed over the water is 140 knots. Using a small plastic calculator attached to the plotting board called an E6B, I lined up the 140 speed number with the number 75, the miles to be flown, and read off the flight time as 32 minutes. I was due at the first turning point at 1005. I called my wingman to verify my navigation. We agreed on the turning time at the first latitude and longitude point I plotted. At 1005, I made the turn to the new heading of 030.
I recall the feeling I had when I made that first turn—we were no longer flying further away from Corpus. Now we were only 30 miles away from the final checkpoint when we would turn toward home. I began to relax—all the instruments were normal—I was heading back to Corpus.
The remainder of the flight was uneventful. The wind held steady and we were over the field at Corpus on time. I knew though, that flying off the carrier would be different. I wouldn’t be returning to an airport in Texas. Soon, the “airport” would be a small carrier in a big ocean. It would be moving. I would be alone with my plotting board and the ocean. It was going to be a challenge.
Gunnery and Dive-Bomber Training
On March 10, 1942, I flew my first flight in a Navy dive-bomber, the SBC-4. I had seen the plane flying in the area while I was flying the SNC on navigation and tactical missions. This was a aircraft that was still in use in the fleet. I had been told that Navy Bombing Squadron Eight was flying the SBC-4, nicknamed, “the Helldiver,” from the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS
Hornet
in the Pacific. Since the war with Japan was only three months old, I was sure that Bombing Squadron Eight and the SBC-4 would probably see some action against the Japanese Fleet.
Wouldn’t it be great if I would get orders to Bombing Eight on Hornet? I’d get to fly the SBC-4 in combat—get to land it aboard a carrier. I better do real good with the gunnery and bombing training just in case I do get orders to Bombing Eight. I’m sure going to try.
The SBC-4 was a bi-plane with two cockpits, one for the pilot and the rear cockpit for a gunner/radio operator. It was designed as a dive-bomber built by the Curtis Aircraft Company. It had a top speed of 237 mph at 15,300 feet. It was by far the largest plane I’d ever flown. Fully loaded with a 1,000-pound bomb, it weighed over 7,000 pounds. I was very familiar with the cockpit having studied the handbook for at least a week before my first flight. I think the first cockpit items I touched when I climbed into the cockpit were the gun-charging controls and the bomb release switches. I was going to learn how to use these weapons to attack enemy ships if and when I got to the fleet. The sight of those weapon controls brought the war right into the cockpit of that dive-bomber. I remember
I realized that nothing was wrong with the airplane. It was me. I was flying in a different environment and out of sight of land, with none of the visual landmarks I was used to. It was my fear of this new environment that had me hearing and seeing things that didn’t exist. I took a deep breath.
Start concentrating on your navigation, Norm. The plane is performing OK. Here’s the plotting board. What time are we due at the turning point? Let’s see. It’s 75 miles from Corpus. I’ll estimate actual speed over the water at 140 knots because I have a slight head wind.
I looked down from the plane’s cockpit, checking the sea conditions. I spied only an occasional white cap. The ocean appeared quite calm, with no wind streaks visible. Good, the estimate wind velocity and direction we got at the briefing are holding. I remembered my ground school nav lesson: occasional white caps and no wind streaks...estimated wind speed eight to ten knots.
I checked my watch. We took off from Corpus at 0935. My estimated speed over the water is 140 knots. Using a small plastic calculator attached to the plotting board called an E6B, I lined up the 140 speed number with the number 75, the miles to be flown, and read off the flight time as 32 minutes. I was due at the first turning point at 1005. I called my wingman to verify my navigation. We agreed on the turning time at the first latitude and longitude point I plotted. At 1005, I made the turn to the new heading of 030.
I recall the feeling I had when I made that first turn—we were no longer flying further away from Corpus. Now we were only 30 miles away from the final checkpoint when we would turn toward home. I began to relax—all the instruments were normal—I was heading back to Corpus.
The remainder of the flight was uneventful. The wind held steady and we were over the field at Corpus on time. I knew though, that flying off the carrier would be different. I wouldn’t be returning to an airport in Texas. Soon, the “airport” would be a small carrier in a big ocean. It would be moving. I would be alone with my plotting board and the ocean. It was going to be a challenge.
Gunnery and Dive-Bomber Training
On March 10, 1942, I flew my first flight in a Navy dive-bomber, the SBC-4. I had seen the plane flying in the area while I was flying the SNC on navigation and tactical missions. This was a aircraft that was still in use in the fleet. I had been told that Navy Bombing Squadron Eight was flying the SBC-4, nicknamed, “the Helldiver,” from the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS
Hornet
in the Pacific. Since the war with Japan was only three months old, I was sure that Bombing Squadron Eight and the SBC-4 would probably see some action against the Japanese Fleet.
Wouldn’t it be great if I would get orders to Bombing Eight on Hornet? I’d get to fly the SBC-4 in combat—get to land it aboard a carrier. I better do real good with the gunnery and bombing training just in case I do get orders to Bombing Eight. I’m sure going to try.
The SBC-4 was a bi-plane with two cockpits, one for the pilot and the rear cockpit for a gunner/radio operator. It was designed as a dive-bomber built by the Curtis Aircraft Company. It had a top speed of 237 mph at 15,300 feet. It was by far the largest plane I’d ever flown. Fully loaded with a 1,000-pound bomb, it weighed over 7,000 pounds. I was very familiar with the cockpit having studied the handbook for at least a week before my first flight. I think the first cockpit items I touched when I climbed into the cockpit were the gun-charging controls and the bomb release switches. I was going to learn how to use these weapons to attack enemy ships if and when I got to the fleet. The sight of those weapon controls brought the war right into the cockpit of that dive-bomber. I remember
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