16 FEB 44
Thirty minutes prior to sunrise, O.T.C. directed Task Group 58.4's destroyers to illuminate their red truck lights in order to assist the post-launch rendezvous of the day's first strike, which was tasked with hitting what targets remained on ENGEBI. Princeton launched 8 fighters and 6 bombers with this initial wave.
Prior to the first strike's return, targeting direction for the days' follow-on attackers had already been changed to hit enemy positions and troops on ENIWETOK ISLAND itself, at the southern end of the atoll. Task Group 51.11, which was charged with the amphibious landings in the atoll, was commanded by Rear Admiral Harry W. Hill. His forces included five transports carrying the 22nd Marine Regiment, while four additional transports embarked two battalions of the 106th Regimental Combat Team of the U.S. Army’s 27th Infantry Division.
Air Group 23 pilots had reported little resistance from ENGEBI, but it was not completely devoid of danger. The War Diary:
"At 0856, upon receipt of information that 1 VT was returning with pilot wounded by anti-aircraft fire, changed course into the wind to conduct flight operations independently, launching in advance of other carriers in order to clear flight deck to be able to recover wounded pilot." After hurriedly launching its second strike wave, Princeton "Recovered 1 VT which had received small caliber hit in center of windshield, wounding pilot in jaw and throat. Diagnosis: fractured left mandible and lacerated jaw; pilot, Ensign Robert Ford Cox, A-V(N), USNR."
Ensign Cox, it seems, had found his Golden BB.
When I first read this passage a couple years ago, I couldn't help but assume that Dad, being one of only two dental officers aboard, must have been involved in treating Ensign Cox.
Filed under the heading "It's An Incredibly Small World," I have a memory, sadly vague on specific names, of a conversation I had with Dad when he was nearing retirement from his Oral Surgery practice in Fort Collins. On the phone he told me that he had seen a new patient that day and during the typical doctor-patient exchange of pleasantries, they discovered they were both Navy vets of WWII. You know where this is going. The gentleman had been a pilot and yes, he had been on Princeton. And yes, one day he had taken a piece of shrapnel through his windscreen and yes it had broken his jaw. Of course I was flabbergasted at this unbelievable coincidence. Dad was, as I recall, tickled, but in his simple, understated way.
Incredibly Small World Update, 31 OCT 2024: I was recently going through some digital scans I had made while going through Mom and Dad's home in Fort Collins after Dad passed. It seems the vague memory to which I refer above was incorrect as to the details of the reacquaintance, but in fact Dad had indeed worked on then 19 year old TBF pilot Ensign Cox’s wounded jaw.
Strikes 2, 3 and 4 hit built up areas on both ENIWETOK and PARRY ISLANDS but results were difficult to discern due to a relatively low, 2,000 foot overcast cloud layer.
"At 1414 executed an emergency turn right to 050˚ upon report of a submarine contact by screening destroyer and order from OTC. At 1415 submarine contact proved to be a school of fish."
One day on my second deployment — we were cruising in USS Independence — I was launched in an A-6E Intruder with my BN (Bombardier Navigator) Brad "Gogs" Meeks on a Surface Search mission in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Surface Search was, as you can imagine, essentially a mission to fly out a couple hundred miles in front of the ship's intended path (recall PIM?) to look for any contacts that may be out there in the liquid blue yonder. More often than not we would find absolutely nothing in the endless expanses of water-water-everywhere desert. Every now and then we would come across a freighter or an oil tanker. I was always impressed that these vessels seemed to be manned by ghosts. Rarely would we see any sign of life above decks, even though the ships would be purposely churning along leaving long wakes to betray their course and allowing a deduction of their speed. A couple of times in my career though, we found honest-to-god love boats. Sticking out like sore thumbs, these towering white water-borne hotels were inviting targets and we would make multiple full-power, eyeball-level, wing-rocking flybys until we got bored or ran out of gas. It must have been amazing to be out in the middle of the ocean and suddenly hear the roar of a gray jet that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere to interrupt your Promenade Deck, Mai Tai-infused shuffleboard game.
But on this particular day, as happened now and then, the Indian Ocean was and endless, placid mirror. Not a hint of a breeze, the clouds above reflected immaculately in the sea below. Gogs had his "head in the boot," which is to say he was looking at his radar through a cover that shaded his scope from the glare of the sun so he could better see any radar returns.
At 20,000 feet, under the midday Indian Ocean sun we proceeded westbound until suddenly Gogs said, "I have something." On the pilot's side I had a gunsight projected on a small piece of glass on the glare shield in front of me. I could pull a trigger on the control stick halfway and the reticle of the gunsight would move to a point that roughly correlated with where the BN had put his radar cursor. This was designed to help me visually identify the target my BN had found via his ground-mapping radar. I did so in this case and the reticle landed on..."there's nothing out there dude, but endless, glassy ocean." He reiterated that he was seeing a "return" which meant his radar energy was bouncing off something. The miles closed and still, I could see nothing visually. As the range to the return closed to about 30 miles I started a descent. Still nothing but that blip wasn't making itself. At 10 miles, I could just begin to differentiate something on the surface that looked slightly different than the reflection of the clouds. We continued. At 5 miles..."What is that?" 3 miles..."Gogs, take a peek out there. What is it?" We leveled off at 500' feet and I offset slightly to the right in order to keep whatever it was off my left side. As we passed abeam I raised the nose slightly and banked left so Gogs could enjoy a view of what looked to me like thousands of dolphins churning up a patch of water that had to be...I don't know...an oval a half mile long and a quarter mile wide? It. Was. Amazing. All swimming in a uniform direction and jumping as dolphins do, boiling that patch of water into a frothy foam, the only blemish on an otherwise pristine mirror. We circled this megapod for about 10 minutes before our fuel state required us to depart and continue searching our assigned area before returning to the boat.
My flying career has included a half dozen or more instances similar to this, some just a few seconds in length, but all scenes that I will remember forever and that I consider myself profoundly fortunate to have experienced.
So ya, I can totally understand how a submarine could mistake a school of fish for another submarine.
At 1454 Princeton launched a single Avenger to deliver reconnaissance photos to ComTaskForce 51, Rear Admiral Hill, in Attack Transport ship USS CAMBRIA (APA-36). It did not go well. The War Diary notes that "At 1703 recovered 1 VT from photographic mission: plane missed on all three drops."
Someone did not get ice cream in the ready room.
The U.S. Navy attack transport USS Cambria (APA-36) at anchor in San Francisco Bay, California, circa April 1944. She is painted in Camouflage Measure 32, Design 3D. Cambria served her country for 26 years, 7 months and 29 days, being decommissioned in 1970.
On the day Princeton's deck crew and aviators were responsible for delivering 192 100-pound bombs on Japanese targets.
Tomorrow was D-Day and promised more of the same.
NNNN
Oh to have iPhones and wifi!