CORAL SEA BATTLE

Greymouth Evening Star, 24 June 1942, Page 3

CORAL SEA BATTLE

U.S. FLYERS’ GREAT WORK

. SYDNEY, June 18. A vivid account of the magnificent work clone by the flyers from a United States aircraft-carrier in the first phase of the battle of the Coral Sea appears in the Sydney “Sun.” It was written by William Hippie, an American newspaperman, who was in the aircraft-carrier. Here is his story:—

It was 5 o'clock on the moonlit morning of March 10. The aircraftcarrier crept stealthily through the Coral Sea towards New Guinea. The Japanese had been observed concentrating transports and warships at Salamaua and Lac, apparently in preparation for an assault on Port Moresby. This was the day to slop them!

Over the public address system the boatswain’s pipe screeched, then a sharp voice shouted, “All hands man I battle stations!” Up from the depths of the carrier came a stampede of enlisted men, buttoning shirts on the run, scuffling into shoes, slapping the men ahead of them into greater speed, stumbling in the dim light. In a moment, every man was at his antiaircraft gun or his particular post. The pilots bent their heads over navigation boards and maps in the squadron “ready” rooms. The problem was to plan the attack in such a manner that each group of planes would arrive at tne objective at exactly the proper time, and be clear of the area when the next group arrived. They studied the latest information on weather forecasts, speed of the carrier, temperature, dew point, recognition signals, and other items. The squadron commander, in a slow, calm voice gave them final instructions on methods of attack. It was to be the first actual combat for several of the young flyers, and they were tense. But they. still kept up their usual line of joking. They hurried down to the wardroom and gulped a quick breakfast. Then they raced back to the “ready” room to await the take-off signal. The planchandlers were now busy at work on the flight deck, spotting the planes. These plane-pushers, wearing football sweaters with large numbers on the backs, worked as a well coordinated team. “GET ’EM, GANG." Bombs were wheeled up in little carts and attached to the bomb racks. Suddenly, from the bull horn, the voice of the air officer bellowed: “Pilots, man your planes!" Out of the hatches of the “ready” rooms the flyers streamed on to the flight deck in a run for their planes. They crawled in, adjusted their safety belts, and stood by for further word. The bull horn spoke again: “Stand by to start engines!” The motors coughed, then caught their steady roars. Two men crawled beneath each plane, ready to yank the wheel chocks. Then, as the carrier came into the wind at the proper speed, he shouted the final words: “Go, get ’em, gang!” Every man on the flight deck and high on the island superstructure cheered his lungs out at those words. The “Fly One” deck officer, standing just ahead of the first plane, rotated a wand over his head and finally swept it in a long motion toward the bow of the carrier.

The flyer revved his engine, released the brakes and started away. His tail went up a little as he gained speed. It seems incredible that with such a short run the plane could get into the air, but it went gracefully off the bow, gaining altitude steadily and turning gradually away as the wheels folded under like a duck’s feet. One by one the other planes came forward. like angry-‘hornets to the take-off spot, got their signal and climbed into the air. The men remaining dug into work for the de-

fence of the ship should it be attacked. The anxious watch for the return of our flyers began. In the radio room we waited for the first signals from the aircraft. We smoked cigarette after cigarette and kept saying: “It ought to be any minute now.”

Finally, the first messages began to come through. It was a strange, thrilling sensation to sit there and listen to our flyers as they dealt death and destruction to the enemy.’ “There are two ships in Salamaua Harbour,” one pilot told another. "You take the first one. I’ll take the second. Let’s get ’em all. Turn loose. Give him hell!" Then a few seconds later, a calm. "You got him that time!” “Attack cruiser! Attack cruiser!” “Boy, let’s get it. Let’s go get that Jap. over there.” “Enemy about four miles out in the harbour. I’m going over.” “Let’s take a look at these islands. Have you seen any aircraft?” “I’m going to get that cruiser on the way down. I’m on the way down.” “Oh boy, did he go up!” “Who said that? Joe, are you okay?” And so it went as the attack continued. Now and then, progress of the attack was announced over the public address system. . The crew members would halt dead still, listen in tight silence, then cheer loudly. HAPPY LANDINGS. Finally we heard a squadron leader call to his men: “Let’s go home. Join up!” One by one, the planes came down, to a jaunty halt on the flight deck. The pilots, radiomen, and bombers crawled out, laughing and smiling—but as calm as if they’d just returned from a routine patrol flight—as shipmates yelled congratulations at them.

In the squadron ready rooms they tossed off their flying equipment, grabbed coffee and sandwiches, and pounded each other verbally. “Whal’d you do, Mike!” one yelled. “I saw you start a dive. What’d you miss this time? You never could hit the broadside of a ship at 10 feet.” “Like hell!” Mike answered.

A squadron commander described how his men dive-bombed on a cruiser and destroyers which were frantically trying to get out of the harbour. He said the Japanese ships were “going crazy down there, trying to get away, but we nailed them. “One destroyer stopped dead in the water, with its sides blown in, and its shafts and engines probably severely damaged,” he continued. The pilot of a scout-bomber, having just landed a direct hit on a cruiser, had one bomb left, so he went to work. Now he saw a transport with a calling card —a hatch wide open. He “laid the egg” neatly in the hatch. He looked back and saw the whole forward part of the ship was ablaze. The carrier had now turned around, and we were speeding away from New Guinea.

But so well-planned had been the strategy of the morning attack that Japanese planes never found the carrier. The attack had caught the enemy completely by surprise—and without air support for the Japaneseships. The only loss to the U.S. force was one plane, shot down by antiaircraft fire.