Army’s Turn Flying CAP
John Pauly
I really enjoyed the December 2010 issue, especially “The Kamikaze’s Wallet” (pp. 52–58). If the USS Manila Bay (CVE-61) did indeed catapult P-47 fighters off to augment her combat air patrol, it might have been the only time in World War II Army fighters were catapulted into combat. Is there any more information on this incident? Where were the P-47s flown off? What unit were they from? What were the results of the flight? Where did they land, etc.?
Also, the article on the Kearsarge, “‘I Didn’t Feel Excited a Mite’” (pp. 36–41), was good. The use of the diagram to illustrate the position of the guns added to it. I think that’s a great feature of Naval History.
Editor’s Note: According to the Navy’s Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships: “After loading 37 Army P-47 fighters, Manila Bay sailed 5 June [1944] for the Marianas. Steaming via Eniwetok, she reached the eastern approaches to Saipan 19 June. During the next 4 days she remained east of the embattled island as ships and planes of the Fast Carrier Task Force repulsed the Japanese Fleet in the Battle of the Philippine Sea. . . .
“On 23 June Manila Bay came under enemy air attack during refueling operations east of Saipan. Two fighter bombers attacked her from dead ahead, dropping four bombs which exploded wide to port. Intense antiaircraft fire suppressed further attacks; and, as a precautionary and rather unusual move which Admiral Spruance later characterized as ‘commendable initiative,’ Manila Bay launched four of the Army P?47s she was ferrying to fly protective CAP until radar screens were clear of contacts. The Army fighters then flew to Saipan, their intended destination. Manila Bay launched the remaining planes the next day and returned to Eniwetok, arriving 27 June.”
Samuel Eliot Morison notes in his History of United States Naval Operations in World War II that the P-47s were of the 19th Fighter Squadron, which was part of the 318th Fighter Group, U.S. Army Air Forces.
Cheek-Mounted Sidewinders
Dave Kisor
In reference to “The Flying SLUF” (“Historic Aircraft,” December, pp. 14–15), I was in A-7s from the time I transferred from CAG-21 and A-4s for a number of years and never once did I see or hear reference to stations 4 and 5 as “cheek mounts.” That’s the sort of thing that would have inspired our ordnancemen to paint little Sidewinders on their faces and puff up their cheeks. A-7s Forever!
Mr. Polmar responds: I first heard the term “cheek” pylons for the A-7 Corsair when I attended the rollout of the first aircraft in Dallas, Texas, in 1965. In the intervening decades I have periodically read the term and heard it when on board carriers—back in the old days when A-7s were still with us.
Greely’s Span-Am Contribution
Richard S. Greeley
In answer to Barrett Tillman’s question whether Adolphus Greely merited the Medal of Honor (“In Contact,” October, p. 9), one of his many accomplishments was, in effect, to allow the Spanish-American War to be won amazingly quickly. As recounted by General “Billy” Mitchell in his biography General Greely: The Story of a Great American, as the chief of the Signal Corps, Greely learned through telegraph cable intercepts that the Spanish fleet had arrived surreptitiously at Santiago, Cuba. President William McKinley immediately changed the orders to General William Shafter in Tampa assembling the American invasion force. Instead of landing near Havana, where the bulk of the Spanish army in Cuba was located, he directed them to land close to Santiago. At the same time he ordered the Secretary of the Navy to have Admiral William Sampson’s powerful U.S. fleet immediately blockade that port. The result was an unopposed Army landing on 22–24 June 1898 and the consequent destruction of the Spanish fleet on 3 July. Spain sued for peace on 12 August—after a mere 50 days of conflict in Cuba—thanks in great part to General Greely’s remarkable contributions.
Editor’s note: Mr. Greeley is a distant relative of General Greely’s.
Remembering an Army Adviser
Master Sergeant Mike R. Vining, U.S. Army (Retired)
Author Rolland Kidder’s article, “Backtracking in Brown Water” (December, pp. 44–50), was very inspiring. I have wondered what it would be like to go back to Vietnam and visit the places where I was stationed. It was also very moving that Mr. Kidder still remembered the Army adviser whom he dropped off at the old French church and whose memorial service he later attended. He was Captain Robert Franklin Olson (the article had his name as Olsen). Captain Olson was assigned to Military Assistance Command, Vietnam, Advisory Team 68. He and his wife, Lois, had a daughter, Pamela. His hometown was Britt, Iowa. He was born on 7 January 1936 and died on 7 August 1969, having served ten years in the Army. Prior to his death he received the Purple Heart for a punji stake wound he incurred.
More Life Left in the Kearsarge
Captain Doug Ault, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
I enjoyed the latest issue of Naval History, especially the article on the gunnery of the Kearsarge by Norman Delaney (“‘I Didn’t Feel Excited a Mite,’” pp. 36–41). However, I was a little puzzled by the comment that she was decommissioned on 26 November 1864, since the ship was only three years old. I checked some online sources and discovered that she was decommissioned for repairs and was actually back in service by 1 April 1865. In fact, the ship remained on active service, off and on, for another 29 years, serving primarily in Caribbean and South American waters. Her demise came on 2 February 1894 when she struck a reef off Roncador Cay in the western Caribbean. Her crew all made it safely off the ship, but despite efforts to salvage her, she could not be raised. The first Kearsarge was struck from the naval vessel register later that year.
Conflicting Facings
Roy Scrivener
I direct your attention to the excellent article “Missouri Endgame” (August, pp. 32–40), with reference to the photograph on page 36 of Admirals Halsey and Carney. The U.S. Navy badges, shown very clearly on each hat, intrigue me, as a “foreigner.” The eagle’s head on each badge is shown facing the opposite way—one to the left, one to the right. I would welcome the reasoning, sir.
My Australian cruiser, the Hobart, was reasonably close to the USS Missouri at the time of the Japanese surrender in Tokyo Bay. Everything is still so clear in my mind.
Editor’s Note: This question also puzzled our staff, but a solution was found on the Naval History and Heritage Command’s Web site (www.history.navy.mil/library/online/uniform_hats.htm). In general, from the 1860s through 1940 the Navy eagle faced left. A change in uniform regulations in 1941 proscribed that the eagle face right. “The shift of the eagle’s aspect to right-facing from left-facing is logical from the perspective of heraldic tradition, since the right side (dexter) is the honor side of the shield and the left side (sinester)indicates dishonor or illegitimacy.” Therefore, in the photograph of Admiral William Halsey and Rear Admiral Robert Carney, Halsey’s cap sports the old-style eagle-and-anchor device and Carney’s the new.
The Battle “of” or “for”?
Merlin Dorfman
In Barrett Tillman’s excellent article, “The Carrier Comes of Age” (October, pp. 22–29), the battles of 23–26 October 1944 are referred to as the “Battle of Leyte Gulf.” In the years after World War II, “Battle for Leyte Gulf” seemed to be the standard terminology, which I believe is a more accurate name since no action took place in Leyte Gulf itself. For example, C. Vann Woodward’s 1947 book was titled “The Battle for Leyte Gulf,” and “for” was used in Samuel Eliot Morison’s multivolume History of United States Naval Operations in World War II and one-volume The Two-Ocean War (1963), and in E. B. Potter’s 1976 biography, Nimitz. A 1994 U.S. postage stamp celebrates the 50th anniversary of the “Battle for Leyte Gulf.”
However, Mr. Tillman is not alone. Many recent references to the battle use “of”; Thomas Cutler’s 1995 book and H. P. Willmott’s 2005 book both use “of” in their titles. Is there an authority for naming battles and campaigns, for example the U.S. Navy’s Naval History & Heritage Command, or is evolving usage the determining factor?
Influence of Flower Corvettes
Captain C. J. Rabideau, U.S. Naval Reserve (Retired)
I read with interest “Surprise Strike for Israeli Independence” (October, pp. 54–55), and the photo of the Israeli flagship K-18 Josiah Wedgwood—originally the Flower-class corvette HMCS Beauharnois—got me thinking. Having read Nicholas Monsarrat’s novel The Cruel Sea on several occasions over the years, I’m familiar with the fact that the second ship in the story, HMS Saltash, is a fictitious River-class frigate. Our Navy adopted that design for our Tacoma-class patrol frigates produced in 1943 and ’44, one of which, the PF-6, was named for my hometown, Pasco. I’m curious whether any of our PG (gunboat) types, or similar, were patterned after the Flower class? The first ship in the novel is HMS Compass Rose, a fictitious Flower-class corvette.
Intel on Japanese Commandos
Robert Hanyok
The fine article, “The Giretsu Attack” (June, pp. 46–48), relates eyewitness accounts regarding the surprise and desperate fighting that happened during the Japanese Airborne suicide commando raid on Yontan airfield, Okinawa, on the night of 24–25 May 1945. The handful of commandos from the Giretsu (Heroic) Force damaged or destroyed several planes and destroyed a large stock of fuel. If the entire force had landed, the damage probably would have been far more extensive.
A little-known element in the story is that American naval and Army intelligence had some warning of the impending attack as early as 20 May. That was due to the ability of American radio intelligence to discern Japanese suicide-mission plans thanks to analysis of radio communications and some code-breaking. On 20 May, naval intelligence in Pearl Harbor had detected references to an operation, “Kikusui 7,” which involved numerous suicide and conventional bombing units scheduled to attack ships and airbases on 23 May. Because of bad weather that delayed forward deployment of some of the bombers, the attack was rescheduled for the night of 24–25 May. Naval intelligence knew that Kikusui 7 called for more than 40 aircraft to bomb ships and land targets, while others were to attack American airbases in north and central Okinawa. The plan also called for almost 80 fighters to fly air cover.
One Japanese air force message, intercepted by the U.S. Army on 21 May, detailed the specific mission of 12 bombers from the 3rd Independent Flying Unit that were to transport 136 commandos on a course south from Japan and then west over Okinawa, presumably to attack American air bases. Much of the intercepted message was garbled, and a full translation was not completed until August. However, an urgent warning about the rescheduled attack was transmitted to Pacific commands late on 23 May.
The Japanese unit behind these attacks was the innocuously named “Unit 706.” In June American intelligence detected activity by this unit that hinted at a large-scale attack involving as many as 2,000 suicide commandos and 200 aircraft, which were going to attack B-29 bases, possibly in the Mariana Islands. Recalling, perhaps, the damage done at Yontan in late July and again in early August, U.S. carrier aircraft attacked Unit 706 staging bases and destroyed many of the specially modified bomber-transport aircraft that were to carry the commandos on the proposed raid.
Don’t Forget Subs
Captain Joseph Sharpe, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Mr. Tillman’s interesting article, “Forging the Weapon” (October, pp. 14–19), ended with the thought that only tailhook aviators possessed the means to take the war to the enemy after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Perhaps he should take a look at the devastation inflicted by the submarine force as it took the war to the enemy.
Richard C. “Mike” Myers
I thoroughly enjoyed your October 2010 issue covering the development and history of aircraft carriers. I spent a year and a half on board the Hornet (CVA-12) before applying for submarine school. I would have become an aviator, but I couldn’t pass the physical. I guess you don’t have to see very far on a submarine, so they took me in. I then spent the next 12 years on five subs—all diesels—and I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything in the world.
My basic reason for writing is to request that you do similar research on submarines and present them as you did for aircraft carriers. After all, they did predate carriers. I’m sure there are lots of submariners out there who would love to see the similar treatment.
. . . and Oilers
Kenneth A. DeGhetto
As a former naval officer on board the USS Cimarron (AO-22) from 1943 to 1945, I read with great interest Naval History magazine. The October 2010 issue brought back many memories of the battles that the Cimarron participated in alongside carriers such as the USS Essex (CV-9).
The most important fact that is always overlooked in many articles regarding the Pacific naval war was the essential importance of the fleet oilers. Our supplying of the carriers with not only “bunker c” (refined crude, or fuel oil) but also AV gas (aviation gasoline) kept them at the forefront of the battle.
The Cimarron was the class ship, commissioned in 1939 and decommissioned in 1968. Its first major participation with the Pacific Fleet was the Doolittle Raid in 1942. My last battle on board the “Cimmy” was at Okinawa.
The Longest-Serving Flattop
Captain Charles T. Creekman, U.S. Navy (Retired)
Paul Stillwell’s article “The Durable Lexington” (“Looking Back,” October, p. 6) is a well-deserved tribute to that versatile combat veteran and current memorial ship in Corpus Christi, Texas. Her record for longevity has been eclipsed by the USS Enterprise (CVN-65), which became the longest-serving aircraft carrier in history when she passed the Lexington’s 48 years, 9 months at the end of August 2010. “The Big E” will celebrate her 50th anniversary of continuous commissioned service in November 2011, amid events celebrating naval aviation’s centennial.