7 Interim

If I go away to sea,

I shall return a corpse awash.

Thus for the sake of the Emperor,

I will not die peacefully at home.

Ancient song of the Japanese warrior

Vice Admiral John S. McCain began his first cruise as ComTaskForce 38 with three task groups ready to launch a series of strikes against Luzon. The four-day operation was to begin on 3 November, but mindful of the new suicide threat, McCain decided to assign fewer F6Fs to escort missions. He preferred to retain more Hellcats for ForceCap. His judgment proved correct, for aerial opposition over Luzon was scattered and largely ineffective.

The one exception came early in the morning of 5 November when the CV fighter squadrons of Task Groups 38.1 and 38.3 tangled with large gaggles of Zekes, Oscars, and Tojos around Clark Field. The fighter sweeps netted a total claim of 58 aerial victories, nearly half of which fell to the Sundowners of VF-11.

The sweep was led by VF-11 CO Gene Fairfax, since Hornet’s new CAG was not yet qualified in the F6F. Commander Emmett Riera had only been aboard a few days as CAG-11, hastily transferred from his previous slot as skipper of Enterprise’s VB-20 to replace Commander Schrader, killed at Formosa. A dive bomber pilot since 1939, Riera soon obtained permission from Captain Artie Doyle to check out in the F6F while at sea. It would have been unthinkable in an F4U or SB2C, perhaps, but the Hellcat was so easy to fly that Riera’s first flight in an F6F was made from the Hornet’s deck.

Meanwhile, at 0615 on the fifth, Gene Fairfax led 52 Hellcats and 35 bombers from TG-38.1 on a 160-mile strike to the Clark Field complex. The F6Fs arrived at first light and dispersed to shoot up parked aircraft at Tarlac and Mabalacat, since apparently no Japanese were airborne. But at the latter field, one of Fairfax’s division leaders, Lieutenant James S. Swope, called out Bettys taking off. Swope’s section leader, Lieutenant (jg) Blake Moranville, rolled over and made a fast run on one Betty and shot it down.

Almost immediately the Sundowners found themselves in a pretty good dogfight. Fairfax, Swope, and Moranville each bagged a pair of Tojos, and seven other VF-11 pilots shot down nine more fighters. “Rabbit” Moranville, with only one gun firing, got his second Tojo at zero feet by forcing it to catch a wingtip on the ground. The Hornet Hellcats’ only loss was Ensign W. W. Mann, flying an F6F-5P. Mann was attacked by an Oscar which set his drop tank afire, and his section leader in an F6F-3 without water injection was unable to weave fast enough to drive the Japanese off. It was a bitter point with many pilots that -3s should remain at sea when F6F-5s were being assigned to some operational training units. The fact was, it took time for the new fighters to reach combat squadrons, but it was small consolation.

The Hornet and Wasp fighters escorted their Helldivers and Avengers back to the task group without further loss, but the unexpected opposition of the first strike forced a change in plans. Strike Baker, with more VF-11 and VF-14 Hellcats, pounced upon Clark Field North and found more Oscars airborne. The Sundowners bagged ten without a loss as Lieutenant Charles R. Stimpson continued his two-tour standing as VF-11’s top gun. The tall, thin ace got three kills to run his total to 14.

Fighting 14 bagged 21 enemy aircraft during two sweeps and three strikes, but lost its top scorer, Lieutenant W. M. Knight, who had seven and one-half victories to his credit. The Wasp’s fighters also lost their perfect escort record as a straggling bomber fell out of formation and was shot down by two Zekes.

Later during the day Air Groups 15 and 19 went to Manila. Target coordinator was Dave McCampbell with one division of Essex fighters. McCampbell found time to shoot down a Zeke and a Val, while his wingman Roy Rushing bagged a Zeke for his own 13th and last kill. Elsewhere during the day Fighting 15 claimed another ten victories, but otherwise the TG-38.3 fighters had little shooting. Fighting 19 got four kills during an afternoon strike but lost its CO, Lieutenant Roger Boles, to AA fire south of Manila. He was VF-19’s second commanding officer killed in action in three weeks.

Nor was that all. Later that afternoon several Zekes attacked Task Group 38.3 with little warning. The Lexington fighters shot down one, but four broke through the CAP. Three were shot to pieces by the Lex’s highly practiced AA gunners, but inevitably the fourth proved to be a kamikaze. It hit the Lexington on the starboard side of her bridge. Resulting fires were controlled in 20 minutes, but when the tally was made, 182 men were dead or wounded.

The Ticonderoga’s brand-new VF-80 broke into combat for the first time this same day, during strikes upon Manila. Lieutenant John W. Fair scored the first kill for Lieutenant Commander Leroy W. Keith’s squadron, and five other enemy aircraft also fell. Two were splashed by Keith himself and by Lieutenant Patrick D. Fleming, later the squadron’s top scorer. But it was a costly introduction to combat as four Hellcats were lost.

The next day, 6 November, was the fourth and last of the operation. The final combat of VF-19’s tour came when two divisions gunned down 12 Japanese fighters around Clark Field. A thirteenth was literally hacked down. Ensign Robert A. Farnsworth, Jr., flew according to sound fighter doctrine and stubbornly refused to break off from a head-on run by a Tojo. The Japanese pilot pulled up too late to miss, and glanced off the Hellcat’s wing. Incredibly, the F6 stayed in the air, but the Tojo cartwheeled down, minus one wing. Farnsworth returned to the Lexington with a large hunk of Japanese aluminum lodged under his own wing. It was a fittingly spectacular end to Fighting 19’s combat career, raising the squadron’s aerial tally to 167 kills.

The sixth also saw the last combat of VF-14, which had been aboard the Wasp since mid-May. The Iron Angels had accounted for 140 planes in the air and 242 on the ground but had lost 20 pilots and 43 aircraft in six months of combat. That included the first two COs, both shot down in July, and there had been four acting skippers since. Having flown both Hellcat models in combat, VF-14 concluded that the F6F “has proven itself to be the best all-around plane yet developed.”¹ The F6F-3’s tail problems—wrinkling of the empennage skin and partial stabilizer failure—drew comment, but the Wasp pilots still considered the Hellcat beyond praise.

Admiral McCain had some praise of his own. In bidding farewell to Fighting 14, he called the squadron “a great fighting organization” and wished everybody “plenty of luck, liquor, and ladies.”²

During the four-day November raids, carrier planes claimed 439 enemy aircraft, the large majority on the ground. Flying low over the lush green Philippine landscape, F6F pilots reported numerous Japanese planes hidden in revetments many miles from the nearest airfields. Some were found as far as 35 miles out, evidently towed along narrow roads. The Japanese were abandoning their airdromes.

Additional strikes were conducted through mid month, with only spotty opposition. Japanese air power in the Philippines was being systematically destroyed on the ground, though VF-15 found fair hunting on Armistice Day. During a convoy strike near Ormoc Bay by the Essex and Ticonderoga squadrons, Dave McCampbell’s 16 Hellcats tangled with about 20 Japanese fighters. “Fabled Fifteen” knocked down ten Oscars, including one by the CAG. Again experimenting, McCampbell reported, “It is worthy of note that the F6F-5 with War Emergency Power was able to overcome a 3,000-foot altitude disadvantage and catch Oscar in about three minutes at his best altitude, 11,000 feet.”³

Three days later Dave McCampbell and Air Group 15 finished their tour. The CAG was the only one to score, shooting down one Oscar and damaging another. It brought his aerial score to 34 confirmed, only two behind Air Force Major Richard Bong as the top American fighter scorer. Bong remained in combat until mid-December, running his string to an even 40, but McCampbell’s personal and unit records were landmarks.

In six and one-half months of combat, VF-15 had been credited with 313 enemy aircraft destroyed in the air and an equal number on the ground. These figures, along with the shipping losses Air Group 15 inflicted on the Japanese, were the highest in the U.S. Navy. Fighting 15 produced 26 fighter aces—another record, for it was one more than the Rippers of VF-2. The squadron’s pilot losses totaled 21, attributed equally to air combat, AA fire, and operational or unknown causes.

Dave McCampbell’s 34 kills, though exceeded by two Army Air Force pilots, were the most ever scored by an American flier in one tour of duty. He was also credited with seven probables in the air and 21 planes on the ground. At the Turkey Shoot and Leyte Gulf he became the only American to achieve five or more aerial victories in one day on two separate occasions. For this personal record and the leadership of a highly successful air group, McCampbell became the only carrier pilot awarded the Medal of Honor in the last three years of the war.

Strikes continued almost until the end of November, with Manila the focal point. On the 19th, 116 enemy planes were reported destroyed, including eight shot down near the task force. The Lexington now operated Lieutenant Commander Fred Bakutis’s VF-20, which burned 70 planes on a well-camouflaged field near Del Carmen while VF-11 shot up the large airdrome itself.

Six days later the Japanese mounted their first large air attack since the end of October. Task Groups 38.1 and 38.2 were back on station off Luzon, their Hellcats shooting 26 bandits out of the air. But after noon, radar picked up a bogey too close to analyze sufficiently, only 30 miles out. A hasty interception was made, but three Zekes got through. It was the same new-old story. Two were shot down by AA and the third dived into the Intrepid. Five minutes later another pair dived on the “Evil I.” One splashed and one crashed. The Intrepid burned for two hours, and over 150 men died or suffered serious injuries. She was pulled off the line, forcing an end to VF-18’s eleven-week combat tour in which 187 enemy aircraft were shot down. Fighting 18’s top scorer, Lieutenant Cecil Harris, downed four planes during the day to raise his total to 24, of which 23 were scored in Hellcats. His spot as the Navy’s second-ranking fighter ace was secure.

The kamikazes were not yet finished. The light carrier Cabot was also hit, and the Essex, with Air Group Four newly embarked, was nicked by one of two Judys which attacked her. At a cost of 32 Japanese aircraft shot down or expended in suicide dives, two carriers had been hit and one badly damaged. Only the Intrepid was put out of action, but the Fast Carrier Force returned to Ulithi. It was now apparent that at least three task groups were required to operate together against kamikazes with any hope of prolonged time on station.

Sufficient time had passed for the task force staff to evolve an antikamikaze doctrine, and it was laid out at the end of November. It became known as “The Big Blue Blanket,” after the phrase coined by Admiral McCain’s chief operations officer, Commander John S. Thach. There were four factors:

First, a “blanket” of all airfields within range of carrier-based F6Fs was called for, particularly those identified as posing a kamikaze threat. Nocturnal heckler missions would make this plan effective round the clock.

Second, the local CAP was increased and redisposed, with 20 to 24 Hellcats over each task group. Additionally, four pairs of fighters were positioned at low level (up to 3,000 feet) just outside the AA screen. The two F6Fs on each side of the task group were called “Jack Patrols.” Their job was to intercept low-flying suiciders or snoopers that got in under the radar coverage.

Third, pairs of radar picket destroyers, identified as “Tomcats,” were stationed in the two or three most likely directions of attack at least 40 miles from the task force. Each Tomcat station had a minimum of one fighter division overhead to provide forward interception, since by this time most ships in the task force had FDO capability. In addition to providing early warning, the Tomcats allowed “delousing” of returning friendly formations. Any “Sneaky Petes” trying to tag along with the flow of traffic could be identified and disposed of by the Hellcats on Tomcat CAP.

Finally, task force fighter direction was relaxed in order that it be better coordinated with task group FDOs. The new doctrine allowed any ship with available fighters and a bogey on the screen to assume the contact and direct an interception. It allowed much more flexibility and saved time when seconds counted.

Obviously, the demand for more Hellcats also required more fighter pilots. Each large-carrier fighter squadron was doubled in size, with authorized pilot strength increased from 54 to 105 aviators. The envisioned 73-plane fighter squadrons automatically meant fewer dive bombers and torpedo planes. Therefore, SB2C and TBM squadrons were reduced to 15 planes each. This situation was still considered unacceptable to Admiral McCain, who pressed for even more fighters. The Hellcats could perform adequately in the dive bomber role, and he seriously considered eliminating all SB2Cs from the CVs and all Avengers from CVLs. Under this plan, the Fast Carrier Force would operate only Hellcats and Avengers, with the CVLs having all-fighter air groups.

The plan was never fully implemented, but one ship had already experimented with a similar arrangement. Near the end of October, the Bunker Hill was an all-fighter carrier; VF-8 and VF-4 were both aboard with 50 Hellcats each. But there were complications. Recalls Scott McCuskey, “The plan resulted in a bad morale problem involving VF-8 pilots. We had already flown three ‘last missions’ and then were asked to go again. But this time the plan, as I recall, involved using the experienced personnel of VF-8 and dispersing us among the inexperienced personnel of VF-4. This would have destroyed our team tactics which we all felt so strongly about.”⁴

As it was, the joint operation was very short-lived. Fighting Eight had already been in combat for seven months, and most of the air group was flown stateside from Manus in the Admiralty Islands before the end of October. The last contingent was 20 officers and men under McCuskey who “had actually boarded the aircraft for return to the States, but were kicked off because of the Battle of Leyte Gulf. To make a long story short, we hitch-hiked home from New Guinea.”⁵

Despite such problems, when Task Force 38 departed Ulithi on 11 December, the F6F buildup was well underway. At least five Essex-class carriers now operated 70-plane fighter squadrons: VF-3 in TG-38.1; VF-7, VF-11, and VF-20 in TG-38.2; and VF-80 in TG-38.3. Additionally, Air Group Four had been reunited aboard the Essex in TG-38.3 and had operated at least 64 fighters since mid-October. The usual composition of the enlarged fighter squadrons was 69 F6F-5s, including four photo birds, plus four night fighters for a total of 73.

In order to meet the demand for additional fighter pilots, numerous SB2C pilots transitioned to F6Fs during late November. First to do so was Bombing Seven under Lieutenant Commander John Erickson on the Hancock. His SB2Cs were put “on the beach” while the transition to Hellcats was accomplished. Erickson was killed in a take-off accident while experimenting with the F6F conversion, but no further problems developed and the plan was well received at all levels.

It had been a long time coming. McCain, never enthusiastic about the SB2C to begin with, had planted the idea of using F6Fs as fighter-bombers before leaving Washington that summer. West Coast training squadrons experimented with Hellcats and Corsairs as dive bombers and found they compared favorably with the SB2C’s bombing scores. McCain went to sea believing his plan was in effect behind him in the training and ordnance pipeline.

But sometime between summer and fall, the plan fell apart. Various forces were blamed: the politically powerful Curtiss-Wright organization which built the SB2C, some munitions boards machinations, anonymous partisans at various levels. The first indication McCain had of the reversal was in early November when one of his new operations officers reported aboard. Lieutenant Commander Bill Leonard later recalled, “First sentence after ‘howdy’ on my initial meeting with McCain was, ‘How is the F6F/F4U bombing score?’ I told him it was better than ever, but. . . .” When McCain learned the Helldiver would not be fully replaced, he exploded. “I thought he was going to stomp me,” Leonard said. “He smiled sweetly in a minute and told me to get with Jim Thach and write some blue dispatches for him to vent his ire and get the program back on track.”⁶

The fast carriers were to support the Mindoro landings in the Philippines, scheduled for 15 December. Hellcats opened the campaign at dawn on the 14th with a series of fighter sweeps, finding relatively little airborne opposition then or during the next two days. The one big scrap of the 14th involved VF-80, whose two divisions tangled with 27 Zekes and Oscars attempting to reinforce Mindoro from Luzon. The eight Ticonderoga Hellcats caught the Japanese at low airspeed in loose formation and had things entirely their own way. In a swirling dogfight, the VF-80 pilots claimed 19 kills for no losses and no damage. Top scorers were Lieutenants Robert H. Anderson with five victories, “P.D.” Fleming with four, and Richard L. “Zeke” Cormier with three.

Meanwhile, the Big Blue Blanket was going into effect. The 500-plus day and night fighters covered every enemy airfield within range and smothered nearly every Japanese attempt to get up. Sixty-nine enemy aircraft were known to have taken off on the 14th and two-thirds of them—46 to be exact—were shot down. Jimmy Thach’s blanket proved so effective on its first outing that no attacks were made upon the carriers, though Japanese aircraft from elsewhere in the Philippines sank two ships of the invasion force and damaged four.

Approximately 200 enemy planes had been destroyed, largely on the ground. In exchange, 27 U.S. carrier aircraft were downed. Most of them fell to AA guns at heavily defended airfields, and three of the missing Hellcats were flown by aces.

On the dawn fighter sweep near Clark Field, newly promoted Lieutenant (jg) Doug Baker shot down three Zekes in scattered encounters and was last seen destroying a fourth. With 12 kills in five combats during VF-20’s service aboard the Enterprise in October and November, Baker was one of the most successful fighter pilots in the task force. But when noses were counted back aboard the Lexington, the young Oklahoman was not there. Credited with a total of 16 victories, he was the highest scoring Navy fighter ace killed in action. Filipino guerrillas found his wrecked Hellcat and took his dogtags, knowing the Americans would soon be ashore.

Fighting 29 off the Cabot lost two planes in a mid-air collision. Both pilots bailed out, one being Lieutenant (jg) Walter D. Bishop, with five kills to his credit. He was seen the next day on a beach along Subic Bay, waving to low-flying carrier planes, but could not be rescued.

The third F6F ace downed on the 14th had better luck. He was Alex Vraciu, back for a third tour. In his previous deployments Vraciu had been the top scorer of both VF-6 and VF-16. During his short stateside trip he married pretty Kathryn Horn, a brunette from East Chicago, but he soon returned to the Pacific.

Quiet and friendly, Vraciu was one of the “tigers” whose demeanor on the ground bore little resemblance to his personality in a fighter plane. He retained his stamina and enthusiasm at a time when others began feeling the strain of prolonged operations. This was partially due to the different nature of the Pacific War at this time. Over a year before, when Vraciu first entered combat, most carrier actions had been hit-and-run affairs. Of this period Vraciu said, “You went out, flew a few hops, saw a little combat, and went back to Pearl or the states.”⁷ Now it was different. Since the Marianas, the trend had been toward longer periods in combat.

But there were always a few who seemed to thrive on combat, who were less susceptible to fatigue or stress. There were fighter pilots like Charlie Crommelin, torpedo pilots like Bill Martin, and dive bomber pilots like Stockton Birney Strong. Each had already done all that was expected or required of him. Each, for diverse personal reasons, came back for more.

Vraciu had arranged for a return to the Lexington where VF-20 was the resident fighter squadron. His tenure with Fred Bakutis’s outfit was very short lived, however. On his second mission with the squadron, Vraciu’s F6F was hit by AA fire over Bamban airfield, and he bailed out when his engine seized from lack of oil. Vraciu always said he was Grumman’s best customer; he’d already put two Hellcats in the water.

Almost as soon as he hit the ground he was surrounded by Filipino guerrillas. Uncertain of their intentions, and not knowing how well they spoke English, he uttered the first phrase which came to mind. “Believe it or not, I actually said, ‘Take me to your leader,’” Vraciu recalls.⁸

The Japanese were reported closing in from three sides, searching for the pilot they had seen parachuting. There was no choice but to flee. But Vraciu’s concern for his immediate future was temporarily distracted when one Filipino jogged alongside and said in good English, “There are just two things I want to know. Has Madeleine Carroll married the second time? And has Deanna Durbin had a baby yet?”⁹ Cut off from outside contact for nearly three years, the Filipinos still found Hollywood the main topic of interest.

During the next five weeks Vraciu, as a brevet major in the guerrilla army, found himself the chief of a 180-man band. They looked more like a gang of Mexican bandits. When Vraciu met U.S. Army troops in January, many of his men were mounted on horses, complete with a troop of buglers. Vraciu himself, astride his steed, sported an inch-long beard, and was armed with his .45 automatic, a Japanese pistol, and a trophy saber. Upon his return to the Lexington he handed over Doug Baker’s dog tags, given to him by the Filipinos. But his request to remain in combat was denied, and A1 Vraciu’s long war was over.

While at Ulithi in late December, the F6F’s 16-month dominance as the fast carriers’ only fighter came to an end. Two Marine F4U squadrons joined Air Group Four aboard the Essex, displacing her dive bombers. The Essex embarked 54 Hellcats and 36 Corsairs, leaving only 15 Avengers for heavy attack duty. Admiral McCain was pleased.

But the Marine fliers were new to carriers, and suffered accordingly. Seven pilots were lost in operational accidents in the first nine days aboard. It would be several weeks before F4Us operated in any strength with consistent safety, but in the next two months four more fast carriers took on F4Us. The Hellcat’s days as the carrier fighter were over.

The task force departed 30 December, embarked upon an ambitious and wide-ranging cruise which would visit Formosa, the Ryukyus, Luzon, back to Formosa, and then into the South China Sea. The entire deployment would take nearly a month, and would be characterized by almost uniformly bad weather.

Early on 3 January 1945, the customary fighter sweeps departed the task force over an arc from Formosa and the Pescadores in the south up to Okinawa in the Ryukyus. Launched 140 miles from their Formosan targets, the strike groups encountered a thick front off the east coast. Those planes which got through to the objective had to fly on instruments through the “soup” but were rewarded with lucrative targets.

The Ticonderoga’s VF-80 once again benefited from the best hunting as three of its divisions swept the area searching for airborne targets. They found them. Fifteen Japanese fighters were engaged by the Ticonderoga Hellcats, which downed a dozen for the loss of Ensign P. J. Manella, who was shot by enemy fighters as he hung in his parachute. Lieutenant Pat Fleming, now VF-80’s top gun, accounted for three kills, raising his score to ten.

The weather clamped down that afternoon, precluding further flight operations. More strikes were flown the morning of the fourth but a discouraging meteorological outlook dictated an early departure for Luzon.

Two days of strikes were conducted back in the Philippines, where the Japanese had restocked some 500 aircraft on Luzon. Again poor weather prevented complete dispersal of the Big Blue Blanket. Carrier pilots flying under leaden gray skies found nearly all of northern Luzon obscured by heavy clouds on 6 January. Reported ceilings were as low as 200 feet, resulting in fighter claims for only 14 aerial kills and 18 on the ground. Perhaps the best illustration of the weather was provided by VF-3 Hellcats returning to the Yorktown after strafing trucks on a road near Manila. At least one F6F landed aboard with mud spattered on its wings and canopy.

This flak-damaged F6F-5 returned from a mission over Luzon and broke in half from the strain of a carrier landing. As can be seen, the pilot climbed out without assistance.

The seventh offered better visibility over the large target area, but as if attempting to even the odds, nature placed a rough sea and high winds in the launch area. The carriers lost 18 aircraft in accidents, but got through to Japanese airfields and destroyed an estimated 75 planes on the ground. The blanket was working again; only four bandits were shot from the sky. Most of the others had been unable to take off because of the Hellcats’ and Corsairs’ air superiority over the airfields within range. From 3 to 9 January the Big Blue Blanket had allowed fewer than 100 kamikazes and 40 escorts to take off.

Another strike was flung at Formosa on the ninth, but again aerial opposition proved almost nonexistent. Low-flying carrier pilots reported the Japanese using even more dummy aircraft than before, so an accurate tally of strafing claims was almost impossible. It did, however, seem that the enemy now regarded Formosa as largely untenable.

French Indochina, however, was another matter. It had been ruled since 1940 by the pro-Vichy government and was occupied jointly by French and Japanese forces, the former entirely dominated by the latter. Strikes were ready to fly off at dawn on 12 January, the first time since the earliest days of the war that Allied surface vessels had turned a wake in the South China Sea.

Gray cloudy skies greeted the first sweep-strike, but U.S. air supremacy was established almost immediately. Throughout the day only 15 Japanese aircraft were claimed shot down while the air groups roamed along a 400-mile stretch of coastline, as far south as Saigon. Antishipping strikes found many more targets; an amazing 1,500 sorties were flown by the aircraft of the 14 fast carriers, resulting in 46 enemy ships being sunk.

About 20 twin-float Japanese aircraft were burned on the water at Cam Ranh Bay by strafing Hellcats in the morning, and throughout the day about 70 were destroyed on the ground. Mainly these were based at Saigon Airport, better known in a later war as Tan Son Nhut.

This famous airfield figured in one of the day’s interesting footnotes. Fighting 11 had already launched a morning sweep-strike against the area, when a call was put through for three divisions to work over Saigon’s airdrome in the early afternoon. Lieutenant Jim Swope volunteered his division which launched with seven other Hornet Hellcats, all armed with rockets.

Sweeping low over the big field, the VF-11 pilots each made three to six passes, firing their rockets at hangars and other buildings. Twenty-one-year-old Lieutenant (jg) Blake Moranville had just fired his last rocket into a hangar, when he was startled by his wingman’s cry, “Hey Rabbit, you’re on fire!”¹⁰

“Rabbit” Moranville’s plane was not actually aflame, but his engine was losing a steady stream of oil which resembled smoke. His F6F had been hit by 20-mm fire. Jim Swope regrouped the division and led Moranville southwards, hoping to make the coast where presumably he could ditch near a lifeguard submarine. But Moranville’s engine gave out over the swampy river delta and he splashed down to a safe wheels-up landing in a rice paddy 75 miles southwest of Saigon.

Moranville got out of his Hellcat and detonated the IFF destruct package by flipping a switch on his electrical panel. Circling overhead, Swope looked down at his section leader tromping around the F6, wondering why he didn’t walk away from it. Swope wanted to strafe the plane and burn it, but developed a rough engine and was forced to return to the task group. The last the Sundowners saw of Moranville he was standing knee-deep in the rice paddy beside his airplane, surveying the damage.

The young Nebraskan shortly made contact with friendly natives who took him to a village where he waited until dark. Then a French count, a Vichy official, arrived and delivered him to a French army garrison. Thus did Blake Moranville, who had shot down all six Japanese aircraft he fought, become the only U.S. Navy fighter ace prisoner of war.

Lieutenant (jg) Blake Moranville (gesturing), with six planes to his credit, was the only Navy fighter ace captured by the enemy. His F6F was shot down near Saigon in January 1945 and he was held by the Vichy French, but he later made his way to safety in China. Photo: H. B. Moranville

But he was not alone in captivity. Ten other Hellcats were lost during the day. One of the Hancock’s three missing F6Fs was piloted by Lieutenant (jg) Elmer G. Stratton, assigned to McCain’s photo-mapping unit. Stratton, with a Marine pilot off the Essex and a San Jacinto TBM crew, was thrown in with Moranville at Saigon’s central prison. Once arrived, their status became less definite but more bearable.

The political situation was changing in Indochina. Since 1940 the Vichy regime had collaborated with the occupying Japanese, but now that American forces were operating freely in the region, the wisdom of continued close cooperation seemed dubious at best. Therefore, the French prison warden looked upon his new inmates more as guests than prisoners. He had previously been marked by the Free French for trial and execution, so his treatment of the Americans was guided by a strong dose of Gallic pragmatism; they were his ticket home.

Members of the anti-Vichy movement were permitted to deliver food, books, magazines, tobacco, even a radio. Not to mention liquor—lots of it. Moranville, not yet 22, was senior in the group and realized they were much better off than one might imagine for POWs in Asia. The fliers were allowed to roam much of the prison and exercised in a small courtyard each evening. They amused themselves by terrorizing a tiger shark kept in a cement tank, and considered it grand sport to watch the beast snap broom handles in two. The main restriction was that they should never be seen or heard by any Japanese.

Eventually, however, the Japanese learned that Americans were being held somewhere in Saigon. Inquiries were made, searches commenced, and the warden began to feel the heat. So arrangements were made to truck the fliers north to Hanoi. They were turned over to a French Foreign Legion unit in the hills outside the city, where conditions were considerably less pleasant. The men had little to eat but rice, were kept in dirty quarters, and most came down with dysentery. But things only got worse. A few nights later, Japanese troops massacred a French army garrison nearby. Realizing how attitudes had shifted, the Japanese were eliminating all sources of possible resistance.

There was only one course of action available. The 200 Legionnaires decided to march over the mountains westward to Dien Bien Phu, one of the few strongholds remaining. The Navy fliers were turned loose, issued rifles, and invited to come along. It was not a cheerful prospect, but the alternative was clearly less attractive. The group walked nearly 300 miles in 13 days across some of the roughest geography in Southeast Asia. Only a quarter of the troops made it. The rest fell victim to disease or were killed in a nocturnal ambush while crossing a rice paddy. Moranville and Straton’s group survived the trap only because of the quick thinking of a German sergeant who led them to safety in the jungle.

When the men arrived at Dien Bien Phu on 22 March, they were in poor shape. Sick, exhausted, and hungry, they now had to wait for clear weather so they could be flown to safety in China. They waited nearly a week, with the Japanese steadily drawing nearer. Casualties straggled in daily, testifying to the bitterness of the fighting. And each day the weather prevented any landing on the rough airfield.

Finally on the 28th the clouds lifted enough for a C-47 to fly down from Kunming. The Americans scrambled aboard, most of them clutching souvenir teapots they had purchased along the way. While recovering their health at Kunming, they learned that Dien Bien Phu had been overwhelmed by the Japanese. Blake Moranville summarized, “I wouldn’t take a million dollars for the experience, but you couldn’t pay me that much to do it again.”¹⁰

Three days after the Indochina raid the task force was preparing to strike the huge enemy-occupied harbor facilities at Hong Kong. On 15 January strikes were flown over Formosa and the China coast, encountering surprisingly little air opposition. Sixteen Japanese planes were shot down. Five fell to a VF-11 division led by the squadron commander, Gene Fairfax, while he was leading 20 other Hellcats on a sweep near the next day’s target.

About 50 miles east of Hong Kong, Fairfax spotted a Tabby transport—a Japanese-built DC-3—escorted by four Zekes. He correctly reasoned the escort meant a VIP aboard the Tabby and ordered his pilots to “leave the transport alone till we have the escorts.”¹¹ The Tabby had no chance of outrunning the F6Fs.

Fairfax recalled the short combat: “One Zeke turned toward us and I had a head-on shot but didn’t get him. He went over me or I went under him. The other escorts stayed with the transport and as I made a run from behind the formation, one started turning left, all wrapped up. I got inside his turn and flamed him with a deflection shot of about 45 degrees. When I came around, the four escorts were all burning in the water, so we lined up on the transport and probably overkilled it. My wingman, Ensign Jack Suddreth, and I both thought we flamed it first so we tossed a coin and he won.”¹²

A wire-service reporter, Keith Wheeler, was aboard the Hornet at this time and wrote a dispatch speculating that one less Japanese admiral might be around as a result of VF-ll’s action that day. He was right. The VIP was Vice Admiral K. Hatakeyama, commander of the South China Sea frontier, who had been on an inspection trip to Hong Kong.

Next day Hong Kong itself was hit, and again hunting was sparse with only 13 claims of enemy aircraft shot down. But the flak was the most vicious the carrier pilots had yet seen. They characterized it as “intense to incredible,”¹³ and it was responsible for nearly all the 22 aircraft losses over the target.

Fighting 11 again figured in the day’s activities, losing two Hellcats to AA fire. The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Robert E. Clements, with two fighter divisions, escorted a strike of four TBMs and four SB2Cs against shipping in the harbor. Bombs, rockets, and torpedoes were used against Japanese tankers and merchantmen. But, as Clements recalled, “The AA fire was bad. Of the four TBMs making low-level runs in the harbor, one was shot down on the run-in, another as he pulled over the target, another couldn’t make it back to the ship, and the fourth was considerably shot up.”¹⁴

After the attack, Clements led his wingman, Ensign Matt Crehan, back to take damage assessment photos. Crehan’s Hellcat took a direct hit and started burning behind the cockpit. Hoping to clear the harbor, Clements led Crehan towards the offshore islands where the ensign bailed out just as his crippled F6 broke in two.

What did you do in the war, Daddy? Fighting Squadron 11 pilots engage in a popular pastime between missions. Photo: H. B. Moranville

Crehan was safely down in the water but his life raft drifted away. Circling overhead, Clements summoned aid. “I found a bomber crew who came over and dropped a life raft to Crehan,” he recalls. “But this one blew up as he pulled the cord. After that I couldn’t find any more VB aircraft so I disengaged my own life raft and threw it in to Crehan. This time it worked and he climbed in. Incidentally, it ain’t easy to stand up in your seat, fly at about 200 feet to keep a man in the water in sight, pull off your harness and seat pack to get to that raft in the bottom, and throw it to a man in the water.”¹⁵

But the exec’s problems—not to mention Crehan’s—were far from over. Despite a rapidly diminishing fuel supply, Clements remained overhead, radioing for a submarine while scaring away small vessels heading towards Crehan. Clements finally contacted a sub but learned the offshore waters were too shallow to attempt a rescue. Then his radio quit, but still the Sundowner exec remained overhead, hoping to attract attention.

Finally, with only 30 gallons registering on his fuel gauge, he reluctantly turned away and found a friendly straggler who homed in on the task group. When Clements caught the arresting wire with his tail hook, his tanks all showed empty. No other aircraft found Ensign Crehan, and he was listed Missing In Action.

Clements finishes the story: “After the war, Crehan himself came down to Annapolis to see me and told me that a Chinese sampan picked him up and landed him safely on shore and put him in contact with guerrillas. He walked to Kunming with a group of people, having a somewhat similar experience to that of Rabbit Moranville.”¹⁶ Actually, Crehan and Moranville found each other while at Kunming; they could hardly believe it themselves.

On 21 January the fast carriers were back at Formosa, operating 100 miles offshore while air strikes went after shipping and airfields. Only three enemy planes were seen in the air and two were shot down, though strafing fighters claimed about 100 destroyed on the ground.

Then the kamikazes appeared. Until now the fast carriers had been free from air attack, but as usual the Japanese arrived during the noon hour in three groups. The Langley took a bomb hit which interrupted air ops for three hours, then minutes later a lone Zeke got past the CAP and dived into the Ticonderoga with a 550-pound bomb. The explosion caused wild fires, and only 40 minutes later another threat appeared. This attack involved eight bandits, two of which evaded the CAP and one of which fell to AA fire. The survivor lived long enough to crash his target, already marked by smoke and flame. He hit the Ticonderoga’s island, bringing already serious casualties to 345, including 143 dead.

Several VF-80 pilots had manned AA guns after the first hit, replacing wounded gunners. Pat Fleming was at a 20-mm battery when the Zeke hit. He was struck on his helmet by a piece of debris and knocked overboard. Efficient rescue work by a destroyer prevented the bizarre loss of one of the U.S. Navy’s outstanding fighter pilots, but the Ticonderoga retired towards Ulithi under close escort.

Meanwhile, the suicide attacks continued. Fighter direction had been hampered during the first assault by cluttered radio channels, and pilots were advised in the strongest of terms that strict radio discipline must be maintained. During the afternoon two more kamikaze groups neared the task force, one composed of seven suiciders and six fighter escorts. This group was intercepted by two divisions of VF-22 under the acting CO, Lieutenant Clement M. Craig. Fighting 22 was one of the senior squadrons in the task force, with one tour completed in the fall of 1943, and its second tour aboard the Cowpens since September. Craig’s pilots backed up their reputation as veterans by shooting down or chasing off all the raiders. The skipper, a graduate of Butler University’s journalism school, claimed five kills and raised his personal total to an even dozen. The feat earned him a Navy Cross, as five victories in one day was now an established requirement for fighter pilots to qualify for the service’s highest decoration.

The day’s third enemy attack proved no more successful than the second, as 13 more hostiles were broken up and prevented from attacking. This proved the last kamikaze formation to take off from Luzon, only 220 miles from the southern tip of Formosa. After striking the Ryukyus the next day in a preliminary raid to gather information, the task force shaped course for Ulithi.

What might be termed the first kamikaze campaign was now over. It had lasted three months, from 25 October to 25 January. In that period, according to Japanese sources, 447 kamikaze sorties, of which three-quarters were Zekes, had taken off for Philippine or Formosan waters. The Japanese claimed that 201, or 44 percent, had actually dived on American ships and that only one-sixth of the total sorties were shot down or lost to weather, operational accidents, and so forth. It is significant that 40 percent of the total—179 aircraft—returned to base, either unable to find any targets or chased away by the combat air patrol.

These figures are at variance with the American reports, but the damage was real enough. Six fast carriers, four CVs, and two CVLs had been tagged by kamikazes. The heaviest damage was done to the invasion fleet: the troopships, escorts, and CVEs, which of necessity operated close to shore.

While the anti-kamikaze measures had proven effective, it was now evident that they needed to be virtually 100 percent effective all the time. As Marine F4U squadrons and the enlarged Navy F6F units arrived in the new year, the stronger fighter force would be better able to handle the problem of fleet defense. And it was a good thing that more fighters were becoming available at this time.

The next target was Japan.

Hellcat Squadrons in Combat: November 1944 to January 1945

VF-3	Yorktown	Lieutenant Commander W. L. Lamberson
VF-4	Bunker Hill, Essex	Lieutenant Commander K. G. Hammond (KIA), Lieutenant L. M. Boykin
VF-7	Hancock	Lieutenant Commander L. J. Check (KIA), Lieutenant J. A. Duncan
VF-11	Hornet	Lieutenant Commander E. G. Fairfax
VF-15	Essex	Lieutenant Commander James F. Rigg
VF-18	Intrepid	Lieutenant Commander E. J. Murphy
VF-19	Lexington	Lieutenant Roger S. Boles (KIA)
VF-20	Enterprise, Lexington	Commander Fred A. Bakutis
VF-21	Belleau Wood	Lieutenant Commander V. F. Casey
VF-22	Cowpens	Lieutenant L. L. Johnson, Lieutenant C. M. Craig
VF-28	Monterey	Lieutenant Commander Roger W. Mehle
VF-29	Cabot	Lieutenant Commander W. E. Eder
VF-44	Langley	Commander Malcolm T. Wordell
VF-45	San Jacinto	Commander G. E. Schechter
VF-51	San Jacinto	Commander Charles L. Moore
VF-80	Ticonderoga	Lieutenant Commander Leroy W. Keith
VF-81	Wasp	Commander F. K. Upham