2010

December 2, 2011

Both Tora, Tora, Tora and Pearl Harbor prominently featured the tall red and white control tower on Ford Island. This article looks at the history of the control tower and its recent stabilization.

This is the second in a series of articles on Ford Island as it existed on December 7, 1941. Jumping right to the control tower is taking things a bit out of order. However, with the unveiling of the renovated control tower scheduled for December 7, 2011, it is the right time to look at this historic building.

The control tower is part of the Operations Building (S84). This was a multipurpose structure built just to the north of the seaplane base hangars. Like many buildings on Ford Island, it

was a brand new building when the attack occurred. In fact, it was not quite finished.

Figure 1 shows the building right after the attack. It is obvious from the figure is that the control tower was not painted red and white. In fact, it wasn’t painted yet. In addition, there is no control tower at the top. In fact, only two of its three rings are in place around the water tank. Although the control tower at the top of the big water tower was scheduled for construction, it was not in existence at the time of the attack. Aircraft had to be controlled from the building at the base of the water tank.

Figure 1: Building S84 around December 8, 1941. Source: National Archives 80-G-32482.

The figure shows a lower control tower on the roof of Building S84. This structure was created as an aerological tower (for wind direction and weather forecasting). However, until the upper control tower was built, it doubled as an interim control tower for wheeled aircraft using the runway. Figure 2 shows this structure in 1993, during the Historic American Buildings Survey project to survey building S84 [Hatani, 1993]. Figure 3 shows an aerological center, although not the one on Ford Island.

Figure 2: Aerological Tower and Interim Control Tower. Source: Historic American Building Survey, 1993. 048213PR.

Source: National Archives and Records Administration: NH-52831

Building S84 was called the Operations Building. It was actually a multi-purpose building that was designed to serve a number of functions. According to the Historic Buildings Survey assessment of the building [Hatani, 1993], it consisted of “a garage, operations/administrative offices, barracks, aerological tower, water tank, and aircraft control tower” on December 7, 1941.

The upper control tower was finished on May 1, 1942, five months after the attack [U.S. Navy, 1945]. Figure 2 shows the building and control tower shortly afterward, on May 8, 1942. Note that although the building was finished, it was not painted. By the way, the small truck in front of the building in the middle was a wrecker/fire truck designed to work on crashed airplanes.

Figure 5: The Upper Control Tower on May 8, 1942

We do not know exactly when the control tower was finally painted, but we do have a picture of it in August 1942. This is Figure 3. It is not a very good picture, but the control tower is visible in the lower right part of the picture. The tower is painted in sinuous camouflage. We do not know what the camouflage colors were, but red and white would not make for very good camouflage.

Figure 6: The Control Tower Painted in Camouflage August 1942

Figure 6 gives a better image of the camouflaged tower on December 10, 1942. This picture is taken from the north, which is unusual. In the foreground on the left are revetments for aircraft to protect them from attack. These revetments were built after the attack. They were later torn down.

Figure 7: Camouflaged Tower on November 10, 1942. Source: National Archives.

When Did the Tower Become Red and White?

We are even more uncertain when the tower was painted red and white. Figure 4 shows the control tower in 1944. It is still in camouflage. Presumably, it remained this way through the war.

Figure 8: The Tower in June 1944

We also know that when Tora, Tora, Tora was filmed in 1969, the tower was red and white. Unfortunately, we have no idea when between 1944 and 1969 the tower was painted red and white. We are currently looking for pictures of the tower between 1944 and 1969 to get a better understanding of when the color was changed to red and white. If you have any pictures of the tower, please contact our Curatorial Department 808-441-1016.

Although S84 looked different on the day of the attack than it did in its finished red-and-white form, it played an important role on the day of the attack. Aviator Harvey Waldron [Quazilbash 2010] recalled that oil-soaked survivors of the battleships were wandering around in a state of shock. Waldron and others took them to S84, where they tried to remove the oil from the victims with their t-shirts and anything else on hand, although Waldron said that it was “hopeless.”

During the attack, operators in the lower control deck guided the Enterprise SBD Dauntless scout planes that arrived in the middle of the attack. Although five SBDs were lost to Japanese and American fire, most were able to land on the Ford Island runway. Two are visible in a photograph taken from S84 of Hangar 37, which is Pacific Aviation Museum’s first hangar. After servicing and arming with bombs, the SBDs later went back up, despite continuing danger from “friendly fire,” in an attempt to find the Japanese fleet.

Later that night, the commander of the Enterprise air group, who had arrived that morning in one of the surviving SBDs, tried to use the radio in the tower to warn six arriving Enterprise F4F Wildcat fighters to land directly instead of making a customary pass around the island [Erickson, undated]. The Enterprise aircraft either ignored him or could not hear him. When they made a pass over the airfield, nearly all the guns in the harbor opened up on them, with fatal results.

In 1993, the Historic American Buildings Survey conducted a study of Building S-84 [Hatani, 1993]. Referring to two 1970 architectural drawings, the report said that the first floor was converted into a fire station that year. The first floor continued to be a fire station when the survey was done.

The second floor was divided in half. At some point, the southern half (the half closes to Hangar 37) was converted into a chapel, but that use ceased about 1988. The southern half then became a storage area.

When the study was done, the northern half of the second floor was used as a training facility and offices for the Naval Station Police Department.

At the time of the study, the aerological tower had been converted into a control deck for civilian touch-and-go practice. The control deck was operated by Hawaii State Department of Transportation. Civilian operations started in 1970 and lasted till 1999. They ended when Barbers Point was closed as a naval air station and a civilian airport opened in its place.

Finally, the report noted that the steel water tank and upper control tower were in a state of disrepair and had been abandoned. Although there were plans to renovate the two-story building, there were no plans at the time to renovate the water tower or upper control tower.

Was It Ever a Dive Tower

At the beginning of the museum in 2006, things were a bit rushed, and several historically inaccurate things were said to visitors. The biggest gaffe was frequently saying that the tower, which is a large water tank, was a navy submarine diving tower for training submariners in how to evacuate sunken submarines. This was completely wrong. The water tank was never a dive tower. The confusion probably occurred because Pearl Harbor did have a navy dive tower. It was, as you would suspect, on the submarine base. Figure 5 shows the submarine base. The dive tower is small but clearly visible.

Source: National Archives. Submarine Base on October 13, 1941. 80-G-451125.

References

Hatani, Dennis and Hatanki, Dennis K. Hatani, Inc., Historic American Buildings Survey, U. S. Naval Base, Pearl Harbor, Operations Building (Building No. S84), HABS No. HI-145, October 1993.

Quazilbash, Homa, Local Veteran Looks Back at Pearl Harbor, KTVZ.com, December 7, 2010. http://www.ktvz.com/news/26054286/detail.html.

U.S. Navy, History of U.S. Naval Air Station, Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii, 1945.

Erickson, F. A., Lt., U.S.C.G, Incident of Enterprise airplanes, Attempt Landing, 10 December 1941. Undated.

Prepared By

Ray@Panko.com

Ford Island was the epicenter of the attack on December 7, 1941. Its seaplane base had dozens of long-range PBY patrol bombers capable of locating the Japanese fleet after the attack. Along her coast were moored seven of the Pearl Harbor fleet’s nine battleships. Ford Island is also where the Pacific Fleet’s three carriers would have moored had they been in port that day. The attack destroyed nearly all of the patrol planes. It also disabled the Pacific Fleet’s battleship force, making it impossible for the U.S. to carry the fight to Japan to spoil the Japanese expansion in the Pacific.

Today, Ford Island is still an active military base. However, it is now possible for tourists to visit parts of this historic battlefield. Pacific Aviation Museum Pearl Harbor gives visitors access to historic Hangar 37 and Hangar 79 and is in the process of renovating the famous control tower. The museum will eventually expand to include Hangar 54. This is the first in a series of articles on Ford Island as it existed on December 7, 1941.

The Surrounding Area

Figure 1 shows Pearl Harbor and the surrounding area. Ford Island is in the middle of the harbor.

Figure 1: Pearl Harbor and Hickam Field, October 30, 1941 80-G-182874

On the eastern shore is the Navy Yard, where heavy repairs were done. The USS Pennsylvania (BB-28), the flagship of the battle fleet was in dry dock for overhaul. In the second wave of the attack, dive bombers damaged the Pennsylvania heavily damaged the destroyers USS Cassin (DD-372), USS Shaw (DD-373), and USS Downes (DD-375). On the 1010 Dock closest to Ford Island, the light cruiser USS Helena (CL-50) and the minelayer USS Oglala (CM-4) were moored during the attack. Both were sunk by a Japanese torpedo but were later restored. The Helena was lost at the Battle of Kula Gulf in 1943.

Many Japanese torpedo planes flew along the East Loch to get the longest possible straight runs for dropping their computers. This put the battleships USS Oklahoma and USS West Virginia in an almost direct line. Of the 40 torpedoes dropped by Japanese aircraft, approximately 14 hit these two ships.

Note that Hickam Field, which was the U.S. Army Air Forces bomber field in Hawaii, is adjacent to Pearl Harbor. Today, the two bases are combined into Joint Base Pearl Harbor Hickam.

The figure also shows the narrow sea channel between the Pacific Ocean and Pearl Harbor. If a major ship had been sunk in the harbor while escaping, other ships could not leave or enter the harbor.

Finally, the figure shows oil storage near the submarine base. Admiral Nagano has been criticized for not launching a third wave to destroy the oil storage tanks throughout Pearl Harbor and ship repair facilities in the Navy Yard.

Ford Island

Figure 2 takes a closer look at Ford Island. This picture was taken on October 10, 1941. If it looks familiar to visitors to Pacific Aviation Museum, this is because the photograph was the basis for the Dru Blair mural that visitors see when they enter the main floor of Hangar 37.

Figure 2: Ford Island, October 10, 1941. 80-G-279375

The label Battleship Row lies at the bottom of a set of quays used by the bulk of Pearl Harbor’s battleships. On the day of the attack, the battleships Oklahoma (BB-37), Maryland (BB-46), West Virginia (BB-48), Tennessee (BB-43), Arizona (BB-39), and Nevada (BB-36) were moored there. The USS California (BB-44) was moored farther down at Quay F-3, just behind where the USS Enterprise is in the October, 1941 picture (at Quay F-2) [1]. These battleships bore the brunt of the torpedo, high-level bombing, and dive bombing attacks on Pearl Harbor that day. The USS Pennsylvania (BB-38), the other battleship in port that day, was in the Navy Yard undergoing overhaul. The other battleship in the Pearl Harbor force was the USS Colorado (BB-45). She was in undergoing overhaul on the West Coast.

No aircraft carriers were in port that day. The USS Enterprise (CV-6) was scheduled to have returned from dropping off 12 F4F fighters at Wake Island, but it was delayed by heavy seas. As noted in an earlier blog article, the Enterprise was normally moored where it was in Figure 2. The USS Lexington (CV-2) and the USS Saratoga (CV-3) normally moored on the other side of the island, where the USS Utah (AG-16) was moored on the day of the attack. On the day of the attack, Lexington was on its way to delivery dive bombers to Midway Island. Saratoga had just finished a refit and was entering San Diego’s harbor to pick up its air wing. The survival of these carriers was critical for the first year of the war.

The lower right corner of Pearl Harbor is the seaplane base. This base had four squadrons of Consolidated PBY Catalina patrol bombers. These aircraft had an operational radius of operation of 700 miles, so they could have found the Japanese fleet long after its attack. The seaplane base also was the servicing area for catapult-launched aircraft on cruisers and battleships when these ships were in port. Due to a communication mix-up, Japanese dive bombers hit the seaplane base at 7:55, almost five minutes before their torpedo bombers arrived to attack the battleships. The seaplane base is now home to Pacific Aviation Museum and active Navy facilities. Its landmark feature was the control tower in the airfield Operations Building. The photo shows that the tower was unfinished in October, 1941, just as it was on the day of the attack.

At the opposite side of the island was the servicing area for carrier aircraft when the carriers were in port. This area had been a U.S. Army Air Corps base, Luke Field, until 1939. It was often still referred to as “Luke Field” despite the fact that it was then a Navy facility. The runway, by the way, was never called Luke Field. “Field” was the U.S. Army Air Corps and U.S. Army Air Forces name for an air base, not for the base runway.

The 1930s were the romantic years of flight. At the beginning of the decade, flying across oceans was a life-risking experience. However, beginning in 1936, Pan Am began to fly across the Pacific. Their aircraft were the beautiful, luxurious, and enormous Clippers. Built by Martin and Boeing, these amazing aircraft flew the rich and famous in style to exotic locations throughout the Pacific. Although Clippers only flew passengers for five years before America was dragged into the war, it is difficult to think of pre-war Hawaii without a Pan Am Clipper flying above the islands.

In 1927, Pan Am began to fly in Central and South America. By the early 1930s, Juan Trippe wanted to create regular mail, cargo, and passenger service to Hawaii and locations deeper in the Pacific. His initial goal was to carry people, cargo, and mail all the way from San Francisco to China. In 1935, the first survey flights gained the company experience for operating the route. October 1935 saw the beginning of mail and cargo service. October 21, 1936 saw the first passenger flight. Pan Am provided weekly service along recently impossible routes. Although the first services stopped at Manila for political reasons, service continued to expand and eventually reached Hong Kong and Singapore.

Pan Am was also eyeing the more lucrative market for service between America and Europe, but poor weather conditions made year-round Atlantic service extremely risky. In addition, the required stepping stones along the Pacific route to Manila were U.S. possessions, while trans-Atlantic flights would have to stop at possessions owned by other countries. Only in 1939 did Pan Am begin service to Europe, and that year weather problems cancelled 40% of the flights, and many that did complete the route were delayed for several days.

Before Clipper service began, Pan Am operations in Central and South America became a laboratory for how to extend air service to regions where distances were long, airports few, and facilities largely non-existent. Although Pan Am used airports when it could, there were many more bays than airports, and they used flying boats and float planes heavily. The Americas operations forced Pan Am to develop long-distance navigation, radio communication, and the creation of fully functional air support and hotel facilities where none existed. Although the Pacific would bring even greater challenges, Pan Am already had oversea flying capabilities that no other company could approach.

To cross the Pacific, Pan Am would need far larger flying boats to achieve economic payloads. Although aircraft companies were ready to create large four-engine aircraft, few airports could to accommodate. Four-engine flying boats would not have these problems. The first Pan Am Clipper, the Sikorsky S-42, was really designed for the Americas, although S-42s surveyed some Pacific routes and flew the short hop between Manila and Hong Kong. Next came three larger Martin M-130s provided the first regular service.

Then came the definitive Boeing 314s and 314As. With a payload five times that of the Martins, the twelve B314s and B-314As finally brought the Pacific service to maturity when they arrived in early 1939. These enormous aircraft had a stunning maximum gross weight of 84,000 pounds. Their wide boat hulls have enormous room for passengers and cargo. Their wings were so thick that the flight engineer could crawl out to the engines and service them in flight. They would be the widest passenger aircraft until the Boeing 747 many years later.

The Boeings were enormous. By way of comparison, the dominant passenger airliner at the time was the twin-engine Douglas DC-2, which carried 14 passengers over routes nearing 1,000 miles and cost about $80,000. In contrast, the Boeings cost $620,000 apiece—just under ten million of today’s dollars. They could carry 74 passengers, cargo, and mail over 3,500-mile hops. Boeing had previously built the XB-15, which was heavier than the later B-17. Engines strong enough to give the XB-15 good performance had not been available, so that project died. Boeing responded to Pan Am’s needs by adapting the 150 foot wing of the XB-15 and the engine nacelles to an enormous flying boat body. Using new Wright 1,500 hp and later 1,600 hp Twin Cyclone engines, the 314A was able to carry this enormous bulk at cruising speeds of 188 mph.

The only class was first class. Passenger compartments had heavy sound deadening. The aircraft had couches instead of just seats. On overnight flights, they could convert into beds. The passenger space was divided into five compartments. In addition, there was a spacious main lounge, separate men’s and women’s restrooms and changing rooms, and even a bridal suite in the tail. Food was served on China plates, and the level of cuisine was high. In addition, on most part of the journey, passengers only flew during the day and slept at comfortable hotels at night. Pan Am loved to use nautical terminology, so it called its cabin attendants stewards and later stewardesses. For this level of service, prices were beyond the reach of anyone but the super wealthy. In 1939, a one-way ticket from San Francisco to Honolulu cost $278, and a one-way ticket to Hong Kong cost $1,368. In 2010 dollars, these were $4,317 and $11,803.

The flight from San Francisco to Manila took six hops. The big jump was the flight between San Francisco and Honolulu. This 2,400-mile flight was roughly a thousand miles longer than other routes. Even with Boeing Clippers, overnight flying was unavoidable. Due to the long distance of this flight, even the Boeing Clippers only carried about 25 passengers and limited their speeds to between 135 and 144 mph. On other legs, as noted earlier, the Boeing Clipper could carry 74 passengers with cruising speeds as high as 188 mph. Night flying was hazardous because aircraft could fly into unseen storms. Consequently, only the Honolulu–San Francisco leg used overnight flying.

Beyond Hawaii, Midway Island was 1,400 miles away, Wake Island was 1,300 miles further, and Guam was an additional 1,600 miles. The flight from San Francisco to Manila covered 8,200 miles. It took six days and involved about 60 hours of flying time. On Midway and Wake, Pan Am had to create two facilities on barren islands. For these stops, Pan Am built service facilities and comfortable hotels. These were only used once or twice a week, so operating costs were enormous. This was far from today’s pace of travel, but it was only about a third of the time required to travel these distances by ship. Later, Pan Am introduced Clipper service to New Zealand and other southern points.

When we think of Clipper service, we usually focus on passengers. However, Pan Am made half of its annual revenues from the carriage of mail. Mail was also critical on the Pacific routes. In fact, the first Pacific Clippers flew for almost a year delivering cargo and mail before they began to carry passengers.

When the Japanese attacked on December 7, one Pan Am Clipper was about an hour away from landing in the harbor. Fortunately, it was warned and was able to divert to Hilo. A few hours later, a Martin M-130 Clipper was called back to Wake Island to make a patrol flight toward Midway to try to locate the Japanese fleet. As it was refueling for the mission, the Japanese bombed the island by air. The Clipper received 97 bullet holes, but it could fly well enough to evacuate 56 Pan Am employees.

Nine others had died in the attack, and one more failed to make the flight. At Hong Kong, a Sikorsky S-42 Clipper was caught in a Japanese attack shortly afterward it was heavily strafed and burned to the water line. Other Clippers were in the air and managed to evade destruction, although one had to return by flying West over 30,000 miles to La Guardia Airport—all under radio silence. After the start of the war, U.S. military took over Pan Am’s eleven Martin M-130s and Boeing B-314s. Due to the enormous experience of Pan Am in long-distance flying over water, the military asked the company to operate some of the Clippers using its own crew and staff.

Throughout the war, Pan Am flew across the Atlantic carrying high-priority passengers and critical cargo. For example, shortly after the Pearl Harbor attack, three Boeing 314s flew from New York to India. They were carrying vital spare parts and ammunition for the American Volunteer Group in China. On one trip, the Dixie Clipper took President Roosevelt to the Casablanca Conference and brought him home again. President Roosevelt, who thus became the first president of fly, celebrated his birthday in the Clipper’s dining room. Heavily overloaded, these wartime flights had some crashes. In one of these crashes, the aircraft was carrying a Pan Am Clipper pilot named Gene Roddenberry.

In 1945, the Honolulu Clipper lost two engines and had to land on the ocean 650 miles east of Hawaii. The passengers and crew were evacuated by ships in the area. The seaplane tender San Pablo attempted to take the Clipper in tow, but it accidentally ran into the Clipper, damaging it beyond repair. The San Pablo sunk the Clipper with 20 mm cannon fire, but it took 1,200 rounds and 30 minutes of fire to finally sink the aircraft.

After the war, the government offered to sell the Clippers back to Pan Am, but the company declined. The war had brought many more airports around the world, and four-engine landplanes could fly faster than the fat Clipper flying boats. DC-4s and Boeing 307s had begun to appear even before the war. Shortly after the war, Pan Am Lockheed Constellations, DC-5s, and Boeing 377s took over the routes that the Clippers had pioneered. Other companies bought the remaining Clippers from the military, but in 1951, the last of the huge Boeing Clippers reached the end of its career. None of these beautiful and historic aircraft remain except in old travel posters and cherished photographs.

Post by Ray Panko

Figure 1: USS Utah AG-16

In the first wave of the Pearl Harbor attack, 16 Japanese B5N2 Kate torpedo bombers approached Ford Island from the northwest. The western side of Ford Island is where the Lexington and Saratoga usually moored when they were in port. Although the Japanese knew that these carriers had been out of port, it made sense to send some of their torpedo planes to that side of the island first. If the Kates did not find a carrier or battleship, they could fly past Ford Island, turn around, and attack the battleships that moored on the northeast side of the island. Most did precisely that.

When the Kates reached the western side of the island, however, two crews used their torpedoes to attack the Utah, sinking her and killing 64 of her crewmen, 58 of whom were entombed in the ship when she capsized. This made little sense from a military point of view because the Utah was no longer an active battleship. The Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 resulted in ship limitations that required the Navy to turn the old Utah (commissioned in 1911) into an auxiliary ship. When that finally happened in 1931, her designation changed from BB-31 to AG-16. Her ten 12-inch guns were removed, and aircraft practiced dropping bombs on the Utah. For safety, the Utah was turned into a remote control ship for bomb practice exercises. Operators in another ship could control her movements so that there was no danger of falling bombs harming the crew. In 1941, she was given modern anti-aircraft guns and became an AA training ship as well as a target ship. To protect her guns during practice bomb drops, sensitive parts of her top-side structure were covered with long six-by-twelve inch timbers. However, when the ship began to roll after being hit, these timbers rolled loose; they impeded crew damage control and escape.

The seamen on Pearl Harbor tried to make sense of Utah sinking by speculating that the timbers over her most sensitive parts made the Japanese believe that she was an aircraft carrier. Obviously, this speculation was not based on any real knowledge of Japanese thinking. In addition, this explanation never made much sense. The two figures in this article show that the Utah did not look anything like an aircraft carrier. She had a high superstructure and typical battleship masts. There was no way for aircraft to take off from or land on such a ship.

After the war, interviews with Japanese participants in the Pearl Harbor raid cleared up the mystery. The Japanese fleet knew very well that the Utah was no longer a Battleship. Genda and Fuchida, who respectively planned and led the attack, ordered their men not to attack the Utah. However, one of the young pilots still mistook the Utah for an active battleship (not for an aircraft carrier) and attacked it, as did his wingman. Matsumura, who led the group of 16, was furious because the attacking Kates only had 40 torpedoes. The waste of even two was a serious matter.

Sources:

Delgado, James P., National Register of Historic Places Registration Form: USS Utah (BB-31 and AG-16), National Parks Service, 1998. This was the source of most information about the Utah, including its role as an auxiliary ship. This information is available elsewhere, but this is an exceptionally good source.

Prange, Gordon W., Goldstein, Donald M., and Dillon, Katherine V., At Dawn We Slept: The Untold Story of Pearl Harbor, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1981. This was the source of Japanese information about the sinking of the Utah. Prange and his team conducted many interviews with Japanese principals in the war.

Post by Ray Panko

Our snake’s time with the 235th was stressful. During her first month in Vietnam, the 298’s base came under mortar fire. As its crew’s rushed to get into the air from a revetment, one of her pilots over-revved the engine. This caused the tail to swing around into the revetment wall.

Fortunately, she could be repaired in theater. On March 11, our snake was attacking from 1,000 feet at 180 kts when she took her first hit. Her armament system was damaged, but she was able to complete her mission. The next day, on an armed reconnaissance mission, she was flying at 200 feet and 120 kts when she took her second hit. She was repaired and sent back to work. On June 6, she ran into heavier fire and took five hits to the transmission, main tail rotor, and oil system. This time, she was forced to land. She was repaired sufficiently to take off and divert to another base.

In January 1969, Viet Cong sappers damaged her with a satchel charge while she was parked. In February, she was again downed by fire but was recovered. She took more hits in February and March but continued the mission both times. On May 26, she took another three hits during a close air support mission. Although her cockpit and fuel system were damaged, she continued her mission. However, she was then moved to a maintenance unit to repair her damage and to be completely overhauled.

In June 1970, she reentered the fight with another nondivisional unit, the 3/5 Cavalry squadron. Cavalry units call their companies “troops” and their battalions “squadrons.” The 3/5 (pronounced third of the fifth) was the third squadron of the 5th Cavalry Regiment. Regiments were no longer active units in the Army hierarchy, but the 5th was nevertheless the titular home of the 3d.

The 3/5 was officially the Black Knights, but they called themselves the “Bastard Cav” because of their nondivisional status. Our snake was assigned to the D troop, known as the Crusaders. At the time, the Black Knights were under the 1st Cavalry Division’s 3d Brigade. After only 7 hours with the 3/5, however, our snake suffered an undocumented accident and went back into maintenance.

Photo credit: Vaughn Banting

After she returned to service, she first flew briefly with the famous 1/9 cavalry squadron of the famous 1st Cavalry Division. This was the “Air Cav’s” cavalry reconnaissance unit, and it called itself the “Real Cav.” The 1st of the 9th typically flew “pink” missions with a low-flying “white” observation helicopter seeking out the enemy and a higher-flying “red” Cobra providing protection and firing on enemy their partner identified.

However, our snake was quickly moved to the Air Cav’s 229th Assault Helicopter Battalion, known as the “Stacked Deck.” The 229th was tasked with moving assault troops into and out of landing zones and resupplying them during combat.

The 229th had three companies of assault Huey troop ships, each with about 20 helicopters. It also had one company (D) of about a dozen gunships, one of which was our snake. This company was known as the “Smiling Tigers.” There is no record of any damage during our snake’s time in the 229th until the accident that ended her service in Vietnam on 28 November, 1971. A warrant officer instructor pilot was giving a Captain a 90-day check ride.

The ride required the Captain to do several maneuvers simulating aircraft failure conditions. In one maneuver, the Captain overcorrected a nose-down condition caused by a simulated failure. The snake reared back, losing RPMs. She landed hard, damaging her right-side landing skid, then jumped back into the air. The instructor pilot immediately took over, but the aircraft landed hard, ending up on her left side, her blades having shattered as the hit the ground. Her long tour of duty was over.
Our snake spent most of her Army time after the war at Fort Knox, with the 1st and 5th Divisions. In 1974, she moved to Hawaii, where she was stationed at Schofield Barracks. The next year, she retired from active duty and moved to the Hawaii Army National Guard. Below is a picture of her doing a fly-by in 1999. This was the final flight of the Cobras in Hawaii.

At Pearl Harbor, the “newest” battleship was the West Virginia (BB-48). Built in 1921, she had the advantages of lessons learned in World War II. In addition, she was heavily updated before World War II. After she was built, a moratorium was placed on battleship construction a result of the Washington Naval conference. The U.S. would not begin to build more battleships until the eve of World War II.

West Virginia, 1926. National Archives, Photo # NH 46415

During the attack, the West Virginia took more hits than any other ship, including the Arizona and Oklahoma. She was hit by six or seven torpedoes (there was too much damage to be certain) and two heavy high-level bombs. Although alert counter-flooding kept her from capsizing like the Oklahoma moored in front of her, she sunk 40 feet into the harbor mud, continuing to burn for another day.

West Virginia sunk in 40 feet of water. Note the two funnels. Also note the “birdcage” masts, which were characteristics of U.S. battleships built after World War I. Robert F. Walden Collection - Hawaii War Records Depository - University of Hawaii Archives

Fortunately, Pearl Harbor’s shipyard was still operational. The yard put patches over her torpedo holes and floated her to dry dock. In May, 1942, fixed up enough to sail, the West Virginia left for a major overhaul on the West Coast.

West Virginia leaving Pearl Harbor for reconstruction. Robert F. Walden Collection - Hawaii War Records Depository - University of Hawaii Archives

It was not until July 1944 that she finally rejoined the fleet, just in time for the Battle of Leyte Gulf. When the West Virginia returned, she was a much better ship. She had no visible funnels, a sleeker superstructure, and bristled with heavy antiaircraft guns. Most importantly for the coming battle, the long delay in upgrading her meant that she had the Navy’s newest Mark 8 fire control radar system plus additional radar to spot aircraft. She would be able to fire on the advancing Japanese forces long before they could see her. Her only real limitation was that she was still slow, limited to about 20 knots. She would not be able to keep up with carrier task forces, but for bombarding beach heads or sitting in ambush, this was no hindrance at all.

West Virginia after Reconstruction, 1944. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph # 19-N-68376 Note the radar installations at the top.

The first Japanese force to enter the strait was Adm. Nishimura Shoji’s two battleships, one cruiser, and four destroyers. Even in a traditional battle, the Americans would have had a strong advantage with their six battleships and several cruisers. By this time in the war, the U.S. fleet was far larger than the Japanese fleet. Crossing the Japanese T would merely add to the slaughter.

Long before the Japanese came into range of the battleships, 39 Patrol Torpedo boats harassed them with torpedo runs. They did no damage, but they gave Adm. Jessie Oldendorf a constant picture of the Japanese advance. As Nishimura got closer to the mouth of the strait, Oldendorf unleashed 28 destroyers to attack with torpedoes. The destroyers launched up to ten torpedoes apiece into the approaching Japanese force. In contrast to the PT boat attacks, the destroyer attacks were deadly. Torpedoes from the little tin cans blew the battleship Fusō in half, sunk two destroyers, and left the destroyer Asagumo behind with damage. Almost half of Nishimura’s force was gone before he neared the mouth of the strait and the Pearl Harbor greeters waiting to welcome them.

Although the U.S. welcoming committee was extremely potent, it had one limitation. The navy had provisioned the battleships for shore bombardment to support MacArthur’s landings at Leyte. Consequently, 75 percent of their shells were high capacity shells useless against battleships. The big battle wagons would only fire a limited number of broadsides to conserve their armor piercing (AP) shells.

Finally, the surviving Japanese ships neared the mouth of the straight. The battleships held their fire, waiting for the Japanese ships to steam closer. The West Virginia recorded the fatal minutes of the bombardment in her log.

• At 0208, the West Virginia could see shell fire from the approaching Japanese fleet.
• At 0304, the enemy appeared on the ship’s long-range SG-1 radar systems designed to track aircraft.
• At 0332, admiral Oldendorf cleared the battleships to fire.
• At 0333, the West Virginia got a firing solution with her Mark 8 fire control radar at 30,000 yards. (She had actually seen the approaching fleet at 44,000 yards.) Her target throughout the bombardment would be the Japanese battleship Yamashiro.
• Her radar could pick out individual ships of both the first Japanese force and the second force steaming far behind it. She could also see individual U.S. destroyers attacking the Japanese forces.
• She waited until 0352, with the Japanese 22,800 yards away. The delay had been necessary to ensure that she would not be firing on U.S. ships. Finally, the “Wee Vee” fired her first eight-gun broadside of 16 inch armor piercing shells. She scored immediate hits with this first salvo of 2,400 pound shells.
• At 0354, she saw the battleship illuminated by fire during the sixth salvo.
• Overall, she sent 16 broadsides. The first 13 took place at an average of every 41 seconds. In all, she fired 89 AP shells and 4 high capacity shells. The HC rounds were used because of an inability to get AP shells to guns a few times.
• During the second or third broadside, California and Tennessee, which also had the Mark 8 radar, begin to add their 14 inch guns to the carnage, firing a total of 139 shells.
• The Maryland, with an older Mark 4 radar fire control system, fired at the water spouts kicked up by the shells of other ships. California and Mississippi decided to conserve their shells. Pennsylvania did not fire at all, and Mississippi only fired a single salvo.
• Cruisers with 6 inch and 8 inch guns positioned to the south of the battleships added their fire.
• At 0402, the West Virginia and other heavies ceased fire to conserve their AP shells. At this point, the West Virginia only had 110 AP shells left.
• At 4:11, the radar blip that had been the Yamashiro bloomed and then faded.
• At 4:12, the radar blip vanished.

The visual effect was astounding, Captain Smoot, commanding the destroyer Newcomb, said that the arcs of fire looked like the tail lights of cars crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

Their barrages quickly sunk the remaining Japanese battleship, Yamashiro, and devastated the heavy cruiser Mogami. The only Japanese ship to avoid serious damage was the destroyer Shigure, which had immediately reversed course and steamed away while the big guns focused on the battleship and cruiser. The Mogami, although massively damaged, was able to limp slowly to the south. When the second Japanese force began to approach the mouth of the strait with two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and four destroyers, its admiral witnessed the burning destruction in the water and immediately turned around to avoid the guns of the American fleet. The threat from Japan through the Surigao Strait was ended. The next day, aircraft sunk the Mogami, and destroyers and cruisers finished off the destroyer Asagumo. Only the Shigure survived the passage through the strait.

Although the Pearl Harbor battleships had taken their revenge, they did relatively little of the total damage. The destroyers had heavily reduced the first Japanese force before the battleships ever fired a shot. When the behemoths finally ended their barrages, they only sunk one Japanese battleship and fatally wounded one Japanese cruiser. However, the goal of the battleships had been to keep the Japanese from advancing through the strait to attack MacArthur’s landing force, and even if the destroyers had not reduce the Japanese force, the battleships would still have stopped it. The battleships had decisively done their job.

Although no one knew it at the time, this was the last time in history that battleships would face one another in combat. Even by this time, battleships were mostly used for land bombardment if they were too slow to keep up with the carrier fleet. More modern and faster battleships were mostly used to provide antiaircraft fire to protect the flat tops. Still, the massive wall of cannon shells shot at the enemy during this final battle was a dramatic way to mark the passing of the battleship as the fleet’s capital ship.

One other battleship survived the Pearl Harbor attack. During the Japanese attack, the Nevada made a run for the open sea but was ordered to beach herself when she was attacked by a hornet’s nest of dive bombers and began to sink. She was also repaired and returned to combat. However, she was sent to the Atlantic. In June 1944, her long 14 inch guns supported the Normandy invasion by savaging German troop formations as much as 17 miles behind the invasion force.

Sources

Wiley, H. V., Commanding Officer, West Virginia, Action in Battle of Surigao Straits 25 October 1944 U.S. West Virginia—Report of, 1 November 1944. Available at http://www.ibiblio.org/hyperwar/USN/ships/logs/BB/bb48-Surigao.html. (Last visited February 2, 2011). Transcribed and formatted in HTML by Patrick Clancey, HyperWar Foundation.

Cutler, Thomas J., The Battle of Leyte Gulf 23-26 October 1944, Naval Institute Press, Annapolis Maryland, 1994.

Figure 1: Bombs with Propeller Fuzes

Fuzes have two purposes. The obvious one is to cause the bomb to explode. When the bomb makes impact, the fuze has a spike or electrical circuit that detonates the bomb. If the fuze has a spike, that spike is driven into a small detonation charge that sets off the main bomb charge. An electrical fuze uses a spark to set off the detonation charge. Earlier bombs used pyrotechnic detonation—a flame raced down a detonation line into the detonation charge. Pyrotechnic fuzes were not used in World War II aircraft bombs because of their uncertain detonation time. (In case you were wondering about spelling, pyrotechnic fuses are fuses (with an s), while mechanical or electrical detonators are fuzes (with a z).

Fuzes can have various timers built into them to make the blast more effective. Some go off at a given time after arming, but these are hard to time properly when dropped from aircraft. More common are delay timers to delay the detonation for a few fractions of a second. If an aircraft is dropping a bomb on a runway full of aircraft, there should be no delay. However, if the bomb is dropped on an aircraft hangar, there should be a small delay so that it does not detonate as soon as it hits the roof. Armor piercing bombs, which are designed to penetrate armored ship decks, will have fuzes with even longer delays. Proximity fuzes use radio signals to tell when they are near their targets. They then explode even before hitting the target. This allows a greater radius of destruction.

While making a bomb explode is important, fuzes have an even more important function: to prevent the bomb from detonating before it has left the aircraft. Once a fuze is armed, any hard jolt can set it off. Consequently, fuzes are not armed on a bomber with internal bombs until just before the bombs are dropped. For bombs carried outside an aircraft, the bomb fuze must not go live until a safe time after the bomb has left the aircraft.

This is where the little propellers come in. When a bomb carried externally on an aircraft is loaded aboard, a safety pin is placed through the propeller on the fuze so that the propeller cannot spin.

Figure 2: Fuze with Safety Pin

This pin attaches to a line connected to the aircraft. When the bomb is dropped, the line stays with the aircraft. Almost as soon as the bomb falls away, the pin attached to the line is yanked out of the fuze. Now the propeller is free to turn. As the bomb falls, the propeller begins to spin slowly. This spinning drives a screw which pushes the detonator spike or electrical connection into the detonator charge. The bomb is now armed and will explode at the proper time.

Figure 3: Wire Attached to Safety Pin

The two propellers on one of the bombs? These allow the bomb to have two fuzes. One might be set to go off on impact, while the other might have a small delay. The former would be right for ground targets, while the other would be best for bombs falling through hangars.

Both fuzes will have pins attached to the aircraft by wires. The pilot or bombardier holds or releases these wires. If the front fuze is to be used, the pilot keeps the wire for that fuze attached to the aircraft but releases the wire for the aft fuze. Now when the bomb falls away from the aircraft, the safety pin will be yanked out of the front fuze. The timer built into the front fuze will detonate the bomb. On the rear fuze, the wire will fall with the bomb and so will not yank out the safety hook.

To give an example, suppose that the pilot has a front fuze for immediate impact and a rear fuze for delayed impact. To hit aircraft on the ground, the pilot would hold the front wire and release the rear wire. This would arm the front fuze. However, if the pilot wishes to bomb a hangar, he will hold the rear wire and release the front wire. Now only the rear fuze will be armed, allowing the bomb to pause to reach the bottom of the hangar.

From the pictures in this article, you can see that fuzes are rather simple devices. This allows them to be rugged. However, while using a safety pin attached to a wire might seem crude, it usually worked well.

Post by Ray Panko

From the 1970s through 2006, the Grumman F-14 Tomcat was the defender of the fleet. These huge, fast, swept-wing fighters could take on anything in close-in dog fights and could shoot down enemy aircraft 50 miles away. Toward the end of the Tomcat’s life, F-14s became Bombcats, capable of delivering precision bombs against distant land targets. F-14s starred the movie Top Gun, which also featured co-star Tom Cruise.

Preparing an F-14 Tomcat for launch. (U.S Navy photograph 050222-N-4308O-075, Feb. 22, 2005, by Photographer’s Mate Airman Ryan O'Connor)

Our Tomcat (S/N 163904) “Felix 102″

By the beginning of 2006, there were only two F-14 squadrons left in the Navy. Both were flying combat missions in the Middle East. VF-213 was the “Black Lions.” VF-31 was the “Tomcatters.” The tail insignia of VF-31, created in 1948, was a black Felix the Cat carrying a lit bomb.[1]

Insignia of the VF-31 Tomcatters. (U.S. Navy photograph, http://www.history.navy.mil/insignia/vf/vf31.jpg)

Not surprisingly, the squadron’s call sign was “Felix.” Our F-14D, Serial Number 163904, was Felix 102.

Felix 102 Getting Ready for a Cat Launch (U.S. Navy photo)

In March, the two squadrons returned to their home base, Naval Air Station Oceana in Virginia. VF-213 quickly stood down and began to reequip with FA-18 Hornets. VF-31 remained on duty in case a sudden crisis required it to move out again. Finally, VF-31 was removed from standby duty and prepared to end its Tomcat days. The Navy decided to end the era with a large celebration at Oceana. “Tomcat Sunset” lasted for three days. It drew thousands of F-14 pilots, air crews, and enthusiasts.

Tomcat Sunset (U.S. Navy photo 060922-N-0841E-148)

A few VF-31 aircraft, including 102, had their Felix tail insignia and replaced with special artwork for the occasion.

Tomcat Sunset Tail Marking on Felix 102 (Photo by Ray@Panko.com at Pacific Aviation Museum Pearl Harbor)

The celebration ended on September 22, with a symbolic last flight. The honor was scheduled to be given to Felix 102. Its pilot would be the squadron’s CO, Commander Jim Howe, and its RIO would be Lieutenant Commander Bill Lind. Unfortunately, Felix 102 took the occasion to remind everybody what a maintenance nightmare the F-14 had become in its final years. A generator failed, and the last flight was flown by the backup plane, Felix 107.

Felix 102 at Tomcat Sunset (U.S. Navy Photograph 060922-N-5555T-001)

In any case, this final flight really was symbolic. The next month, the eleven aircraft of the squadron flew from Oceana to their final destinations. Felix 102 flew to NAS North Island. The final Tomcat landed at Republic Airport, near its Grumman birthplace. And, of course, there are still those Iranian F-14As.

In 2008, Felix 102 moved to its final destination, Pacific Aviation Museum in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. She travelled on the assault ship USS Bonhomme Richard. As the ship approached Pearl Harbor, the 102 was placed in front, looking like a hood ornament among the ship’s helicopters. She was winched off the ship, moved by barge to Ford Island, and winched onto land. She was pulled to her new home, Hangar 79.

Felix 102 Thanking the USS Bonhomme Richard (U.S. Navy photograph 080701-N-1722M-033)

Felix 102 in her new home, Hanger 79 at Pacific Aviation Museum Pearl Harbor.

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[1] Tomcatters Association Home Page. http://www.tomcattersassociation.org/

My name is Edgar McElroy. My friends call me “Mac”. I was born and raised in Ennis , Texas the youngest of five children, son of Harry and Jennie McElroy. Folks say that I was the quiet one. We lived at 609 North Dallas Street and attended the Presbyterian Church.

My dad had an auto mechanic’s shop downtown close to the main fire station. My family was a hard working bunch, and I was expected to work at dad’s garage after school and on Saturdays, so I grew up in an atmosphere of machinery, oil and grease. Occasionally I would hear a lone plane fly over, and would run out in the street and strain my eyes against the sun to watch it. Someday, that would be me up there!

I really like cars, and I was always busy on some project, and it wasn’t long before I decided to build my very own Model-T out of spare parts. I got an engine from over here, a frame from over there, and wheels from someplace else, using only the good parts from old cars that were otherwise shot. It wasn’t very pretty, but it was all mine I enjoyed driving on the dirt roads around town and the feeling of freedom and speed. That car of mine could really go fast, 40 miles per hour!

In high school I played football and tennis, and was good enough at football to receive an athletic scholarship from Trinity University in Waxahachie. I have to admit that sometimes I daydreamed in class, and often times I thought about flying my very own airplane and being up there in the clouds. That is when I even decided to take a correspondence course in aircraft engines. Whenever I got the chance, I would take my girl on a date up to Love Field in Dallas. We would watch the airplanes and listen to those mighty piston engines roar. I just loved it and if she didn’t, well that was just too bad.

After my schooling, I operated a filling station with my brother, then drove a bus, and later had a job as a machinist in Longview , but I never lost my love of airplanes and my dream of flying. With what was going on in Europe and in Asia , I figured that our country would be drawn into war someday, so I decided to join the Army Air Corps in November of 1940. This way I could finally follow my dream.

I reported for primary training in California. The training was rigorous and frustrating at times. We trained at airfields all over California . It was tough going, and many of the guys washed out. When I finally saw that I was going to make it, I wrote to my girl back in Longview, Texas. Her name is Agnes Gill. I asked her to come out to California for my graduation. and oh yeah, also to marry me.

I graduated on July 11, 1941. I was now a real, honest-to-goodness Army Air Corps pilot. Two days later, I married “Aggie” in Reno, Nevada. We were starting a new life together and were very happy. I received my orders to report to Pendleton, Oregon and join the 17th Bomb Group. Neither of us had traveled much before, and the drive north through the Cascade Range of the Sierra Nevada ‘s was interesting and beautiful.

It was an exciting time for us. My unit was the first to receive the new B-25 medium bomber. When I saw it for the first time I was in awe. It looked so huge. It was so sleek and powerful. The guys started calling it the “rocket plane”, and I could hardly wait to get my hands on it. I told Aggie that it was really something! Reminded me of a big old scorpion, just ready to sting! Man, I could barely wait!

We were transferred to another airfield in Washington State, where we spent a lot a time flying practice missions and attacking imaginary targets. Then, there were other assignments in Mississippi and Georgia, for more maneuvers and more practice. We were on our way back to California on December 7th when we got word of a Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. We listened with mixed emotions to the announcements on the radio, and the next day to the declaration of war. What the President said, it just rang over and over in my head, “. With confidence in our armed forces, with the un-bounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph. So help us God.” By gosh, I felt as though he was talking straight to me! I didn’t know what would happen to us, but we all knew that we would be going somewhere now.

The first weeks of the war, we were back in Oregon flying patrols at sea looking for possible Japanese submarines. We had to be up at 0330 hours to warm up the engines of our planes. There was 18 inches of snow on the ground, and it was so cold that our engine oil congealed overnight. We placed big tarps over the engines that reached down to the ground. Inside this tent we used plumbers blow torches to thaw out the engines. I figured that my dad would be proud of me, if he could see me inside this tent with all this machinery, oil and grease. After about an hour of this, the engines were warm enough to start.

We flew patrols over the coasts of Oregon and Washington from dawn until dusk. Once I thought I spotted a sub, and started my bomb run, even had my bomb doors open, but I pulled out of it when I realized that it was just a big whale.

Lucky for me, I would have never heard the end of that! Actually it was lucky for us that the Japanese didn’t attack the west coast, because we just didn’t have a strong enough force to beat them off. Our country was in a real fix now, and overall things looked pretty bleak to most folks. In early February, we were ordered to report to Columbus, South Carolina. Man, this Air Corps sure moves a fellow around a lot! Little did I know what was coming next!

After we got settled in Columbus, my squadron commander called us all together. He told us that an awfully hazardous mission was being planned, and then he asked for volunteers. There were some of the guys that did not step forward, but I was one of the ones that did. My co-pilot was shocked. He said “You can’t volunteer, Mac! You’re married, and you and Aggie are expecting a baby soon. Don’t do it!” I told him that “I got into the Air Force to do what I can, and Aggie understands how I feel. The war won’t be easy for any of us.”

We that volunteered were transferred to Eglin Field near Valparaiso, Florida in late February. When we all got together, there were about 140 of us volunteers, and we were told that we were now part of the “Special B-25 Project.”

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHnwxRfzR2A&w=480&h=390]

We set about our training, but none of us knew what it was all about. We were ordered not to talk about it, not even to our wives. In early March, we were all called in for a briefing, and gathered together in a big building there on the base. Somebody said that the fellow who head of this thing is coming to talk to us, and in walks Lieutenant Colonel Jimmy Doolittle. He was already an aviation legend, and there he stood right in front of us. I was truly amazed just to meet him. Colonel Doolittle explained that this mission would be extremely dangerous, and that only volunteers could take part. He said that he could not tell us where we were going, but he could say that some of us would not be coming back.

There was a silent pause; you could have heard a pin drop. Then Doolittle said that anyone of us could withdraw now, and that no one would criticize us for this decision. No one backed out! From the outset, all volunteers worked from the early morning hours until well after sunset. All excess weight was stripped from the planes and extra gas tanks were added. The lower gun turret was removed, the heavy liaison radio was removed, and then the tail guns were taken out and more gas tanks were put aboard. We extended the range of that plane from 1000 miles out to 2500 miles.

Then I was assigned my crew. There was Richard Knobloch the co-pilot, Clayton Campbell the navigator, Robert Bourgeous the bombardier, Adam Williams the flight engineer and gunner, and me, Mac McElroy the pilot. Over the coming days, I came to respect them a lot. They were a swell bunch of guys, just regular All-American boys.

We got a few ideas from the training as to what type of mission that we had signed on for. A Navy pilot had joined our group to coach us at short takeoffs and also in shipboard etiquette. We began our short takeoff practice. Taking off with first a light load, then a normal load, and finally overloaded up to 31,000 lbs. The shortest possible take-off was obtained with flaps full down, stabilizer set three-fourths, tail heavy, full power against the brakes and releasing the brakes simultaneously as the engine revved up to max power. We pulled back gradually on the stick and the airplane left the ground with the tail skid about one foot from the runway. It was a very unnatural and scary way to get airborne! I could hardly believe it myself, the first time as I took off with a full gas load and dummy bombs within just 700 feet of runway in a near stall condition. We were, for all practical purposes, a slow flying gasoline bomb!

In addition to take-off practice, we refined our skills in day and night navigation, gunnery, bombing, and low level flying. We made cross country flights at tree-top level, night flights and navigational flights over the Gulf of Mexico without the use of a radio. After we started that short-field takeoff routine, we had some pretty fancy competition between the crews. I think that one crew got it down to about 300 feet on a hot day. We were told that only the best crews would actually go on the mission, and the rest would be held in reserve. One crew did stall on takeoff, slipped back to the ground, busting up their landing gear. They were eliminated from the mission. Doolittle emphasized again and again the extreme danger of this operation, and made it clear that anyone of us who so desired could drop out with no questions asked. No one did.

Army Air Corps and Navy enlisted personnel loading 50 Cal. ammunition aboard B-25s.

On one of our cross country flights, we landed at Barksdale Field in Shreveport , and I was able to catch a bus over to Longview to see Aggie. We had a few hours together, and then we had to say our goodbyes. I told her I hoped to be back in time for the baby’s birth, but I couldn’t tell her where I was going. As I walked away, I turned and walked backwards for a ways, taking one last look at my beautiful pregnant Aggie.

Within a few days of returning to our base in Florida we were abruptly told to pack our things. After just three weeks of practice, we were on our way. This was it. It was time to go. It was the middle of March 1942, and I was 30 years old. Our orders were to fly to McClelland Air Base in Sacramento, California on our own, at the lowest possible level. So here we went on our way west, scraping the tree tops at 160 miles per hour, and skimming along just 50 feet above plowed fields. We crossed North Texas and then the panhandle, scaring the dickens out of livestock, buzzing farm houses and a many a barn along the way. Over the Rocky Mountains and across the Mojave Desert dodging thunderstorms, we enjoyed the flight immensely and although tempted, I didn’t do too much dare-devil stuff. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was good practice for what lay ahead of us. It proved to be our last fling. Once we arrived in Sacramento, the mechanics went over our plane with a fine-toothed comb. Of the twenty-two planes that made it, only those whose pilots reported no mechanical problems were allowed to go on. The others were shunted aside.

After having our plane serviced, we flew on to Alameda Naval Air Station in Oakland . As I came in for final approach, we saw it! I excitedly called the rest of the crew to take a look. There below us was a huge aircraft carrier. It was the USS Hornet, and it looked so gigantic! Man, I had never even seen a carrier until this moment. There were already two B-25s parked on the flight deck. Now we knew! My heart was racing, and I thought about how puny my plane would look on board this mighty ship. As soon as we landed and taxied off the runway, a jeep pulled in front of me with a big “Follow Me” sign on the back. We followed it straight up to the wharf, alongside the towering Hornet. All five of us were looking up and just in awe, scarcely believing the size of this thing. As we left the plane, there was already a Navy work crew swarming around attaching cables to the lifting rings on top of the wings and the fuselage. As we walked towards our quarters, I looked back and saw them lifting my plane up into the air and swing it over the ship’s deck. It looked so small and lonely.

Later that afternoon, all crews met with Colonel Doolittle and he gave last minute assignments. He told me to go to the Presidio and pick up two hundred extra “C” rations. I saluted, turned, and left, not having any idea where the Presidio was, and not exactly sure what a “C” ration was. I commandeered a Navy staff car and told the driver to take me to the Presidio, and he did. On the way over, I realized that I had no written signed orders and that this might get a little sticky. So in I walked into the Army supply depot and made my request, trying to look poised and confident. The supply officer asked “What is your authorization for this request, sir?” I told him that I could not give him one. “And what is the destination?” he asked. I answered, “The aircraft carrier, Hornet, docked at Alameda .” He said, “Can you tell me who ordered the rations, sir?” And I replied with a smile, “No, I cannot.” The supply officers huddled together, talking and glanced back over towards me. Then he walked back over and assured me that the rations would be delivered that afternoon. Guess they figured that something big was up. They were right. The next morning we all boarded the ship.

Trying to remember my naval etiquette, I saluted the Officer of the Deck and said “Lt. McElroy, requesting permission to come aboard.” The officer returned the salute and said “Permission granted.” Then I turned aft and saluted the flag I made it, without messing up. It was April 2, and in full sunlight, we left San Francisco Bay. The whole task force of ships, two cruises, four destroyers, and a fleet oiler, moved slowly with us under the Golden Gate Bridge. Thousands of people looked on. Many stopped their cars on the bridge, and waved to us as we passed underneath. I thought to myself, I hope there aren’t any spies up there waving.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NelyjRXJoas&w=480&h=390]

Once at sea, Doolittle called us together. “Only a few of you know our destination, and you others have guessed about various targets. Gentlemen, your target is Japan !” A sudden cheer exploded among the men. “Specifically, Yokohama, Tokyo, Nagoya, Kobe, Nagasaki and Osaka. The Navy task force will get us as close as possible and we’ll launch our planes. We will hit our targets and proceed to airfields in China .” After the cheering stopped, he asked again, if any of us desired to back out, no questions asked. Not on did, not one. Then the ship’s Captain then went over the intercom to the whole ship’s company The loudspeaker blared, “The destination is Tokyo !” A tremendous cheer broke out from everyone on board. I could hear metal banging together and wild screams from down below decks. It was quite a rush! I felt relieved actually. We finally knew where we were going.

I set up quarters with two Navy pilots, putting my cot between their two bunks. They couldn’t get out of bed without stepping on me. It was just fairly cozy in there, yes it was. Those guys were part of the Torpedo Squadron Eight and were just swell fellows. The rest of the guys bedded down in similar fashion to me, some had to sleep on bedrolls in the Admiral’s chartroom. As big as this ship was, there wasn’t any extra room anywhere. Every square foot had a purpose… A few days later we discovered where they had an ice cream machine!

There were sixteen B-25s tied down on the flight deck, and I was flying number 13. All the carrier’s fighter planes were stored away helplessly in the hangar deck. They couldn’t move until we were gone. Our Army mechanics were all on board, as well as our munitions loaders and several back up crews, in case any of us got sick or backed out. We settled into a daily routine of checking our planes. The aircraft were grouped so closely together on deck that it wouldn’t take much for them to get damaged. Knowing that my life depended on this plane, I kept a close eye on her.

Day after day, we met with the intelligence officer and studied our mission plan. Our targets were assigned, and maps and objective folders were furnished for study. We went over approach routes and our escape route towards China … I never studied this hard back at Trinity. Every day at dawn and at dusk the ship was called to general quarters and we practiced finding the quickest way to our planes. If at any point along the way, we were discovered by the enemy fleet, we were to launch our bombers immediately so the Hornet could bring up its fighter planes. We would then be on our own, and try to make it to the nearest land, either Hawaii or Midway Island .

Dr. Thomas White, a volunteer member of plane number 15, went over our medical records and gave us inoculations for a whole bunch of diseases that hopefully I wouldn’t catch. He gave us training sessions in emergency first aid, and lectured us at length about water purification and such. Tom, a medical doctor, had learned how to be a gunner just so he could go on this mission. We put some new tail guns in place of the ones that had been taken out to save weight. Not exactly functional, they were two broom handles, painted black. The thinking was they might help scare any Japanese fighter planes. Maybe, maybe not.

On Sunday, April 14, we met up with Admiral Bull Halsey’s task force just out of Hawaii and joined into one big force. The carrier Enterprise was now with us, another two heavy cruisers, four more destroyers an another oiler. We were designated as Task Force 16. It was quite an impressive sight to see, and represented the bulk of what was left of the U.S. Navy after the devastation of Pearl Harbor. There were over 10,000 Navy personnel sailing into harm’s way, just to deliver us sixteen Army planes to Japan, orders of the President.

As we steamed further west, tension was rising as we drew nearer and nearer to Japan. Someone thought of arming us with some old …45 pistols that they had on board. I went through that box of 1911 pistols, they were in such bad condition that I took several of them apart, using the good parts from several useless guns until I built a serviceable weapon. Several of the other pilots did the same. Admiring my “new” pistol, I held it up, and thought about my old Model-T.

Colonel Doolittle called us together on the flight deck. We all gathered round, as well as many Navy personnel. He pulled out some medals and told us how these friendship medals from the Japanese government had been given to some of our Navy officers several years back. And now the Secretary of the Navy had requested us to return them. Doolittle wired them to a bomb while we all posed for pictures. Something to cheer up the folks back home!

I began to pack my things for the flight, scheduled for the 19th. I packed some extra clothes and a little brown bag that Aggie had given me, inside were some toilet items and a few candy bars. No letters or identity cards were allowed, only our dog-tags. I went down to the wardroom to have some ice cream and settle up my mess bill. It only amounted to $5 a day and with my per diem of $6 per day, I came out a little ahead By now, my Navy pilot roommates were about ready to get rid of me, but I enjoyed my time with them. They were alright. Later on, I learned that both of them were killed at the Battle of Midway. They were good men. Yes, very good men.

Colonel Doolittle let each crew pick our own target. We chose the Yokosuka Naval Base about twenty miles from Tokyo . We loaded 1450 rounds of ammo and four 500-pound bombs… A little payback, direct from Ellis County, Texas! We checked and re-checked our plane several times. Everything was now ready. I felt relaxed, yet tensed up at the same time. Day after tomorrow, we will launch when we are 400 miles out. I lay in my cot that night, and rehearsed the mission over and over in my head. It was hard to sleep as I listened to sounds of the ship.

Early the next morning, I was enjoying a leisurely breakfast, expecting another full day on board, and I noticed that the ship was pitching and rolling quite a bit this morning, more than normal. I was reading through the April 18th day plan of the Hornet, and there was a message in it which said, “From the Hornet to the Army – Good luck, good hunting, and God bless you.” I still had a large lump in my throat from reading this, when all of a sudden, the intercom blared, “General Quarters, General Quarters, All hands man your battle stations! Army pilots, man your planes!!!” There was instant reaction from everyone in the room and food trays went crashing to the floor. I ran down to my room jumping through the hatches along the way, grabbed my bag, and ran as fast as I could go to the flight deck. I met with my crew at the plane, my heart was pounding. Someone said, “What’s going on?” The word was that the Enterprise had spotted an enemy trawler. It had been sunk, but it had transmitted radio messages. We had been found out!

The weather was crummy, the seas were running heavy, and the ship was pitching up and down like I had never seen before. Great waves were crashing against the bow and washing over the front of the deck. This wasn’t going to be easy! Last minute instructions were given. We were reminded to avoid non-military targets, especially the Emperor’s Palace. Do not fly to Russia , but fly as far west as possible, land on the water and launch our rubber raft. This was going to be a one-way trip! We were still much too far out and we all knew that our chances of making land were somewhere between slim and none. Then at the last minute, each plane loaded an extra ten 5-gallon gas cans to give us a fighting chance of reaching China .

We all climbed aboard, started our engines and warmed them up, just feet away from the plane in front of us and the plane behind us. Knobby, Campbell, Bourgeois and me in the front, Williams, the gunner was in the back, separated from us by a big rubber gas tank. I called back to Williams on the intercom and told him to look sharp and don’t take a nap! He answered dryly, “Don’t worry about me, Lieutenant. If they jump us, I’ll just use my little black broomsticks to keep the enemy off our tail.”

Crew No. 13 (B-25B Serial Number 40-2247, target Yokosuka): 37th Bombardment Squadron, Lt. Edgar E. McElroy, pilot; Lt. Richard A. Knobloch, copilot; Lt. Clayton J. Campbell, navigator; MSgt. Robert C. Bourgeois, bombardier; Sgt. Adam R. Williams, flight engineer/gunner.

The ship headed into the wind and picked up speed. There was now a near gale force wind and water spray coming straight over the deck. I looked down at my instruments as my engines revved up. My mind was racing. I went over my mental checklist, and said a prayer? God please, help us! Past the twelve planes in front of us, I strained to see the flight deck officer as he leaned into the wind and signaled with his arms for Colonel Doolittle to come to full power. I looked over at Knobby and we looked each other in the eye. He just nodded to me and we both understood.

With the deck heaving up and down, the deck officer had to time this just right. Then I saw him wave Doolittle to go, and we watched breathlessly to see what happened. When his plane pulled up above the deck, Knobby just let out with, “Yes! Yes!” The second plane, piloted by Lt. Hoover, appeared to stall with its nose up and began falling toward the waves. We groaned and called out, “Up! Up! Pull it up!” Finally, he pulled out of it, staggering back up into the air, much to our relief! One by one, the planes in front of us took off. The deck pitched wildly, 60 feet or more, it looked like. One plane seemed to drop down into the drink and disappeared for a moment, then pulled back up into sight. There was sense of relief with each one that made it. We gunned our engines and started to roll forward. Off to the right, I saw the men on deck cheering and waving their covers! We continued inching forward, careful to keep my left main wheel and my nose wheel on the white guidelines that had been painted on the deck for us. Get off a little bit too far left and we go off the edge of the deck. A little too far to the right and our wing-tip will smack the island of the ship. With the best seat on the ship, we watched Lt. Bower take off in plane number 12, and I taxied up to the starting line, put on my the brakes and looked down to my left.

My main wheel was right on the line. Applied more power to the engines, and I turned my complete attention to the deck officer on my left, who was circling his paddles. Now my adrenaline was really pumping! We went to full power, and the noise and vibration inside the plane went way up. He circled the paddles furiously while watching forward for the pitch of the deck. Then he dropped them, and I said, “Here We Go!” I released the brakes and we started rolling forward, and as I looked down the flight-deck you could see straight down into the angry churning water. As we slowly gained speed, the deck gradually began to pitch back up. I pulled up and our plane slowly strained up and away from the ship. There was a big cheer and whoops from the crew, but I just felt relieved and muttered to myself, “Boy, that was short!”

We made a wide circle above our fleet to check our compass headings and get our bearings. I looked down as we passed low over one of our cruisers and could see the men on deck waving to us. I dropped down to low level, so low we could see the whitecap waves breaking. It was just after 0900, there were broken clouds at 5,000 feet and visibility of about thirty miles due to haze or something. Up ahead and barely in sight, I could see Captain Greening, our flight leader, and Bower on his right wing. Flying at 170 mph, I was able to catch up to them in about 30 minutes. We were to stay in this formation until reaching landfall, and then break on our separate ways. Now we settled in for the five hour flight. Tokyo, here we come!

Williams was in the back emptying the extra gas cans into the gas tank as fast as we had burned off enough fuel. He then punched holes in the tins and pushed then out the hatch against the wind. Some of the fellows ate sandwiches and other goodies that the Navy had put aboard for us… I wasn’t hungry. I held onto the controls with a firm grip as we raced along westward just fifty feet above the cold rolling ocean, as low as I dared to fly. Being so close to the choppy waves gave you a true sense of speed. Occasionally our windshield was even sprayed with a little saltwater. It was an exhilarating feeling, and I felt as though the will and spirit of our whole country was pushing us along. I didn’t feel too scared, just anxious. There was a lot riding on this thing, and on me.

As we began to near land, we saw an occasional ship here and there. None of them close enough to be threatening, but just the same, we were feeling more edgy. Then at 1330 we sighted land, the Eastern shore of Honshu. With Williams now on his guns in the top turret and Campbell on the nose gun, we came ashore still flying low as possible, and were surprised to see people on the ground waving to us as we flew in over the farmland. It was beautiful countryside.

Campbell, our navigator, said, “Mac, I think we’re going to be about sixty miles too far north. I’m not positive, but pretty sure” I decided that he was absolutely right and turned left ninety degrees, went back just offshore and followed the coast line south. When I thought we had gone far enough, I climbed up to two thousand feet to find out where we were. We started getting fire from anti-aircraft guns. Then we spotted Tokyo Bay, turned west and put our nose down diving toward the water. Once over the bay, I could see our target, Yokosuka Naval Base. Off to the right there was already smoke visible over Tokyo. Coming in low over the water, I increased speed to 200 mph and told everyone, “Get Ready!”

When we were close enough, I pulled up to 1300 feet and opened the bomb doors. There were furious black bursts of anti-aircraft fire all around us, but I flew straight on through them, spotting our target, the torpedo works and the dry-docks. I saw a big ship in the dry-dock just as we flew over it. Those flak bursts were really getting close and bouncing us around, when I heard Bourgeois shouting, “Bombs Away!” I couldn’t see it, but Williams had a bird’s eye view from the back and he shouted jubilantly, “We got an aircraft carrier! The whole dock is burning!” I started turning to the south and strained my neck to look back and at that moment saw a large crane blow up and start falling over!… Take that! There was loud yelling and clapping each other on the back. We were all just ecstatic, and still alive! But there wasn’t much time to celebrate. We had to get out of here and fast! When we were some thirty miles out to sea, we took one last look back at our target, and could still see huge billows of black smoke. Up until now, we had been flying for Uncle Sam, but now we were flying for ourselves.

We flew south over open ocean, parallel to the Japanese coast all afternoon We saw a large submarine apparently at rest, and then in another fifteen miles, we spotted three large enemy cruisers headed for Japan. There were no more bombs, so we just let them be and kept on going. By late afternoon, Campbell calculated that it was time to turn and make for China. Across the East China Sea, the weather out ahead of us looked bad and overcast. Up until now we had not had time to think much about our gasoline supply, but the math did not look good. We just didn’t have enough fuel to make it!

Each man took turns cranking the little hand radio to see if we could pick up the promised radio beacon. There was no signal. This is not good. The weather turned bad and it was getting dark, so we climbed up. I was now flying on instruments, through a dark misty rain. Just when it really looked hopeless of reaching land, we suddenly picked up a strong tailwind It was an answer to a prayer. Maybe just maybe, we can make it!

In total darkness at 2100 hours, we figured that we must be crossing the coastline, so I began a slow, slow climb to be sure of not hitting any high ground or anything. I conserved as much fuel as I could, getting real low on gas now. The guys were still cranking on the radio, but after five hours of hand cranking with aching hands and backs, there was utter silence. No radio beacon! Then the red light started blinking, indicating twenty minutes of fuel left. We started getting ready to bail out. I turned the controls over to Knobby and crawled to the back of the plane, past the now collapsed rubber gas tank. I dumped everything out of my bag and repacked just what I really needed, my .45 pistol, ammunition, flashlight, compass, medical kit, fishing tackle, chocolate bars, peanut butter and crackers. I told Williams to come forward with me so we could all be together for this. There was no other choice. I had to get us as far west as possible, and then we had to jump.

At 2230 we were up to sixty-five hundred feet. We were over land but still above the Japanese Army in China . We couldn’t see the stars, so Campbell couldn’t get a good fix on our position. We were flying on fumes now and I didn’t want to run out of gas before we were ready to go. Each man filled his canteen, put on his Mae West life jacket and parachute, and filled his bag with rations, those “C” rations from the Presidio. I put her on auto-pilot and we all gathered in the navigator’s compartment around the hatch in the floor. We checked each other’s parachute harness. Everyone was scared, without a doubt. None of us had ever done this before! I said, “Williams first, Bourgeois second, Campbell third, Knobloch fourth, and I’ll follow you guys! Go fast, two seconds apart! Then count three seconds off and pull your rip-cord!”

We kicked open the hatch and gathered around the hole looking down into the blackness. It did not look very inviting! Then I looked up at Williams and gave the order, “JUMP!!!” Within seconds they were all gone. I turned and reached back for the auto-pilot, but could not reach it, so I pulled the throttles back, then turned and jumped. Counting quickly, thousand one, thousand two, thousand three, I pulled my rip-cord and jerked back up with a terrific shock. At first I thought that I was hung on the plane, but after a few agonizing seconds that seemed like hours, realized that I was free and drifting down. Being in the total dark, I was disoriented at First but figured my feet must be pointed toward the ground. I looked down through the black mist to see what was coming up. I was in a thick mist or fog, and the silence was so eerie after nearly thirteen hours inside that noisy plane. I could only hear the whoosh, whoosh sound of the wind blowing through my shroud lines, and then I heard a loud crash and explosion. My plane!

Looking for my flashlight, I groped through my bag with my right hand, finally pulled it out and shined it down toward the ground, which I still could not see. Finally I picked up a glimmer of water and thought I was landing in a lake. We’re too far inland for this to be ocean. I hope! I relaxed my legs a little, thinking I was about to splash into water and would have to swim out, and then bang. I jolted suddenly and crashed over onto my side. Lying there in just a few inches of water, I raised my head and put my hands down into thick mud. It was a rice paddy! There was a burning pain, as if someone had stuck a knife in my stomach. I must have torn a muscle or broke something.

I laid there dazed for a few minutes, and after a while struggled up to my feet. I dug a hole and buried my parachute in the mud. Then started trying to walk, holding my stomach, but every direction I moved the water got deeper. Then, I saw some lights off in the distance. I fished around for my flashlight and signaled one time. Sensing something wrong, I got out my compass and to my horror saw that those lights were off to my west. That must be a Japanese patrol! How dumb could I be! Knobby had to be back to my east, so I sat still and quiet and did not move.

It was a cold dark lonely night. At 0100 hours I saw a single light off to the east. I flashed my light in that direction, one time. It had to be Knobby! I waited a while, and then called out softly, “Knobby?” And a voice replied “Mac, is that you?”. Thank goodness, what a relief! Separated by a wide stream, we sat on opposite banks of the water communicating in low voices. After daybreak Knobby found a small rowboat and came across to get me. We started walking east toward the rest of the crew and away from that Japanese patrol. Knobby had cut his hip when he went through the hatch, but it wasn’t too awful bad.

We walked together toward a small village and several Chinese came out to meet us, they seemed friendly enough. I said, “Luchu hoo megwa fugi! Luchu hoo megwa fugi!” meaning, “I am an American! I am an American!” Later that morning we found the others. Williams had wrenched his knee when he landed in a tree, but he was limping along just fine. There were hugs all around. I have never been so happy to see four guys in all my life!

Well, the five of us eventually made it out of China with the help of the local Chinese people and the Catholic missions along the way. They were all very good to us, and later they were made to pay terribly for it, so we found out afterwards. For a couple of weeks we traveled across country. Strafed a couple of times by enemy planes, we kept on moving, by foot, by pony, by car, by train, and by airplane. But we finally made it to India .

I did not make it home for the baby’s birth. I stayed on their flying a DC-3 “Gooney Bird” in the China-Burma-India Theatre for the next several months.

DC-3

I flew supplies over the Himalaya Mountains, or as we called it, over “The Hump” into China . When B-25s finally arrived in India, I flew combat missions over Burma, and then later in the war, flew a B-29 out of the Marianna Islands to bomb Japan again and again.

After the war, I remained in the Air Force until 1962, when I retired from the service as a Lt. Colonel, and then came back to Texas, my beautiful Texas. First moving to Abilene and then we settled in Lubbock , where Aggie taught school at MacKenzie Junior High. I worked at the S & R Auto Supply, once again in an atmosphere of machinery, oil and grease.

I lived a good life and raised two wonderful sons that I am very proud of. I feel blessed in many ways. We have a great country, better than most folks know. It is worth fighting for. Some people call me a hero, but I have never thought of myself that way, no. But I did serve in the company of heroes. What we did, will never leave me. It will always be there in my fondest memories. I will always think of the fine and brave men that I was privileged to serve with. Remember us, for we were soldiers once and young. With the loss of all aircraft, Doolittle believed that the raid had been a failure, and that he would be court-martialed upon returning to the states. Quite to the contrary, the raid proved to be a tremendous boost to American morale, which had plunged following the Pearl Harbor attack. It also caused serious doubts in the minds of Japanese war planners. They in turn recalled many seasoned fighter plane units back to defend the home islands, which resulted in Japan’s weakened air capabilities at the upcoming Battle of Midway and other South Pacific campaigns.

Edgar “Mac” Mc Elroy, Lt. Col., U.S.A.F. (Ret.) passed away at his residence in Lubbock, Texas early on the morning of Friday, April 4, 2003.

This article goes beyond the information shown on the Weapons Wall, to look at the bombs used in the second wave. The Japanese Kates and Vals of the second wave delivered different types of bombs than they delivered in the first wave—including two types of bombs not used in the first wave. Table 1 summarizes basic data about the torpedoes and four types of bombs used during the attack, and about the aircraft that delivered each weapon during the two waves.

Table 1: Japanese Bombs and Torpedoes at Pearl Harbor

Note: In Imperial Japanese Navy terminology, land bombs were general-purpose bombs used to attack land targets, while ordinary bombs were anti-ship bombs.