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The Training Phase
If you were going to have to spend a year in training, Hawaii was the place to do it. The flying weather was
perfect every day of the year. The temperature was always between 75 and 80 degrees. When it rained, which was almost every day, it was only for short periods then everything went back to normal again.
You probably wonder why the 12 months training, 6 month operation cycle was repeated year after year. Well, in the Navy, people come and go. Fifty percent of the people in the squadron in a cycle were
discharged or transferred by the time the next cycle started. There were always a few who seemed to stay on forever though. These were the old hands who trained the newcomers. I was one of the newcomers so I had a
lot to learn.
The P2V was a bomber that thought it was more than just a bomber. Believe it or not, at one time there was an exercise to see if it could take off from an aircraft carrier. It was
successful but not practical. One of the plane captains in VP6 was involved in it. It was not the type of bomber that flew in formation, went to a target, dropped its bomb load, and returned in formation. Sometimes
it worked with carrier aircraft, but basically it was a loner.
When we went out on patrol we were on our own. There was help waiting in the wings in case we found something we couldn't handle, but
we liked to think there wasn't anything we couldn't handle. That didn't mean we were stupid though. We were once very happy to have an Air Force Saber come to our rescue. Since we were usually alone, we had to know
what we were doing, so we trained and trained until it all became second nature.
Some of our training exercises were, (1) low level bombing, (2) strafing, (3) rocket runs, (4) submarine
detection using ECM, radar, MAD gear, and sonobuoys, (5) night searchlight runs, (6) harbor mining, (7) shipping identification, (8) high altitude approaches, and (9) obstacle takeoffs. There were others, but these
were some of the most interesting.
Rather than explode real bombs, we used dual-purpose dummies. These were hollow, thin skinned replicas that when filled with water, took on the characteristics of
real bombs. I said they were dual purpose; when they were set upright on the fins with the nose removed, they made excellent ashtrays.
We used a small deserted island for our bombing
range. I would guide the pilot to the target by radar, then he’d take over the run when he had it in view. Our future targets would most likely be ships or submarines, so we bombed from low altitude. On one
occasion, one of the dummy bombs apparently sprung a leak and like an empty tin can, hit a rock, bounced, and hit the underside of the aircraft.
On strafing runs I had nothing to do but sit and watch
while the gunners noisily filled the air with smoke and lead. The exercise I enjoyed most was the rocket run. The P2V could dive on a target like a P40, and when a pair of five-inch rockets were fired, one from each
wing, they left a smoke trail that pinpointed their point of contact. Since I had nothing to do during these exercises I sat in the nose and observed the hits. I often took my camera along. The Plexiglas nose of a
P2V is an excellent place to take photographs from.
Submarine hunting was one of our primary missions and it required a lot of practice. The sub had the advantage. If he was underwater, he was
completely hidden. Our only chance of finding him was when he surfaced. In those days we only had to worry about diesel subs, and they had to either surface or snorkel to charge their batteries. When they were on
the surface they’d periodically make one or two sweeps with their radar to see if it was safe to stay on the surface. We had two ways of initially detecting a sub; radar and ECM. Our ECM receivers were designed to
sweep a band of frequencies and display the detected radar pulses on one or more oscilloscopes. We could also record it on, would you believe, a wire recorder. One scope showed the direction the signal was coming
from, the other scope analyzed the signal. A good operator after receiving one signal, could tell you the type of radar and the bearing but not the distance. It took two or three contacts to determine the distance.
After the first contact, the pilot would take a heading perpendicular to the bearing of the target. If a second contact was made, the point on the chart where the two lines intersected was the probable location. A
third contact would verify it but you rarely got the opportunity. A shrewd sub commander never made more than two sweeps. If he picked you up on those two sweeps he pulled the plug and went into hiding. By the time
we reached the area all we could hope for was an oil slick and a little leftover diesel smoke. Even then, we weren't sure of the exact location. It was a game of wits. If one of us made a mistake the other
gained the advantage.
The next step was to drop a sonobuoy in the area. A sonobuoy was a three- foot long, 5-inch diameter cylinder with short helicopter type blades that allowed it to autorotate
down to the surface (The early models used small parachutes). Once it hit the water, an antenna popped up, the salt water activated a battery, and a long cord dropped out of the bottom with a hydrophone attached to
it. From then on it just floated around and listened. All sounds were transmitted back to a special sonobuoy receiver. If the sub was dead in the water, you heard nothing. If he was moving you heard him and knew he
was in the vicinity. If you did hear him, you dropped a pattern of sonobuoys. Each sonobuoy had it's own frequency. The sonobuoy receiver had a rotary switch which allowed the operator to switch from one sonobuoy to
the other. The sonobuoy drop pattern was marked on a chart. The operator listened to the intensity of the sounds to determine where in the pattern the sub was located. It took a lot of experience and a good ear. Of
course it would have been expensive to gain the necessary experience on the job so we spent hours on simulators before we tried the real thing.
If you were lucky enough to pin him down, you dropped
another, tighter pattern of sonobuoys around him. If your aircraft was equipped with MAD gear, you made low (the lower the better) passes over the water to get his exact location. The last step was to drop a homing
torpedo and wait for the explosion.
The MAD gear was supposed to detect the deviation of the earth's magnetic field around a large metal object such as a submarine. As you know, the earth has a
magnetic field between the north pole and the south pole. That's why a compass always points to the north; it aligns itself with the magnetic field. If a large metal object is placed inside the field, some of the
lines of force curve around it the same way water curves around a rock in a fast moving stream. If you place a compass close enough to the metal object, it will realign itself with the field around it. The MAD gear
is sort of a sensitive compass that detects the field around a submarine and causes a needle on the MAD chart to move. This tells the operator he has just passed over it. Of course the closer the airplane and
submarine are to each other, the better the chance of detection. To accomplish this, the airplane is flown as close to the water as possible.
The MAD needle flicks for about
half a second as you pass over the target. At 180 knots you move a considerable distance in a short time. In order to tell the exact location of the MAD contact (there are no landmarks at sea) another device called
a retro rocket comes into play. The retro is a long tube pointed aft containing a wooden smoke bomb shaped like a bullet. Compressed air forces it out of the rear of the aircraft at exactly the same speed the
aircraft is moving in the opposite direction. The speed of the aircraft and the speed of the projectile cancel and the smoke bomb drops straight down. The retro is fired by the press of a button by the operator
watching the MAD needle. The smoke bomb shows the pilot where to drop the homing torpedo. You must realize, the sub commander knows all this and he's going to be as uncooperative as he possibly can. Things probably
won't go as smoothly as I’ve just described them.
We were working with WW2 Subs, not nuclear subs. These submarines had two modes of propulsion; batteries and diesel engines. Diesel engines were
used when cruising on the surface. Batteries were used while submerged. But batteries needed recharging every so often. This was done by the diesel engines. The sub couldn’t spend a lot of time on the surface so
someone invented the snorkel. The sub could travel just beneath the surface with the snorkel sticking out above the water sucking in air for the diesels. Whenever possible the sub would surface to charge the
batteries but the crew had to keep a sharp look out for the enemy. Subs had radar and ECM just like we did and their crews were well trained. They ran their ECM continuously looking for radar signals and
occasionally made sweeps with the radar. If an enemy aircraft was careless with their radar, it could be picked up by submarine ECM before its radar was within range of the sub (the transmitted signal was much
stronger than the return signal). It's unlikely that the ASW aircraft would be able to sneak up on the sub unawares. It could usually submerge long before the aircraft reached its position. Once it was submerged
though, the submarine would switch to battery power. The submarine skipper’s best bet was to get as far away as possible. The aircrew didn't know which direction the submarine headed so with each minute that passed
the circle of search got larger. If and when an aircraft approached, the submarine could hear it. The sub skipper might then just lay dead in the water and wait. Sonobuoys were useless if there is nothing to hear.
It's a cat and mouse game and the mouse usually wins.
It boils down to how well the crews are trained, and you can bet on it; the sub crews are well trained. Their lives depended on
it.
Night searchlight runs could kill you. That's how we lost one of our crews. You've seen movies of Hollywood festivities with powerful searchlights sweeping the sky. Well, we
had one of those mounted in our starboard tip tank. It produced light at one-million candle power using a concave mirror about a foot in diameter, and two carbon sticks provide the arc. It was controlled from two
positions inside the aircraft; the cockpit and the observer’s position in the nose. The control was similar to the joystick used with computer games. It had a handgrip that swiveled, and a button to press with the
thumb. There was also a small, two needle meter showing the elevation and azimuth of the light. When both needles were at zero, the searchlight was pointing dead ahead. Inside the light itself were two pointed
carbon sticks. One stick was fixed, the other adjustable. When the two sticks were positioned close to each other and the proper voltage applied, it produced a brilliant arc. The light produced by this arc was
channeled into a pencil beam by a concave mirror. As the arc burned away the carbon, the gap between the carbon sticks was automatically adjusted. The whole assembly was controlled by one of two joysticks. It
produced an intense beam of light at the touch of a button.
There were many good uses for this searchlight, but the main purpose was to catch an unsuspecting sub on the surface and blow it to
kingdom come. On a night searchlight exercise we’d approach the target by radar, flying as close to the water as possible. The radar operator would give the location of the target in degrees left or right so the
searchlight operator could line up the needles on the meter. The pilot was busy trying to keep the aircraft out of the water. When the appropriate distance from the target was reached, also given by the radar
operator, the copilot would press the button and illuminate the target. The pilot could then fire a couple five-inch rockets into the target.
Since we didn't have an excess of submarines available
for these exercises, we sometimes used passing ships for practice targets. At night, a cargo ship at sea was a very quiet and relaxing place to be. Crewman were usually standing on deck telling sea stories and
having a cigarette. The only noise they heard was the steady drum of the engines; very peaceful. Imagine yourself in this situation when suddenly, at eye level, a one-million candle power searchlight would pop
on and approach you at 180 knots. It could have given a dragon a heart attack. So many complaints were registered, that we were told to find other targets.
When a squadron was on deployment at least
one patrol was flown each day by one of the crews. So as not to set a pattern, each day's patrol started at a different time and although the same area was patrolled, the starting point and direction varied. Unless
we were specifically sub hunting we had the radar on line most of the time. Whenever we spotted a ship we went to investigate it. At the end of each patrol all the information we gathered was turned over to the
intelligence section. When they put together the data from all the patrols, they could tell where a ship was going, where it had been, and how long it had been there.
We had a very systematic method
of gathering data on shipping. We wanted to get in close in order to see the deck cargo and read the name of the ship but we didn't want to antagonize them. Some of those Russian freighters carried anti-aircraft
guns. Our method was to come down to sea level and casually fly by, below the level of their deck, and peer out the windows like gawking tourists. We even took pictures but not with a small 35mm tourist
camera. Ours had an eight- inch diameter lens and weighed about 60 pounds. The people on deck would often wave at us. I guess it broke the monotony when, seeing nothing but water hour after hour, a gray bomber,
bristling with guns, slowly flew by so close you could almost touch it.
After making that one pass, we’d climb back to 15,000 feet with a complete description of the ship. Here's how we did
it. Each crewmember had a specific part of the ship to observe. He immediately wrote the data on a pad. As we climbed out, each person, starting with the tail gunner, reported his findings to the copilot who wrote
it all down in a log. The ordnance man's job was to point his 60-pound camera out a 10-inch hole and take photographs of the ship. On a windy day this was easier said than done. If something looked unusual we might
make a second pass but normally one was enough.
The high altitude approach was one exercise where the crew was just along for the ride. The idea was to fall slowly out of the sky at as steep an
angle as possible, with the engines cut back, then at the last moment we would pull up and softly touch down on the runway. Novetzke did this better than anyone I ever flew with. At around 1000 feet he'd pull back
the power, tip the nose over at what seemed like a 90 degree angle, and float down. Just when it seemed like we were going to bore a hole in the end of the runway, he'd ease back the yoke and grease it in. My
position was just behind the copilot so I had a birds-eye view. I always got a pleasant thrill out that exercise.
Another exciting exercise was simulating a lost engine. The pilot unexpectedly
killed an engine and the copilot reacted immediately, feathering the prop and trimming up the ship so we could stay airborne. No one ever knew when it was going to happen, including the copilot. It was not unusual
for Novetzke to kill an engine on takeoff. This could be pretty hairy sometimes. It was a necessary exercise though. When we started an actual patrol we were always heavy with fuel. If the cockpit couldn't react
automatically, a real lost engine could turn us into a funeral pyre.
For a year we trained and trained until finally we were able to react to any situation instinctively. Each crewman knew
unconsciously what the other would do in an emergency. This is the way it had to be; when the real thing occurred, there wasn't time to think about it. You did it first and then thought about it later. We were a
team. We were ready to deploy.
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