1 APR 44
After two days of strikes on the Palau Islands, with emphasis on the airfield and installations on Peleliu, Task Groups 58.1, 58.2 and 58.3 are steaming 500 miles eastward to strike Woleai Atoll, specifically the atoll's northeastern most island Falealop, where the Japanese had built a 3,290 foot runway and support facilities.
The combined Task Group staffs had come up with a plan to launch the attack on Woleai at dawn and retire southeastward to recover the strikers. I would love to know, but have been unable to determine, the makeup of the staff officers or any specifics of the planning process as a whole. I am particularly curious as to whether any of the planners were fliers and if so, what were they thinking? If none of them were fliers, did any of the planners involved in planning the plan run the plan by any of the fliers who were not involved in the planning but would have to execute the plan?
What, you may ask, is the problem with the plan? I will tell you.
The bridge log notes that fleet course toward the objective is 100˚ magnetic. Local sunrise will occur at 0729 and the sun will break the horizon at 086˚ magnetic.
During Spring High School Tennis season in Oklahoma, this is what our eastbound crack-of-dawn drive to Tulsa looks like:
Ancient Druids could not have designed the Oklahoma Turnpike to more perfectly align with the High School Tennis equinox. And for what it's worth, the post-tournament sun-setting drive home is a mirror image of the morning commute.
There are a few fundamental rules in the tactical military aviation world. "Speed is life, more is better" and "No reattacks" are a couple of them. The one germane to this discussion is: "If possible, always attack out of the sun."
The War Diary: "At 0646 turned on red truck lights and commenced launching aircraft, completing launching of 12 VF for fighter sweep against Japanese installations on WOLEAI ISLAND and 8 VF for CAP at 0710."
The Action Report describes what in my time we would have called a "goat rope" or, more profanely, a "goat/gaggle ***k."
Which is a nice way of saying it didn't go as planned:
"The VF strike of this ship against Woleai proved a failure as the group was not able to find the target. Launched 166 miles away from a position which later proved to be 16 miles in error, the strike probably passed within 15 miles of the target, but did not see it because of the cloud cover, the position of the target directly up-sun from the line of approach, and the close attention being given at the time to YORKTOWN VF which the PRINCETON planes were then overtaking. The planes observed and passed near to what probably was Faraulep Island, also sighted Gaferut Island, and returned to the ship with the assistance of vectors from the FDO."
Umm...just between you and me, Faraulep Atoll is 85 miles and Gaferut Island over 140 miles NNE of Woleai.
That word "probably?" I do not think it means what they think it means.
To be fair, my A-6E Bombardier-Navigator (BN), whose callsign is and will forever be "Gogs," and I once catapulted from the deck of USS Independence about 100 miles north (or maybe it was south) of the Hawaiian Island of Kaho'olawe, which at the time was home to a US Navy bombing range. At 420 knots, the one-way trip is less than 15 minutes. Our mission was to launch, go straight to the target, drop one practice bomb, turn around, fly back to the boat, and land.
Easy peasy.
After expertly hitting the 11 mile long and 6 mile wide island with our bomb, we reversed course and climbed to about 5,000 feet, just above the ever-present popcorn-like Pacific "puffies." 10 minutes later we started a gentle descent, confident that once below the scattered clouds our 1,070 foot long, haze gray and underway home away from home would be revealed in all her "Don't Tread On Me" glory.
(It should be noted here that on this day the carrier was practicing "EMCON" procedures. EMCON stands for "Emissions Control," intended to prevent an enemy from locating the ship through the interception of any radio transmissions or electronic signals, which means all her navigation aids and emitters were turned off. Additionally, aircraft were not allowed to transmit with any of our electronic equipment, the Intruder's primary emitter being its ground-mapping radar.)
Emerging below the cloud layer around 2,000 feet our eyes beheld...
...water, water, everywhere, and not a boat in sight.
Me: Umm, Gogs, where is the boat?
Gogs: Hmm. How about that?
Me: Dude, crank up the radar and let's find that bitch.
Gogs proceeded to put his head in the boot and commence to doing his BN thing.
A-6E Intruder, Bombardier-Navigator radar screen and protective hood. The hood was referred to as "the boot", and its purpose was to prevent unwanted light reflection on the radar screen.
Shortly after...
Gogs: <head in boot, not saying anything>
Me: Got anything?
Gogs: Looking.
Me: Dude, it's a f***ing aircraft carrier.
Gogs: <ignores me> (he was, and still is, a smart and serious man)
Gogs: Got it! 10 miles on the nose.
Me: <looking straight ahead> Gogulator, ain't no boat out there.
Gogs: <head firmly in the boot> Yes there is. On the nose, 8 miles.
Me: Dude, take a look.
Gogs: <looks> Hmm. How about that?
Eventually we got on the radio...that we weren't supposed to be using because of, you know, EMCON...and coordinated a plane-to-plane ranging method...that we weren't supposed to be using because of, you know, EMCON... with a squadron mate who had just launched and was orbiting overhead the ship. When the range readout window came alive it showed us...99 miles away. My first thought was that this could not be correct so I of course assumed the system was not working properly and must be displaying an invalid default number. Which made me panic a little because OH MY GOD WHERE WAS THE BOAT!? Staring at the range readout in slight disbelief while simultaneously contemplating how I was going to explain to my Skipper how — after two years in the squadron, a six month cruise to the Persian Gulf, a two month deployment to the Northern Pacific and two workup cycles — I could possibly get lost on what was Naval Aviation's equivalent of a walk around the block, the range number changed to 98. Which made me panic a lot because OH MY GOD THE BOAT WAS A HUNDRED MILES AWAY!
Even if Indy had decided to crank up its speed to 30 knots, which it hadn't, it could only move 15 miles in half an hour. In reality, it had simply circled in roughly the same position from which we were launched. So I ask you, how hard could it be to find?
All these decades later, I remain impressed with our ability to make a 100 mile navigation error in a hop whose round trip distance totaled 200 miles. Had I ever run into Amelia Earhart in a bar, surely she would have made googly eyes at me and offered to buy me a drink.
From the first launch to the last recovery, Princeton would see 36 fighters and 19 bombers into the air on the day. A review of the War Diary and the Action Report indicate that nary a bomb or bullet associated with Princeton or Air Group 23 impacted even a grain of sand connected to Woleai Atoll.
Some days you're The Duke. Some days you're Barney Fife.
The other Task Groups appear to have had better luck:
Carrier strikes in the Caroline Islands, March - April 1944. Japanese airfield on Falealop Island, Woleai Atoll under attack by Task Force 58 planes, on 1 April 1944.
The day was not without its normal distractions.
"At 0954 a VT aircraft from the USS LEXINGTON crashed into the water while being launched; crew was recovered by USS CRAVEN."
"At 1030 a mast was sighted bearing 010˚, distance about 8 miles, apparently a small derelict; USS CONVERSE was directed to investigate."
Yesterday afternoon's condenser problem reappeared: "At 1033 secured number two main engine to effect repairs to main condenser."
"At 1042 USS CONVERSE was ordered to pick up survivors reported aboard the Japanese derelict and destroy it by gunfire. ... At 1109 USS CONVERSE ceased firing, reporting that the vessel was wooden and water-logged and apparently would not sink; vessel reported to be about 60 feet in length."
"At 1150 received a report from an unidentified source that sixteen enemy aircraft were reported flying low on the water bearing 070˚, distant 40 miles. As a result of this report went to General Quarters at 1154 and put number two main engine back on the line without completing repairs at 1159. ... Investigation failed to develop any confirmation of the report of enemy aircraft sighted. ... At 1245 secured from General Quarters...and secured number two main engine to continue repairs on condenser."
The War Diary's final entry of the day:
"Local sunset was at 1935. There were no enemy air contacts during the night as the Task Group retired on a south-southeasterly course."
The sun had set, thankfully, on April Fool's Day, 1944.
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