Fiasco in the Barents Sea
George Walker
In regard to Peter Hooker’s article “Unprepared But Undaunted” (December 2017, pp. 14–17), it should be pointed out that Grand Admiral Erich Raeder’s resignation in January 1943 was due to an event that took place in the Barents Sea. An Allied convoy had sailed from Scotland in late December 1942 bound for Murmansk, escorted by six Royal Navy destroyers and several smaller warships. Advised of its departure, the Kriegsmarine assembled two heavy cruisers (the Lützow and Hipper) and six destroyers to attack the convoy. Adolf Hitler had cautioned Raeder not to risk his heavy units unnecessarily, but the relative weakness of the convoy escort presented an irresistible opportunity.
The Battle of the Barents Sea turned out to be a humiliating fiasco for the German Navy. Despite the loss of one destroyer and a minesweeper, the remaining Royal Navy destroyers held the overwhelming enemy force at bay for three hours until a support group of two British light cruisers arrived on the scene, sinking one German destroyer and compelling the remaining attackers to withdraw in compliance with Hitler’s cautionary orders. Not one Allied merchant ship was lost.
Upon learning what happened, Hitler flew into one of his infamous rages, directed at Admiral Raeder. Ignoring his own complicity in the matter, the Führer made his threat to dismantle the surface fleet, prompting Raeder’s resignation. As Mr. Hooker wrote, Raeder’s successor, Admiral Dönitz, succeeded in convincing Hitler not to carry out his threat.
Which Way the Wind Blows
William Sayles
“Pieces of the Past” (December 2017, p. 64) describes a spelling error on the initial plaque created to commemorate the round-the-world voyage of the USS Triton (SSRN-586).
However, the article does not highlight another very common error in the depiction of Magellan’s flagship Trinidad. The ship is shown with two foresails fully deployed, obviously driven by a trailing wind from off the starboard quarter. The pendant on the top of the main mast and the flag on the mizzen, however, are depicted flowing left to right, implying a wind directly on the nose of the ship. Many artists who are ignorant of sailing ships make the same mistake. Look for this mistake the next time you see a historical representation of a sailing vessel.
Hollywood Promotes Its Promotion of the Navy
Theodore Kuhlmeier
I enjoyed Ryan Wadle’s article, “Seapower Goes Celluloid” (February, pp. 28–34); however, Hollywood was not above congratulating itself for promoting the Navy—by making a movie about Hollywood making movies about the Navy. In 1957, John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara starred in The Wings of Eagles, a film version of the life of “Spig” Wead, who was mentioned in Dr. Wadle’s article.
The Razorback’s Nuclear Shock
Commander Wayne T. Hildebrand, U.S. Navy (Retired)
The last sentence of “Operation Hard-tack’s Hard-Luck Target Sub” (June 2017, pp. 42–47) says, “and no U. S. submarine ever again had to endure a nuclear test.”
Not so!
In May 1962, Operation Swordfish, several hundred miles southwest of San Diego, took place to test the ASROC nuclear depth charge. The USS Razorback (SS-394) was at periscope depth a few thousand yards from the blast. The submarine felt an almost inconsequential direct shock, but the bottom bounce was a real rattling experience. The scientists who designed the test earned their pay that day. The Razorback suffered no real damage, but high-speed films of equipment under shock, and much instrumentation, provided a great deal of valuable data.
A COD Pilot Remembers
Chief Warrant Officer Richard E. Goldsberry, U.S. Navy (Retired)
I read with great interest the “Historic Aircraft” column about the COD aircraft in Naval History’s December 2017 issue (“The COD Fish Lines,” pp. 58–59), specifically, the TF-1 Trader landing on board the USS Essex (CVS-9).
I was a striker for aviation ordnanceman in VA-34, stationed at NAS Cecil Field, Florida—an A-4 squadron that flew on board the Essex to support the Bay of Pigs invasion.
The day of the week escapes me, but I well remember that afternoon around 1530 when we were told that the men who lived ashore should go home, pack their sea bags for a Gulf of Mexico cruise, and be back before 1700.
The men who lived on base were told to pack up gear necessary for conventional weapons training operations, that there would be CODs to fly us aboard the Essex that’s sailing south from Quonset Point, Rhode Island.
Somehow, I remember the Modex of the COD assigned to me—it was 762, the one in the article.
VA-34 had just returned from a Med. cruise. I guess that’s why we were picked for this operation—our pilots were still carrier qualified.
Before we flew out to the Essex, we were told we were selected for antisubmarine training and that we would support the Essex’s aircraft. The carrier’s VS-34 squadron was put ashore to make room for our A-4s.
Our aircraft already had landed and were parked on the starboard cat. As soon as our CODs trapped aboard, stowing our sea bags in an island locker, even before we could take them below to our berthing compartment, we had to load LAU-3 19 shot 2.75 rocket pods with antitank warheads. These were loaded on station 3, our centerline rack on each aircraft.
In addition, before we arrived, the ship’s ordnancemen had belted 20-mm service ammunition for our two 20-mm Colt Mk 12 cannons on board each aircraft.
It was quite exciting for me, a young 20-year-old aviation ordnanceman with only one Med. cruise under his Navy-blue web belt! We had to wonder just where we were going to use weapons designed for combat and not for training, as we had been briefed before we took off from NAS Cecil Field, Florida.