On 17 Mar 2004 18:48:26 -0800, (bryan chaisone)
wrote:



Let's hear some more flying stories or war stories, which ever you may
have.

I truely find them enjoying to read. Thanks again.

Bryan "the monk" Chaisone

Here's one my father told me once. He flew for the Navy "somewhere in
the South Pacific". I've always loved that phrase. He'd write
letters to my mother from the South Pacific and of course was not
allowed to mention where he actually was, so he'd always sign them:
"Love Bob, somewhere in the south pacific".

He trained in big airplanes, flying the PBY and the PB4Y-1. He
deployed to the south pacific in a PB4Y-1 as a co-pilot. The PB4Y-1
was a Navy modification of the Consolidated B-24 Liberator. The
modifications had to do with removing the belly turret and using a
Bendix ball turret in the nose instead of the standard nose turret,
and having more fuel tanks for extended patroling.

His first tour was in 1944 and he flew llloooooonnnnnnggggggg patrols
out of Guadalcanal and Green Island, among other places. 12 to 14
hours in flight were routine. He told me that they would take off,
heavily overloaded with fuel, and wheeze up to around 5,300
feet, then throttle back and lean the engines out to their cruise
settings, and gently dive down to 5,000 feet to get it "on the step"
to maximize their crusing range. Now adays I know that "the step" is
an aeronautical myth, but it's interesting that that's the way they
were taught.

He told me about an incident during one patrol while flying around
some of the outer islands and inlets of the southern Phillipines, just
basically swinging wide of the land to stay over water. So they were
cruising back and forth at around 2,000 feet or so, checking out
inlets. They rounded one penninsula and spotted a Japanese patrol
boat in the middle of the inlet. There was no way for it to get away
and the bomber held the advantage of surprise so the pilot yelled that
they were attacking and ordered everyone to their battle stations.
They wheeled in and headed straight for the boat. The nose and top
turret opened up and the tail gunner blazed away as they roared
overhead and banked away.

Everyone in the airplane was REALLY excited at the action, which was
one of the few actual combat incidents they had experienced during
their entire deployment. It for sure was more fun that just sitting
in the droning fuselage watching endless blue water. The pilot,
overwhelmed with first time combat fever, yelled that they were going
back in to finish off the now dead in the water and smoking patrol
boat. He wanted a confirmed sinking.

So around they came and headed in again, thus violating two of
Murphey's Laws of combat: 1. Never make more than one pass at a
target. 2. Never approach a target from the same path as the previous
one, if you are going in anyway.

See, the problem was the boat, while dead in the water and smoking,
wasn't completely disabled. There were lots of guys still alive on
board and apparently all their weapons still functioned.

So in they came, low to the water and boring straight at the seemingly
helpless enemy, which now began returning fire, ACCURATELY.

Dad told me that he saw huge tracers zip over his head and he
involuntarily ducked his head down to peek over the instrument panel.

The tracers moved to the left and struck the left wing and engine no.
1. There was a loud explosion and the airplane jolted violently and
yawed.

The pilot shouted these now immortal words: "HOLY ****, THEY'RE
SHOOTING BACK AT US, LET'S GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE."

So they wheeled up in a bank and aborted the attack, avoiding any
further damage from the furiously firing patrol boat.

They feathered the smoking and belching no. one engine successfully
and watched anxiously at the left wing as it bent alarmingly in the
middle near the now silent engine where the enemy cannon fire had hit.

The pilot, now sweating profusely, made every conscious effort to be
easy on the controls as they suspected that the spar had been damaged.
They had a long way to go yet as they were at the outer ranges of
their patrol and now had many hours of flight to return to base.
Encountering one of the ubiquitous tropical thunderstorms would have
been disasterious. Luckily they saw none.

When they landed, which was very carefully handled by the pilot, they
taxiied to the hardstand and climbed out exhausted. Inspection by the
ground crew chief confirmed that the spar was indeed severed, and the
entire wing was replaced.

Such was the war of the long range patrol planes.

Corky Scott