James A. Michener
Twenty-four hours later, after whistling through the local receiving ship, Willie and Joe reported aboard U.S.S. LST 594 for transportation to wherever VB-19 was hiding. As we were to be unescorted by any additional ships on our cruise, there was some consolation, though limited, in that we were told we didn't have to worry abut being torpedoed - any torpedo would pass under us as we didn't draw enough water for their minimum depth setting!As the only passengers aboard, for the next nine days and while speeding through the western Pacific at nine (9) knots, Willie and Joe busied themselves between meals. There they were with a strenuous schedule of Acey-Deucy and Gin Rummy. With a new non-aviation audience fresh from the states, they felt compelled to regale the hosts with how it really was in the war with stories of Naval Aviators' deeds of daring and other untruths about their squadron.
Willie's and Joe's cool images suffered one minor setback while aboard U.S.S. LST 594. That occurred when somebody, unheard by us, ordered all the ship's guns to commence firing on a tow overhead during Air Defense drill. When the noise ceased, or they ran out of ammo, whichever came first, Willie and Joe found themselves, after bumping heads sharply, under the table in the wardroom with the stewardsmate leaning down and asking if we wanted more hot coffee. He only asked us because he noticed that our just-moments-before-filled cups were now broken and empty and under the table with us. Also in the pile of broken cups, spilled coffee, and edgy young naval aviators, was the remnants of an Acey-Deucy game that had been in progress at the moment somebody pulled the first trigger on the 40mms and the 20mms.
Joe and his junior officer traveling buddy were beginning to feel like tourists. We were back in Manus, Admiralty Islands. At least we knew where the O-Club was, but we found out nobody seemed to know anything about U.S.S. Lexington or our dear friends in Bombing Nineteen. Before we actually departed L.S.T. 594 for the island, our arrival in Manus was punctuated by the distinctive sounds of U.S.S. LST 594 putting dents in the side of the LST Flotilla Commander's ship while trying to come alongside of U.S.S. Something-Or-Other. Willie and Joe often wondered if the LST 594 Skipper ever managed to sink the boss's ship. The last we saw of him we think he was considering sinking himself before having to report aboard the "big" ship.
Manus was as lovely as ever. All the heat and humidity you could handle plus the mob of armed forces types coming and going in all directions. For the next week Willie and Joe didn't go anywhere, except to the mess hall, the head, the bar, and the fleet post office in our futile search for the location of our assigned destination - Bombing Nineteen! One exception to going nowhere, was our overnight visit, or was it two nights, to another close-by island with an airstrip and an RAAF Fighter Squadron in residence. We lucky two arrived in time to help our comrades-in-arms christen their new bar! We assured the fighter types that we were highly qualified at christening bars, and they concurred after we explained our backgrounds, so we joined the festivities. Festive is an understatement. Among other highlights of the evening, or was it two, was their tradition of "walking the bar", or words to that effect. It seems that during the highpoint of the night someone, preferably somebody very lightweight and at least slightly drunk, is chosen as the "walker". The chosen lightweight is bodily turned upside-down while the bottoms of his shoes are blackened with any substance that will leave a footprint. Once that occurs the procedure must be completed by stalwart others literally walking the chosen drunk up the wall, across the ceiling, and down the other wall! Now the bar is properly opened! To add to our enjoyment of the event, Joe being the "heavyweight" (120 lbs-fully dressed) that he was at the time, was among the finalists to be considered for the honor of being the "walker". It seems however, that national pride prevailed and an Aussie was given the honor.
While on Manus, among other things accomplished, the members of this daring twosome each acquired a temporary pay account (half pay available) and each a personal carbine rifle - with two clips of ammo each - no new or extra clothes, just money and a weapon. I'm not sure how or why the carbine. Perhaps we figured we would have to threaten somebody to find out the whereabouts of VB-19! We also, between arrival and departure Manus about a week later, acquired an occasional hangover during the short hours (two hours) the club was open. The bar had its own rationing and control system in addition to the hours. The only containers customers could use for booze were little paper cups with points on the bottom. With only two hands available the logistics of drinking became a major project, not to mention the local laws of supply and demand. Willie and Joe survived to find out that our home-away-from-home, the big Blue Ghost, was scheduled to arrive in Ulithi soon. With that we were off to intercept her with a set of orders to board an ancient bucket of rust called U.S.S. Castor (AKS-1) on 15 Dec 44.
Willie and Joe's four days and nights on the mighty Castor were mighty forgettable except for the night we were both selected for consecutive 4 hour watches to be the ship's Air Defense/Fire Control Officer! We were to be prepared to recommend to the Captain action in case of Japanese air attack! This selection was obviously based on our extensive knowledge of airplanes, guns, and primarily because we were available as freeloading passengers! I recall there was some rehearsing between us of the proper wording of any recommendation. It came out something like "SHOOT, GOD DAMN IT - SHOOT!". Fortunately for the war effort, this sterling duo was never called on for their recommendation to the Captain.
Arrival at Ulithi on 19 DEC 44 was without either fanfare or LEXINGTON in sight. Some higher authority decided that our home-away-from-home, for the next few days, was to be U.S.S. GENERAL S.D.STURGIS (AP-137). Upon seeing us in person, the XO of AP-137 made it quite clear that they were not necessarily overjoyed to receive two slightly out of uniform Naval Aviators as itinerant boarders. Apparently living out of our cardboard portable cruise box for the last month had done very little for our image as sparkling young naval officers. They had a lot of sparkling young naval officers on the U.S.S. STURGIS. All wore black shoes, and they planned to keep it that way. With that resounding welcome, Willie and Joe caught a small boat and headed for Mog-Mog, before they found something for us to do.
Ah, Mog-Mog - down among the sheltering palms, and sand, and liquid refreshment. It wasn't the Top of the Mark Hopkins, but we were working on that. Little did we know as we sat in the balmy breezes of the Pacific, that our shipmates, our buddies, the Bombers of VB-19 were already back in the land of the round-eye and fair skinned females. Unfortunately, they had some rules at the club on Mog-Mog which closed the bar at an indecent hour. Willie and Joe found the small boat landing without much trouble and even found a boat belonging to, and returning to, the U.S.S. STURGIS. Better we had found somebody else's boat and gone to another ship. The conversation got off to a bad start when Willie and Joe responded to an aside, but snide, comment about the two something-less-than-neat Naval Aviators that had reported aboard the U.S.S. STURGIS. This comment was made by a sparkling young naval officer, a LT, from the ship's company of the U.S.S. STURGIS. With a little help from the afternoon libations, LT Little Joe became a Texas tornado with his pointed verbal responses to the LT from the STURGIS. He was ably assisted by Willie with encouraging remarks like "Sic 'em, Joe", "You tell him, Joe," and attention grabbers like "Joe, who the hell does that Blackshoe think he is?"
As the STURGIS boat arrived at the foot of the gangway the Blackshoe ship's company LT bounded up the ladder to the OOD and arranged for several MAA to accompany Willie and Joe to their room with instructions to remain there until sent for by the XO of said STURGIS. With great agitation showing in his voice, the Blackshoe LT also informed Joe that charges of "disrespect to superior officer" would be filed immediately, and Willie was also advised he would be charged with aiding and abetting the whole action. Shortly thereafter a very short meeting with the XO of the STURGIS reaffirmed the points emphasized by the agitated Blackshoe LT. Admittedly, for a little while anyway, visions of VB-19 and/or San Francisco became a little hazy in the immediate future until a friendly transit MD rooming with us asked Joe, after hearing our tale, what was Joe's date of rank? Bingo! A quick check of the appropriate records and official papers, the next morning, brought forth the welcome news that one Blackshoe LT, ship's company, very sparkling young naval officer WAS NOT quite as senior as one Naval Aviator LT named Joe! Willie's thought at the time was how much fun it was to travel with "senior" officers!
This information, documenting the seniority of the transit Naval Aviator LT named Joe over Blackshoe ship's company LT, apparently found its way to the XO of the STURGIS rather quickly. A very short-and-to-the-point meeting was called in the XO's office with required attendance by Willie and Joe. The XO had a clear and concise message for Willie and Joe! "Get off the U.S.S STURGIS! Stay off the U.S.S STURGIS!" No delay was authorized enroute to the quarterdeck. We did deviate from our orders to pick up our cardboard cruise box and say good-by to the friendly MD who had been our roomie. Our persona non grata status on board the U.S.S. STURGIS was further emphasized when we found out that the OOD had specific orders not to offer any assistance to us in our quest for transportation by hailing any small boat that might be passing by. Fortune smiled on our two young Naval Aviators when a small boat heard our plaintive cries for a ride and took us away from the unfriendly folks of the STURGIS. Fortune continued to laugh heartily when we found out from the coxswain of the small boat that it was headed for Mog-Mog. Fortune came up with a real belly laugh when he told us that he had been ship's company on LEXINGTON when Air Group 20 replaced Air Group 19 back in November!
With our now priceless orders in hand, we confirmed this scuttlebutt intelligence on the whereabouts of our friends in Bombing 19 while living it up in the spacious living quarters on Mog-Mog. San Francisco, or any other place in the 48, here we come! We also spent the next couple of days practically in the lap of the person controlling air transportation from Ulithi to points East.
During one of their free periods of time in this interlude on Mog-Mog, Willie and Joe were watching the airplanes come and go. The sirens of the crash truck interrupted their thoughts about catching up with their now stateside friends from VB-19. The word was passed that an AAF type C-47 was going to land with one wheel up and the other one down. This looked like it would liven up the whole day as the "bar" didn't open for many hours. Willie and Joe looked around for a good perch from which to watch the action. A large mound of broken up coral was nearby. It looked like the highest point they could find, so with their recently acquired Marine field shoes absorbing the sharpness of the coral, they scrambled to the top of the mound. The view was great, and the pilot of the troubled C-47 was kind enough to choose his touchdown spot directly in front of our grandstand seats. When the crunching, sliding, and crash truck noises finally ceased, Willie turned to Joe to comment on the whole proceedings. NO JOE! Further inspection of the general area showed LT Joe, Naval Aviator, was lying in a heap at the bottom of the coral pile! Various expletives were forthcoming from Joe as he attempted to get on his feet. The most eye-catching result of the event was the many little patches of Joe's blood that were beginning to appear on his clothing - and particularly on one of his hands. It seems that as Joe tumbled ass-over-teakettle down the mound, the broken up coral was taking little razor cuts at his fair skin and getting a fair percentage of hits. During the patch-up period at the Mog-Mog equivalent of sickbay there was some serious discussion of how Joe could receive another Purple Heart. The biggest problem was figuring out who the enemy was that was providing the opposition to Joe. When Joe kept qualifying as the "enemy" in the enemy action requirement of a Purple Heart, the thoughts of a gold star for Joe's PH were abandoned.
Our vigilance in keeping an eye on the person controlling the air transportation from Ulithi eastbound finally paid off. On 23 DEC 44 (or very late on the 22nd) Willie and Joe boarded the scheduled flight of SCAT airline for Guam. The SCAT acronym was never fully explained, but some reference was made to Some-Unidentified Commander Air Transport system. Whatever the truth was, when we saw the crew and the passenger list, we should have recognized that this was going to be an unusual flight.
The airplane was a very tired and scroungy looking AAF C-47. It sort of matched the general appearance of its only two passengers. The entire crew consisted of one baby-faced Marine second lieutenant as pilot, one even younger-looking Army Air Force second lieutenant as co-pilot, and one childlike Navy Airman 1st class (E-3, that is), plane captain. When the crew addressed both Willie and Joe as "Sir", we were tempted to cash in our tickets. But, being intrepid Naval Aviators with CONUS on our minds, we said, with bravado not felt, something stupid like "Let us go flying." In addition to the super-cargo of Willie and Joe, there was one very large aircraft engine that didn't appear to be well tied down. Willie and Joe later discussed this flight over a martini or three. Their collective recollection of the almost 3 hours enroute to Guam consisted of a very dark night, a very bumpy ride, lots of intermittent lightning, no heat, cold coffee, and three non-communicative crew. We never did figure out if they were afraid of us, or just plain lost for a while. Despite whatever went on in the front end of the C-47, the back end of the aircraft with Willie, Joe, and one engine, arrived on Guam in one piece.
The Rover Boys' next project was to find a pair of seats on a bigger airplane going east. This appeared to be a larger problem than getting our fun-filled ride on SCAT from Ulithi. It seems there were such things as priorities assigned to passengers and long lines of passengers with priorities. The prognosis of New Years in the good old 48 was getting dimmer by the hour. LT Joe's leadership came to the fore at this time. He just happened to find one very old friend, buddy type Joe said, who was responsible for seats on airplanes going east. This name-forgotten old friend was such a close buddy of Joe's that it was only going to cost us two, not four, bottles of whatever booze we could lay our hands on, in the next two hours, as that was the ETD of a big C-54. Joe and I agreed that it is a good thing his old "friend" wasn't more of a buddy, it probably would have cost us at least a case of some rot-gut. Joe allowed as how he would get even with his friend sometime in the future. Joe's friend's ticket negotiations had depleted our ready cash somewhat but who cared. It was either the 23rd or 24th of DEC 44 (give or take a dateline) and we were eastbound to Pearl Harbor via Kawajelein and Johnston Islands in a big, big airplane with lots of engines.
The time between arrival in Pearl and departure for Oakland CA on the 28th of DEC 44 in another big, big airplane with lots of engines, was taken up with small boat rides from/to Ford Island, scrounging for wheels, stops at the O-Club, more scrounging for wheels, more stops at the O-Club, more small boat rides to/from Ford Island, etc. Interspersed in this social whirl of Willie and Joe was one diamond buying trip by Joe, with him carrying the unset diamond, wrapped in toilet paper, in his pocket at all times. The Willie and Joe system of necessary security for this diamond consisted of a visual check at any or all hours that either of them thought it necessary. Day or dark, drunk or sober, awake or asleep, it worked. Neither of us were sure why, but it worked. The system was challenged by several incidents. One such was in the wee hours of one morning during the waiting time in Pearl Harbor. Willie and Joe were returning to Ford Island but had managed to lose their way near the Sub Base while searching for the small boat going to Ford Island. Somewhere, during the walking search for the small boat, Joe became extremely weary and decided to have a little nap in the middle of the base. Willie decided (right or wrong) that Joe had best come along with him. Joe had not put on any weight, probably due to the current liquid diet, and Willie, being the helpful type, placed Joe over his shoulder, somewhat like a sack of meal, and away they went on their search for the Ford Island small boat. They eventually found the small boat and the only thing that interrupted their precise navigation during the wee hours was Joe's periodic insistence that we do a diamond check - not once but several times. Our stroll was interspersed with comments that he was "tired and teepy and wanted to go to bed." He will never know how close he came to going swimming unexpectedly once we found the boat to Ford Island.
The over 11 hour trip, 28 DEC 44, on a big, big airplane with lots of engines to Oakland CA was almost anti-climactic. It landed on schedule. Despite the fact that we had to walk from the plane to the terminal in a driving rain, and despite the fact that our cardboard cruise box was getting soggy and falling apart, Willie and Joe were two very happy young Naval Aviators. Looking back we probably didn't look to be in much better shape than the cardboard cruise box. Thus ended the unplanned odyssey of Willie and Joe - Boy Aviators.
The next 4, 5, or 6 days (whatever) are really sort of an addendum to the period of 5 NOV through 28 DEC 44. There will be no effort to relate with any accuracy the activities of Willie and Joe during their required stay in San Francisco while waiting for orders to somewhere. This time period was very trying. It was almost too much to ask of two such as Willie and Joe to keep themselves entertained for several days before New Years to several days after New Years in a place like San Francisco. However, they did their best. These few days are best remembered as a blur of such things as a taxi cab ride to the other side of the street, Joe on the phone to Helen in Texas, an elevator stuck between floors at the Sir Francis Drake, Joe on the phone with Helen, The Top of the Mark Hopkins, Joe on the phone etc, the O-Club in the lower level of the Fairmount, Joe - telephone - Texas, Willie telling sea stories to all the pretty young things who listened so well, a drink or six at the St. Francis, Joe on phone again, Willie and Joe explaining to the Shore Patrol why they were wearing Flight Jackets and marine field shoes and the SP's not quite believing their unbelievable reason, Willie finding out that the sight of the cartons of cigarettes he was holding had the effect of catnip on young ladies that smoked, Joe still on the phone to Helen, and the grand final foul-up when Willie and Joe swapped orders, unintentionally, and took off for places like Texas and Charlotte NC. Fortunately for Willie and Joe, they were both to report to the same duty station 30 days later. Just like old times.