Stand BY-Y-Y to Start Engines

by Daniel V Gallery

  A squadron commander near the end of the table leaned over and whispered to his neighbor. "Nuts! Old Bugler wouldn't know a strategic aspect if he got hit on the head with one. He just wants to clobber Admiral Day's task group and make a bum out of his old rival."

  Everybody in the Navy knew about the feud between Bugler and Admiral Windy Day - aided and abetted by a certain Lieutenant Commander Cue, known to all as Curly.

  "Now, you gentlemen, get busy," continued Admiral Bates. "Figure out the details. I want an airtight search plan that extends out to 1500 miles for a sector from northwest to south - that's more than 3,000,000 square miles. I want to run a couple of preliminary exercises against our own shore-based fighters to find the best way for getting through the task group's fighter defenses... and remember, that fellow Cue who commands the fighter squadron in the task group is a shifty, underhanded individual. Don't let him suck you into any booby traps; don't jump to any conclusions about what he may seem to be doing."

  There followed a lot of technical discussion about barrier patrols, scouting lines, and sector searches, plus much measuring of distances on charts. Radar bombing tactics, night intercepts, and evasive measures also were covered. Everybody knew that if they nailed the task group, Admiral Bates would be much easier to serve under, and if they didn't they might just as well all apply for transfer.

  When details had been worked out, the chief of staff announced: "In order to prevent collisions on these night intercepts, we have agreed with the task group that no intercept will be pushed closer than 500 yards and all planes must show navigation lights."

  That same night, out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, a task group consisting of the carrier Guadalcanal, a couple of heavy cruisers, and a dozen destroyers also was getting ready for the exercise. Lieutenant Commander Curly Cue, skipper of the Guadalcanal's night fighter squadron, whooshed past the blacked-out bridge of the ship in his twin jet Banshee, singing softly to himself:

  Bell-bottom trousers, suit of Navy blue...

  Curly flashed his lights in the breakup signal, peeled off, and tooled his Banshee around into the landing circle, dropping his wheels, flaps, and hook as he reached the downward leg.

  He will climb the rigging like his daddy used to do...

  The landing signal officer picked up Curly with a "roger" on his neon wands, gave him a "slant" signal to cock her up steeper - a "low" - an "agitated low" - a frantic "come on" - and then a desperate "cut."

  If it is a girlie, bounce her on your knee...

  Curly sang as he whacked off the power and flopped on the deck, hooking No. 1 wire.

  Curly lifted his hook as the arresting wires were lowered. He gave his Banshee a blast from both jets and scurried forward of the barriers.

  If it is a boy, send the rascal out to sea.

  He braked his plane to a stop, cut the switches, and squirmed out of his harness, sighing philosophically, "You'll never get rich - but it's a living."

  After the last plane had landed, the squadron commanders and senior ship's officers assembled in -flag plot to discuss the night's operation with Admiral Windy Day and his staff.

  "How goes it, Curly?" asked the Admiral.

  "Pretty good, sir," said Commander Cue. "My fighters caught nine out of ten bombers trying to sneak in on us tonight - and these little bombers of ours are much harder to catch than those big P2Vs will be. A few more sessions like tonight and we'll be ready."

  "I think so, too," said the Admiral. "Of course, Bates will try to clobber us before we can launch the attack, so I want to get that attack in the air right on the thousand-mile mark from San Francisco. We will make a high-speed run all night, and launch our bombers just before daylight. The whole show depends on what your fighters can do on the run-in that last night.

  "We will cover about 400 miles between sunset and sunrise, but there will be a lot of P2Vs looking for us. You've got to find them before they find us, and put them out of action. We'll need a combat air patrol of twelve planes all night. Do you think you can handle the job, Cue?"

  "Yessir," said Curly. "If the radar people can spot them for us and give us fifteen minutes' warning, we can stop them cold."

  "We'll spot 'em for you, Commander," said the Combat Information Center officer. "We'll have picket destroyers stationed about sixty miles ahead as early-warning stations. All you jet jockeys will have to do will be follow the directions of my controllers."

  "Yeah, that's all," said Curly. "Except for such things as flying on the gauges for three hours, making intercepts in the dark, avoiding collisions, and landing on a blacked-out deck."

  "Okay, Curly," said Admiral Day. "We know your boys won't just be sightseeing up there. It's going to be a busy night for the flight deck crews and hangar detail, too. They'll have to get the bombers up out of the hangar deck just before dawn - and they'll have to do it all blacked out...

  "Just remember, I want to get that attack off before they hit us."

  Next night the Guadalcanal put up a combat lair patrol of twelve Banshees, led by Curly, and sent out six of her own bombers to impersonate P2Vs. It was a black night under a solid overcast, and you couldn't tell which way was up. When catapulted into space, the pilots simply went on the guages, following the dials to their assigned altitudes, and flew as the controllers told them.

  Danny Deever, senior controller, seated at the master radar scope in CIC with his earphones and transmitter clamped on his head, kept a roving eye on everything happening in the task group. All six of his controllers reported their respective pairs of fighters under control, orbiting on station at assigned altitudes, and ready to intercept any incoming target picked up by radar.

  Up in the darkness, Curly relaxed with his brains in neutral, his eyes scanning back and forth over the array of instruments on his panel. As he orbited waiting orders, he sang softly to himself:

  Here we go round the mulberry bush, mulberry bush...

  Tooling around in a single-seat jet fighter at night on the gauges is no bowl of strawberries. But for night fighter pilots like Curly and his boys it's all part of a day's work.

  You can't see another plane very far on a dark night. So the whole thing is done by radar and radio. When the ship's radar spots an incoming bogey, the fighter director, hunched over his scope in the Combat Information Center, plots its track on the tube with a grease pencil. When he has it fixed, he "vectors" you out by radio to meet it. He brings you in two or three miles astern of the target where the two blips merge on his scope. There your radar gunsight should pick up the bogey and guide you in the rest of the way. You do all this on instruments, flying just the way the man below tells you to.

  Soon the voice from CIC said, "Guadalcanal to Night Hawk One. Bogey bearing zero four five, distance fifty miles. Steer 050. Acknowledge."

  Curly poured the coal on his jets, whooshed up to 600 knots, and answered, "Rajah from Night Hawk One. Steer 050. Wilco. Out." As his compass swung around to 050 he rolled his wings level by the gyro horizon and buzzed off to meet the bogey.

  The fighter director, watching the blips on his scope, coached him out toward the bogey and then swung him around behind it as the two blips began to merge on the scope. Then he said, "Guadalcanal to Night Hawk One. You are three miles astern of him now, on same course; he is 1000 feet below you. Take over and attack."

  "Rajah. Wilco," said Curly, flipping his radar gunsight on and nosing down a little. Soon a small blip appeared near the middle of his sight. Curly moved his stick a little to bring the blip to the center, squeezed his mike button, and said, "Tallyho. Tallyho. Two miles dead ahead."

  All he had to do now was to hold the blip from the target centered as he closed in, and squeeze the trigger when he got within gun range. If he was lucky he might be able to see the dark shape of his target when he got close. But it didn't matter if he couldn't. With his radar gunsight, he could shoot the bogey full of holes even if he didn't see it.

  In wartime he would stay on the gauges all the way,
holding his trigger down and the blip centered until the target torched in front of him. In peacetime, being a cagey character as night fighter pilots have to be, when he got in close he would let one eye work for the government on the instrument panel. The other would work for LCDR Cue, his heirs and assigns, looking out ahead to avoid collision.

  Curly bored in to half a mile and then began peeking a little. Of course, bomber crews are cagey characters too. They listen in on the intercept, and know exactly where to look for the fighter. As soon as they spotted Curly coming in astern, the bomber pilot popped on his running lights. Bomber pilots acting as targets during an exercise don't trust night fighter pilots in close any more than night fighters trust them - which is not at all.

  When the lights came on, Curly sang out, "Okay, I see his lights. Bogey is a flamer. Request course back to ship."

  Here Commander Deever cut in. "Disregard target's lights and follow your instruments. The enemy won't show lights in wartime."

  Out of the blackness came a reluctant, "Rajah," as Curly went back on the gauges.

  In the target plane the bomber pilot, who was eavesdropping on the fighter frequency, growled to his rear seat man, "These characters want to play for keeps. Keep a bright lookout for those guys coming in at us. I don't trust any blowtorch jockey too close on instruments at night."

  Soon Curly and his partner whizzed past the bomber's tail from opposite sides and the squawk box in CIC said, "Guadalcanal, this is Night Hawk One. Splashed bogey. Am returning to ship."

  "Roger," replied CIC; "any comment on that intercept?"

  "Affirmative," said Curly, "you're damn right there is. I don't like this instrument stuff all the way in at night. I guess I missed him far enough that time, but I'd rather watch where I'm going."

  Again the FDO in CIC took charge and guided Curly back over the darkened ship at 20,000 feet. Then he spiraled him down through the blackness until he had him at 2,000 abeam of the ship to starboard on a parallel course. Here the approach controller took over and brought him around as if it were soupy weather. Following his directions, Curly circled left ahead of the ship, let down to 1000 feet, and ran through his landing checkoff list. He lowered his flaps, dropped his wheels and hook, and throttled down to final approach speed, on the gauges all the way. He saw nothing of the ship on the black ocean and simply did as he was told.

  As he was banking into his final, half a mile astern of the ship at 1000 feet, the ship popped its lights on (this being peacetime) and Curly came in the rest of the way using his good old Mark I eyeball. As he smacked the deck and felt his hook grab a wire, he sighed, "Another day - another dollar; it's a hell of a way to make a living."

  At the critique in the ready room afterwards, Danny Deever, the CIC controller said, "How'd it go, Curly?"

  "Well, it was no strain until you daredevils sitting on your cans in CIC began getting fancy and trying to bring us in close on the gauges. I didn't go for that much."

  "You did fine, Curly," said Deever. "There's nothing to worry about as long as you do what we tell you to," he added smugly.

  At this point, the communications orderly handed Admiral Day a dispatch which had just come in by radio:

  From: Com Pat Wings Pac Fleet

  To : Com TG 81

  During intercept exercises here last night jet fighter came too close and chopped vertical stabilizer off P2V. Jet pilot bailed out and was rescued. P2V landed safely. Propose increasing minimum allowed range on night intercepts from 500 yards to 1000 yards. Advise.

  Admiral Day read this dispatch to the assembled group and said, "How about it, boys? How shall I answer it?"

  "I suggest 'hell yes'... sir," said Curly Cue.

  Admiral Day handed the dispatch back to the orderly and said, 'Tell the watch officer to answer affirmative."

  As indicated by this dispatch, the Pat Wings were busily preparing, too. Admiral Bates had his P2V squadrons up day and night, working with F-86 Sabrejets of the Air Force. The P2V gunners took miles of camera gun film and spent many hours studying the results.

  The day of the big battle turned out to be hazy. This produced several snafus for Pat Wings Pac. Two hundred P2Vs scoured the Pacific looking for the Guadalcanal, and couldn't find her. The ocean is vast and a highly mobile task group is easy to miss on a hazy day.

  At various times half a dozen P2Vs got within fifty miles or so of the Guadalcanal, with Banshees buzzing all around them, but they didn't find the ship. Finally, a cagey P2V pilot followed a Banshee that had to limp home on one jet and the elusive carrier was found.

  Late in the afternoon the first wave of twenty-four P2Vs roared out from San Francisco, with Bugler Bates in the lead plane, headed for the Guadalcanal's reported position. They climbed to 30,000 feet and settled down to cruise in formation until they reached the fan-out point several hundred miles from the target.

  So far, things looked rosy from Admiral Bates' point of view. The Guadalcanal couldn't elude his gang now, and they would catch her about six hours before she reached her launching circle with all her bombers on deck. Their attack would be made in the middle of the night, and no matter how good her night interceptors were, some of the bombers were bound to sneak through undetected. Several scores of long standing against Admiral Day would be evened up by sunrise.

  Shortly after sunset, disaster struck the task group in the form of dense fog. Carrier-controlled approach is okay in a pinch, if you've got some ceiling and maybe half a mile visibility, but in zero zero at night carriers just don't fly.

  On the flag bridge of the Guadalcanal gloom was thicker than the fog. A P2V on instruments wouldn't be bothered at all by fog. With its search radar and radar bombsight, it could find and attack the Guadalcanal just as well as in daylight. It looked as though the task group was going to get knocked cold, and Admiral Day took a dim view of his next meeting with Bugler Bates.

  The Admiral conferred with his chief of staff about the possibility of postponing the exercise.

  "No chance at all, sir," said his chief. "We agreed to take the weather as it came, just as we would have to do in wartime. The P2Vs are probably on their way out right now, and I'm sure Admiral Bates won't let us get off the hook on account of the weather."

  LCDR Curly Cue, who had been listening in, piped up, "Admiral, I've got an idea which might possibly get us out of this jam. It's one of those things that you might just as well try because we can't possibly lose anything and we might gain something."

  "You can't put planes up in this stuff," growled the Admiral. "I wouldn't even think of it."

  "But, sir," said Curly, "the P2Vs don't know what the weather is down here. I want to put some phonies up there and make the P2Vs think we're flying as usual."

  "What good would that do?" demanded the Admiral. "You won't kid anybody except yourself." But Curly had a gleam in bis eye. The Admiral saw it, and recalled some things that had happened in the past under similar pressure. "All right," he said.'"Go ahead."

  Curly adjourned quickly to the Combat Information Center and as soon as he got there barked, "Get the squadron commanders and about a dozen of their pilots up here right away. Man all CIC stations for flight operations."

  "Aye aye, sir," said the duty officer with a shrug, looking knowingly at one of the radar operators and making circular motions with his forefinger pointing at his head.

  When the jet pilots assembled, Curly outlined his plan.

  "The idea is to put out the same line of chatter on our fighter director frequencies tonight as we would if we had a big combat air patrol up. Those P2V pilots are naturally going to listen in on our frequencies the same as we do on theirs, so let's give them something worth listening to.

  "Each of you fighter directors pair off with about four pilots, hand the mike back and forth and make like you are actually running intercepts on any bandits that appear. I'm going to turn the power way up on our transmitters so they can hear us a long way off and maybe we can make them think we are strafing hell out
of them."

  "So what?" asked Danny Deever. "They will get in their attacks anyway and we can't make any claims. We'll just have to admit they caught us flat-footed."

  "You just watch and see what happens," said Curly. "I've got a few punch lines to stick into the script of this broadcast at the crucial points."

  So the Guadalcanal went on the airwaves and "launched" twenty-four imaginary Banshees. The pilots "climbed" to altitude, checked in with the CIC controllers, and received their instructions for orbiting until bandits were sighted, just as they would have done on an actual operation.

  At this time the P2Vs were coming within range of the Guadalcanal's souped-up transmitters. There was no moon, and it was pretty black and hazy. Soon Admiral Bates' copilot said, "I hear 'em, Admiral. Sounds like they are just launching their planes."