simple figures: At the end of 1942 and one
year of war, only two of the Navy’s six original fleet carriers,
the Enterprise and the Saratoga, were still on the surface of the
Pacific Ocean. Both had suffered severe battle damage, were manned
by exhausted crews, and had depleted, weary air groups.
On the first
day of July, 1943, the Pacific Fleet’s carrier strength included
four Essex -class and five Independence -class ships in commission, of
which three and four respectively were approaching combat
readiness. By the end of the same year, Admiral Nimitz had
assembled at Pearl Harbor six Essex- and six Independence -class ships, plus Enterprise and Saratoga, all combat ready and fully manned with
highly-trained, competent crewmen and pilots. This veritable
explosion in naval strength is an economic achievement unparalleled
in modern or ancient history.
J.E. Hardigan,
Commander. USN (ret.),
A Setting of Many
Suns:
The Destruction of the Imperial Navy [The Naval
Institute Press, 1962], p. 280.
12
Jack Hardigan was
filled with a gut-level gratification. On either side of him the
other three Corsairs buzzed along contentedly, holding a precise
and unmoving formation. Behind him and to the right stretched the
thirty-four Hellcats in four-plane, lopsided Vs. By leaning as far
over as he could and looking down, he could catch a glimpse of the
leading Dauntless divisions. The sight of so many aircraft on a
coordinated mission never failed to fill him with chilly feelings
of evenly mixed awe and wonder. As a squadron commander, the
feeling was stronger than ever: He knew about the organization that
had brought all these machines together at this point in time, made
sure they could all fly, trained the pilots to fly them, and
assembled them into such clean formations at this altitude. But the
gratification was for another reason.
“Banger Leader
to Banger One Seven.”
“Roger, Banger
Leader.”
“Any
stragglers, One Seven?”
“Nary a one,
Banger Leader.”
“Roger, One
Seven.” Jack was inwardly thankful for a good executive officer.
Only an hour ago, Higgins had reorganized nearly every division for
the flight to the Constitution when the ship’s air officer had radioed
that the four Corsairs would be brought aboard all at one time and
after all other aircraft had landed. This made it necessary for
those four to form their own division. Duane shuffled the pilots
around and filled the resulting gaps. The hour they had had before
it was necessary to begin the forty-five minute journey to the
carrier had been well spent and the launching was begun on
time.
What satisfied
Jack the most was the incredible flapping around the dive bomber
and torpedo squadrons had gone through to get ready—if indeed they
were ready. He had seen one busload of harried pilots heading for
the BOQ to pack their personal belongings, just as the one truck he
had sent arrived with his pilots’ gear all packed and ready. They
had even had time to round up four volunteer pilots from another
air group to fly the four extra Hellcats to the Constitution. An Avenger would
fly them back to the island later in the afternoon and return
before dark. Everyone benefited from this arrangement: The ship and
the air group had the extra aircraft and the other pilots got in
some flight time in the new fighters and valuable carrier landing
experience. Jack smiled to himself, thinking how nice it was to be
well organized.
It was, as
usual, a beautiful day for flying. He had concluded long ago that
the clear skies and deep blue waters of the Pacific were capable of
lulling the most experienced pilot into a sense of false security;
the ocean’s vastness could overwhelm the negligent or inattentive.
A malfunctioning homing device and an unnoticed crosswind could
cause a single plane or a flight of aircraft to miss their tiny
carrier by ten miles—a miniscule error by navigation standards—and
send them off into wastes of sky and water. They
year of war, only two of the Navy’s six original fleet carriers,
the Enterprise and the Saratoga, were still on the surface of the
Pacific Ocean. Both had suffered severe battle damage, were manned
by exhausted crews, and had depleted, weary air groups.
On the first
day of July, 1943, the Pacific Fleet’s carrier strength included
four Essex -class and five Independence -class ships in commission, of
which three and four respectively were approaching combat
readiness. By the end of the same year, Admiral Nimitz had
assembled at Pearl Harbor six Essex- and six Independence -class ships, plus Enterprise and Saratoga, all combat ready and fully manned with
highly-trained, competent crewmen and pilots. This veritable
explosion in naval strength is an economic achievement unparalleled
in modern or ancient history.
J.E. Hardigan,
Commander. USN (ret.),
A Setting of Many
Suns:
The Destruction of the Imperial Navy [The Naval
Institute Press, 1962], p. 280.
12
Jack Hardigan was
filled with a gut-level gratification. On either side of him the
other three Corsairs buzzed along contentedly, holding a precise
and unmoving formation. Behind him and to the right stretched the
thirty-four Hellcats in four-plane, lopsided Vs. By leaning as far
over as he could and looking down, he could catch a glimpse of the
leading Dauntless divisions. The sight of so many aircraft on a
coordinated mission never failed to fill him with chilly feelings
of evenly mixed awe and wonder. As a squadron commander, the
feeling was stronger than ever: He knew about the organization that
had brought all these machines together at this point in time, made
sure they could all fly, trained the pilots to fly them, and
assembled them into such clean formations at this altitude. But the
gratification was for another reason.
“Banger Leader
to Banger One Seven.”
“Roger, Banger
Leader.”
“Any
stragglers, One Seven?”
“Nary a one,
Banger Leader.”
“Roger, One
Seven.” Jack was inwardly thankful for a good executive officer.
Only an hour ago, Higgins had reorganized nearly every division for
the flight to the Constitution when the ship’s air officer had radioed
that the four Corsairs would be brought aboard all at one time and
after all other aircraft had landed. This made it necessary for
those four to form their own division. Duane shuffled the pilots
around and filled the resulting gaps. The hour they had had before
it was necessary to begin the forty-five minute journey to the
carrier had been well spent and the launching was begun on
time.
What satisfied
Jack the most was the incredible flapping around the dive bomber
and torpedo squadrons had gone through to get ready—if indeed they
were ready. He had seen one busload of harried pilots heading for
the BOQ to pack their personal belongings, just as the one truck he
had sent arrived with his pilots’ gear all packed and ready. They
had even had time to round up four volunteer pilots from another
air group to fly the four extra Hellcats to the Constitution. An Avenger would
fly them back to the island later in the afternoon and return
before dark. Everyone benefited from this arrangement: The ship and
the air group had the extra aircraft and the other pilots got in
some flight time in the new fighters and valuable carrier landing
experience. Jack smiled to himself, thinking how nice it was to be
well organized.
It was, as
usual, a beautiful day for flying. He had concluded long ago that
the clear skies and deep blue waters of the Pacific were capable of
lulling the most experienced pilot into a sense of false security;
the ocean’s vastness could overwhelm the negligent or inattentive.
A malfunctioning homing device and an unnoticed crosswind could
cause a single plane or a flight of aircraft to miss their tiny
carrier by ten miles—a miniscule error by navigation standards—and
send them off into wastes of sky and water. They
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