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F-14 Tomcats and F-18 Hornets packed the rear end of USS America while anchored in Malta's Grand Harbour on January 1996. (Godfrey Mangion).
Photos Aircraft Carriers
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The French navy aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R-91), left, and the guided-missile destroyer USS Bulkeley (DDG-84), right, conduct an underway replenishment with the Military Sealift Command fleet replenishment oiler USNS Arctic (T-AOE in the Gulf of Oman) Dec. 29. Charles de Gaulle is conducting operations with the Harry S. Truman Carrier Strike Group supporting maritime security operations and theater security cooperation efforts in the U.S. 5th Fleet area of responsibility.
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North American B-25 Mitchell Bombers take off from USS Hornet CV-8 for the famous “Doolittle Raid” on Japan - Saturday, April 18, 1942
The Doolittle Raid led by then Lt. Colonel Jimmy Doolittle consisted of sixteen B-25 bombers launched in the Western Pacific Ocean with a crew of five men each
The plan called for them to bomb military targets in Japan, and then continue westward to land in China
After bombing their targets, Fifteen of the bombers reached China, but all crashed, while the 16th landed at Vladivostok in the Soviet Union
77 of 80 crew members initially survived the mission, 8 airmen were captured by the Japanese Army in China, 3 of those were later executed
LIFE Magazine Archives - Ralph Morse Photographer
The Doolittle Raid led by then Lt. Colonel Jimmy Doolittle consisted of sixteen B-25 bombers launched in the Western Pacific Ocean with a crew of five men each
The plan called for them to bomb military targets in Japan, and then continue westward to land in China
After bombing their targets, Fifteen of the bombers reached China, but all crashed, while the 16th landed at Vladivostok in the Soviet Union
77 of 80 crew members initially survived the mission, 8 airmen were captured by the Japanese Army in China, 3 of those were later executed
LIFE Magazine Archives - Ralph Morse Photographer
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Fifty-two years ago today April 19, 1969 as USS FORRESTAL CVA-59 steamed as unit of CTU 60.1.9 in company with USS BROWNSON DD-868. SOPA is COMCARDIV SIX RADM. Pierre N. Charbonnet, Jr., embarked in FORRESTAL. OTC is Captain James W. Nance commanding officer of USS FORRESTAL. Condition of readiness IV and material condition Yoke are set. Boilers 1A, 1B, 2A, 3B, 4A, and generators 2, 3, 4, 7, and 8 are on the line.
Record Landing.
Commander J. J. Huber of RVAH-12 the Spears completed USS FORRESTAL’s 143,000 arrested landing in his RA-5C Vigilante.
Record Landing.
Commander J. J. Huber of RVAH-12 the Spears completed USS FORRESTAL’s 143,000 arrested landing in his RA-5C Vigilante.
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The escort carrier USS Tulagi (CVE 72) underway off Gould Island in Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, August 16, 1944. Photo from the National Archives collection.
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A Soviet TU-95 "Bear" flies through the airspace of the USS Enterprise as she turns out of the wind, somewhere in the Northern Pacific.
Kevin Sullivan
flying in close formation with VF-114 and CVW 11, deployed 1982-1983.
Kevin Sullivan
flying in close formation with VF-114 and CVW 11, deployed 1982-1983.
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USS INCHON arriving at Portsmouth, England in 1984.
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Some AOs and their sidewinders. USS America, 1982 or so. I must have taken this photo from a catwalk on the island.
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USS Kitty Hawk, San Diego, 1979
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Passing under the Golden Gate bridge, from the deck of the USS Enterprise, San Francisco, 1982
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Meet for the second time in a week !
Chinese and US warships in the South China Sea
Chinese and US warships in the South China Sea
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Excerpts from General James H. Doolittle's autobiography I Could Never Be So Lucky Again:
April 18, 1942
The Enterprise launched scout planes at daybreak for 200-mile searches, and fighters were sent up as cover for the task force. The weather, which had been moderately rough during the night, had worsened. There was a low overcast and visibility was limited. Frequent rain squalls swept over the ships, and the sea began to heave into 30-foot crests. Gusty winds tore off the tops of the waves and blew a heavy spray across the ships, drenching the deck crews. At 6:00 A.M., a scout plane returned to the Enterprise and the pilot dropped a bean bag container on the deck with a message saying he had sighted a small enemy fishing vessel and believed he had been seen by the enemy.
Admiral William F. Halsey immediately ordered all ships to swing left to avoid detection. Had the enemy vessel seen the aircraft? No one knew. The question was answered about 7:30 A.M. when another patrol vessel was sighted from the Hornet only 20,000 yards away. A Japanese radio message was intercepted by the Hornet's radio operator from close by. One of the scout planes then sighted another small vessel 12,000 yards away. A light could be seen bobbing in the rough sea. Halsey ordered the cruiser Nashville to sink it.
Unknown to us, the Japanese had stationed a line of radio equipped picket boats about 650 nautical miles from the coast to warn of the approach of American ships. I went to the bridge where Captain Marc. A Mitscher briefed me on what had happened. "It looks like you're going to have to be on your way soon," he said. "They know we're here." I shook hands with Mitscher and rushed to me cabin to pack, spreading the word as I went. . . .
At 8:00 A.M., Admiral Halsey flashed a message to the Hornet: LAUNCH PLANES X TO COL DOOLITTLE AND GALLANT COMMAND GOOD LUCK AND GOD BLESS YOU.
The ear shattering klaxon horn sounded and a booming voice ordered: "Now hear this! Now hear this! Army pilots man your planes!"
--
The weather had steadily continued to worsen. The Hornet plunged into mountainous waves that sent water cascading down the deck. Rain pelted us as we ran toward our aircraft. It was not an ideal day for a mission like this one.
The well-disciplined Navy crews and our enlisted men, some of whom slept on the deck near their planes, knew what to do. Slipping and sliding on the wet deck, they ripped off engine and gun turret covers and stuffed them inside the rear hatches. Fuel tanks were topped. The mechanics pulled the props through. Cans of gasoline were filled and handed up to the gunners through the rear hatches. Ropes were unfastened and wheel chocks pulled away so the Navy deck handlers could maneuver the B-25s into takeoff position.
Meanwhile, the Hornet picked up speed as best it could in the rough sea and turned into the wind. The 20-knot speed of the carrier and the 30-knot wind blowing directly down the deck meant that we should be airborne safely and quickly. This ability of an aircraft carrier to turn its "airfield" into the wind is a distinct advantage. Rarely do Navy pilots have to worry about cross-wind takeoffs and landings. However, a rough sea such as the one in front of us could ruin a pilot's day if he ignored the signals of the deck officer and tried to take off when the bow of the ship was heading into the waves. It was like riding a seesaw that plunged into the water each time the bow dipped downward.
Lieutenant Henry L. "Hank" Miller, the naval officer assigned to us at Eglin Field, Florida, to teach us how to take off in minimum distances, said goodbyes to each crew. He told us to watch the blackboard he would be holding up near the ship's "island" to give us last minutes instructions and the carrier's heading so our navigator could compare the planes' compasses with the ships heading and set their directional gyros. . . . With an overcast sky, the navigators wouldn't be able to take shots of the sun or stars with their sextants. It would be dead reckoning all the way to the Japanese coast. . . .
I was proud of my crew and all the other volunteers who were willing to lay their lives on the line for a risky mission. . . . Every man had proven his competence during our training at Eglin. I felt completely comfortable and confident as our B-25 was placed in takeoff position and the wheels chocked.
I knew hundreds of eyes were watching me, especially those of the B-25 crews who were to follow. If I didn't get off successfully, I'm sure, many thought they wouldn't be able to make it either. But I knew they would try.
I started the engines, warmed them up, and checked the magnetos. When satisfied, I gave the thumbs-up sign to the deck launching officer holding the checkered flag. As the chocks were pulled, he looked toward the bow and began to wave the flag in circles as a signal for me to push the throttles forward to the stops. At the instant the deck was beginning an upward movement, he gave me the "go" signal and I released the brakes. The B-25 followed the two white guide lines painted on the deck and we were off with feet to spare as the deck reached its maximum pitch.
We left the Hornet at 8:20 A.M. ship time. The carrier's position was about 824 statute miles from the center of Tokyo.
--
As we headed toward Japan at low altitude, I thought about how easy the takeoff had been. If everyone followed instructions, they should have no trouble. . . .
As we droned on at about 200 feet above the water, [my co-pilot] Dick Cole and I took turns at the controls. We were all concerned about gas consumption, and everyone on the flight deck was continually checking the gauges against our estimates. . . .
About an hour later we sighted a camouflaged Japanese ship that we thought might be a light cruiser. About two hours out we flew directly under an enemy flying boat that just loomed at us suddenly out of the mist. We don't think they saw us. It was heading directly toward the task force.
The weather improved gradually as we got closer to Japan. We changed course briefly several times to avoid various civil and naval suface craft until we made landfall north of Inubo Shima, about 80 miles north of Tokyo. . . .
Since we were somewhat north of our desired course, I decided to take advantage of our position and approach the target area from a northerly direction, thus avoiding anticipated antiaircraft batteries and fighter planes located in the western part of the city. We stayed as low as we could and saw many flying fields interspersed among the beautiful scenery. People on the ground waved at us. There were many planes in the air, mostly small biplanes, apparently trainers.
It was shortly after noon in Tokyo. About 10 miles north of the city we saw nine enemy fighters in three flights of three. Dick Cole kept [the gunners] advised of the enemy aircraft he could see ahead and at one time counted 80. The fighters didn't attack us, but flack from antiaircraft ground batteries shook us a little and might have put a few holes in the fuselage.
When we spotted the large factory buildings in our area, I pulled up to 1,200 feet and called for bomb doors open. [The bombardier] toggled off the four incendiaries in rapid succession. It was 12:30 P.M. Tokyo time.
I dropped down to rooftop level again and slid over the western outskirts of the city into low haze and smoke, then turned south and out to sea. . . .
As we sped toward the coast, we saw five fighter planes converging on us from above. There were two little hills ahead. I swung very quickly around the hills in an S turn. The fighters turned also, but apparently they didn't see the second half of my S. The last time I saw them, they were going off in the opposite direction from us.
--
We stayed low off the coast. . . . The ceiling gradually lowered along the route and got down to about 600 feet. We then turned west over the China Sea and encountered a headwind. [The navigator] estimated we would run out of gas about 135 miles from the Chinese coast. We began to make preparations for ditching. I saw sharks basking in the water below and didn't think ditching among them would be vary appealing. Also saw three naval vessels and many small fishing vessels. None of them fired, so they probably didn't see us.
Fortunately, the Lord was with us. What had been a headwind slowly turned into a tailwind of about 25 miles per hour and eased our minds about ditching. . . . [As dark fell visability] was reduced drastically by fog and light rain. As we crossed the Chinese coast, I went on instruments and pulled up to 8,000 feet through the overcast. Our maps showed the mountains to be about 5,000 feet above sea level, but the maps were probably inaccurate. We saw dim lights below occasionally through cloud breaks but had to remain on instruments.
We tried to contact the field at Chuchow on 4495 kilocycles. No answer. . . . Without a ground radio station to home in on, there was no way we could find it. All we could do was fly a dead reckoning course in the direction of Chuchow, abandon ship in midair, and hope we came down in Chinese held territory.
When the gas gauges read near zero, I put the B-25 on automatic pilot and told the men in which order to jump. . . . If we all jumped in a straight line, it would be easier to find one another when we got on the ground. . . . It was 9:30 P.M. ship time. We had been in the air for 13 hours. . . . We had covered about 2,250 miles, mostly at low speed. . . .
As I dropped into the rainy darkness, I suddenly realized that I should have put the flaps down before we bailed out. It would have slowed down the landing speed, reduced the impact, shortened the glide.
This was my third parachute jump to save my hide. It was impossible to see anything below, so all I could do was wait until I hit the ground. . . . Anticipating a sudden encounter with the ground, I bent my knees to take the shock. When I hit, there wasn't much impact. I had landed in a rice paddy and fallen into a sitting position in a not-too-fragrant mixture of water and "night soil."
I stood up, unhurt and thoroughly disgusted with my situation and the smell, unhooked my parachute harness, and looked around. I saw a light and approached what looked like a small farmhouse. I knocked on the door and shouted, "Lushu hoo megwa fugi" ("I am an American"). . . . But I must have used the wrong dialect. I heard movement inside, then the sound of a bolt sliding into place. The light went out and there was dead silence.
It was cold and I was shivering.
--
[Around dawn] I came upon a Chinese who spoke no English. . . . I followed him to a military headquarters where a Chinese major who spoke little English gestured for me to hand over my .45-caliber automatic pistol. I refused and explained that I was an American and had parachuted during the night into a rice paddy nearby. He didn't seem to believe me, so I told him that I would take him to the spot and show him the parachute.
The officer, surrounded by about a dozen armed soldiers, escorted me to the rice paddy where I had landed, but the 'chute was gone. I said the people in the house must have heard the plane and could verify that I had knocked on their door the night before. However, when the farmer, his wife, and two children were questioned, the denied everything. The major said, "They say they heard no noise during the night. They say they heard no plane. They say they saw no parachute. They say you lie."
The soldiers started toward me to relieve me of the .45. It was not a comfortable situation. I protested and was saved from having to tussle with them when two soldiers emerged from the house with the parachute. The major smiled and extended his hand in friendship, and I was thus admitted officially to China. . . .
Meanwhile, the major's men found all four of my crew. . . .
When the soldiers found our plane, [my crew chief] Paul Leonard and I went to the crash site to see what we could salvage. There is no worse site to an aviator than to see his plane smashed to bits. . . .
I sat down beside a wing and looked around at the thousands of pieces of shattered metal that had once been a beautiful airplane. I felt lower than a frog's posterior. This was my first combat mission. . . . I was sure it was my last. As far as I was concerned, it was a failure. . . . Even if we had successfully accomplished the first half of our mission, the second half had been to deliver the B-25s to our units in the China-Burma-India theater of operations. . . .
As I sat there, Paul Leonard took my picture and then, seeing how badly I felt tried to cheer me up. He asked, "What do you think will happen when you go home, Colonel?"
I answered, "Well, I guess they'll court-martial me and send me to prison at Fort Leavenworth."
Paul said, "No, Sir. I'll tell you what will happen. They're going to make you a general."
I smiled weakly and he tried again. "And they're going to give you the Congressional Medal of Honor."
I smiled again and he made a final effort. "Colonel, I know they're going to give you another airplane and when they do, I'd like to fly with you as your crew chief."
It was then that tears came to my eyes. It was the supreme compliment that a mechanic could give a pilot.
Source:
Doolittle, J. H. (1997). I Could Never Be So Lucky Again. Atglen, PA: Schiffer Military History.
April 18, 1942
The Enterprise launched scout planes at daybreak for 200-mile searches, and fighters were sent up as cover for the task force. The weather, which had been moderately rough during the night, had worsened. There was a low overcast and visibility was limited. Frequent rain squalls swept over the ships, and the sea began to heave into 30-foot crests. Gusty winds tore off the tops of the waves and blew a heavy spray across the ships, drenching the deck crews. At 6:00 A.M., a scout plane returned to the Enterprise and the pilot dropped a bean bag container on the deck with a message saying he had sighted a small enemy fishing vessel and believed he had been seen by the enemy.
Admiral William F. Halsey immediately ordered all ships to swing left to avoid detection. Had the enemy vessel seen the aircraft? No one knew. The question was answered about 7:30 A.M. when another patrol vessel was sighted from the Hornet only 20,000 yards away. A Japanese radio message was intercepted by the Hornet's radio operator from close by. One of the scout planes then sighted another small vessel 12,000 yards away. A light could be seen bobbing in the rough sea. Halsey ordered the cruiser Nashville to sink it.
Unknown to us, the Japanese had stationed a line of radio equipped picket boats about 650 nautical miles from the coast to warn of the approach of American ships. I went to the bridge where Captain Marc. A Mitscher briefed me on what had happened. "It looks like you're going to have to be on your way soon," he said. "They know we're here." I shook hands with Mitscher and rushed to me cabin to pack, spreading the word as I went. . . .
At 8:00 A.M., Admiral Halsey flashed a message to the Hornet: LAUNCH PLANES X TO COL DOOLITTLE AND GALLANT COMMAND GOOD LUCK AND GOD BLESS YOU.
The ear shattering klaxon horn sounded and a booming voice ordered: "Now hear this! Now hear this! Army pilots man your planes!"
--
The weather had steadily continued to worsen. The Hornet plunged into mountainous waves that sent water cascading down the deck. Rain pelted us as we ran toward our aircraft. It was not an ideal day for a mission like this one.
The well-disciplined Navy crews and our enlisted men, some of whom slept on the deck near their planes, knew what to do. Slipping and sliding on the wet deck, they ripped off engine and gun turret covers and stuffed them inside the rear hatches. Fuel tanks were topped. The mechanics pulled the props through. Cans of gasoline were filled and handed up to the gunners through the rear hatches. Ropes were unfastened and wheel chocks pulled away so the Navy deck handlers could maneuver the B-25s into takeoff position.
Meanwhile, the Hornet picked up speed as best it could in the rough sea and turned into the wind. The 20-knot speed of the carrier and the 30-knot wind blowing directly down the deck meant that we should be airborne safely and quickly. This ability of an aircraft carrier to turn its "airfield" into the wind is a distinct advantage. Rarely do Navy pilots have to worry about cross-wind takeoffs and landings. However, a rough sea such as the one in front of us could ruin a pilot's day if he ignored the signals of the deck officer and tried to take off when the bow of the ship was heading into the waves. It was like riding a seesaw that plunged into the water each time the bow dipped downward.
Lieutenant Henry L. "Hank" Miller, the naval officer assigned to us at Eglin Field, Florida, to teach us how to take off in minimum distances, said goodbyes to each crew. He told us to watch the blackboard he would be holding up near the ship's "island" to give us last minutes instructions and the carrier's heading so our navigator could compare the planes' compasses with the ships heading and set their directional gyros. . . . With an overcast sky, the navigators wouldn't be able to take shots of the sun or stars with their sextants. It would be dead reckoning all the way to the Japanese coast. . . .
I was proud of my crew and all the other volunteers who were willing to lay their lives on the line for a risky mission. . . . Every man had proven his competence during our training at Eglin. I felt completely comfortable and confident as our B-25 was placed in takeoff position and the wheels chocked.
I knew hundreds of eyes were watching me, especially those of the B-25 crews who were to follow. If I didn't get off successfully, I'm sure, many thought they wouldn't be able to make it either. But I knew they would try.
I started the engines, warmed them up, and checked the magnetos. When satisfied, I gave the thumbs-up sign to the deck launching officer holding the checkered flag. As the chocks were pulled, he looked toward the bow and began to wave the flag in circles as a signal for me to push the throttles forward to the stops. At the instant the deck was beginning an upward movement, he gave me the "go" signal and I released the brakes. The B-25 followed the two white guide lines painted on the deck and we were off with feet to spare as the deck reached its maximum pitch.
We left the Hornet at 8:20 A.M. ship time. The carrier's position was about 824 statute miles from the center of Tokyo.
--
As we headed toward Japan at low altitude, I thought about how easy the takeoff had been. If everyone followed instructions, they should have no trouble. . . .
As we droned on at about 200 feet above the water, [my co-pilot] Dick Cole and I took turns at the controls. We were all concerned about gas consumption, and everyone on the flight deck was continually checking the gauges against our estimates. . . .
About an hour later we sighted a camouflaged Japanese ship that we thought might be a light cruiser. About two hours out we flew directly under an enemy flying boat that just loomed at us suddenly out of the mist. We don't think they saw us. It was heading directly toward the task force.
The weather improved gradually as we got closer to Japan. We changed course briefly several times to avoid various civil and naval suface craft until we made landfall north of Inubo Shima, about 80 miles north of Tokyo. . . .
Since we were somewhat north of our desired course, I decided to take advantage of our position and approach the target area from a northerly direction, thus avoiding anticipated antiaircraft batteries and fighter planes located in the western part of the city. We stayed as low as we could and saw many flying fields interspersed among the beautiful scenery. People on the ground waved at us. There were many planes in the air, mostly small biplanes, apparently trainers.
It was shortly after noon in Tokyo. About 10 miles north of the city we saw nine enemy fighters in three flights of three. Dick Cole kept [the gunners] advised of the enemy aircraft he could see ahead and at one time counted 80. The fighters didn't attack us, but flack from antiaircraft ground batteries shook us a little and might have put a few holes in the fuselage.
When we spotted the large factory buildings in our area, I pulled up to 1,200 feet and called for bomb doors open. [The bombardier] toggled off the four incendiaries in rapid succession. It was 12:30 P.M. Tokyo time.
I dropped down to rooftop level again and slid over the western outskirts of the city into low haze and smoke, then turned south and out to sea. . . .
As we sped toward the coast, we saw five fighter planes converging on us from above. There were two little hills ahead. I swung very quickly around the hills in an S turn. The fighters turned also, but apparently they didn't see the second half of my S. The last time I saw them, they were going off in the opposite direction from us.
--
We stayed low off the coast. . . . The ceiling gradually lowered along the route and got down to about 600 feet. We then turned west over the China Sea and encountered a headwind. [The navigator] estimated we would run out of gas about 135 miles from the Chinese coast. We began to make preparations for ditching. I saw sharks basking in the water below and didn't think ditching among them would be vary appealing. Also saw three naval vessels and many small fishing vessels. None of them fired, so they probably didn't see us.
Fortunately, the Lord was with us. What had been a headwind slowly turned into a tailwind of about 25 miles per hour and eased our minds about ditching. . . . [As dark fell visability] was reduced drastically by fog and light rain. As we crossed the Chinese coast, I went on instruments and pulled up to 8,000 feet through the overcast. Our maps showed the mountains to be about 5,000 feet above sea level, but the maps were probably inaccurate. We saw dim lights below occasionally through cloud breaks but had to remain on instruments.
We tried to contact the field at Chuchow on 4495 kilocycles. No answer. . . . Without a ground radio station to home in on, there was no way we could find it. All we could do was fly a dead reckoning course in the direction of Chuchow, abandon ship in midair, and hope we came down in Chinese held territory.
When the gas gauges read near zero, I put the B-25 on automatic pilot and told the men in which order to jump. . . . If we all jumped in a straight line, it would be easier to find one another when we got on the ground. . . . It was 9:30 P.M. ship time. We had been in the air for 13 hours. . . . We had covered about 2,250 miles, mostly at low speed. . . .
As I dropped into the rainy darkness, I suddenly realized that I should have put the flaps down before we bailed out. It would have slowed down the landing speed, reduced the impact, shortened the glide.
This was my third parachute jump to save my hide. It was impossible to see anything below, so all I could do was wait until I hit the ground. . . . Anticipating a sudden encounter with the ground, I bent my knees to take the shock. When I hit, there wasn't much impact. I had landed in a rice paddy and fallen into a sitting position in a not-too-fragrant mixture of water and "night soil."
I stood up, unhurt and thoroughly disgusted with my situation and the smell, unhooked my parachute harness, and looked around. I saw a light and approached what looked like a small farmhouse. I knocked on the door and shouted, "Lushu hoo megwa fugi" ("I am an American"). . . . But I must have used the wrong dialect. I heard movement inside, then the sound of a bolt sliding into place. The light went out and there was dead silence.
It was cold and I was shivering.
--
[Around dawn] I came upon a Chinese who spoke no English. . . . I followed him to a military headquarters where a Chinese major who spoke little English gestured for me to hand over my .45-caliber automatic pistol. I refused and explained that I was an American and had parachuted during the night into a rice paddy nearby. He didn't seem to believe me, so I told him that I would take him to the spot and show him the parachute.
The officer, surrounded by about a dozen armed soldiers, escorted me to the rice paddy where I had landed, but the 'chute was gone. I said the people in the house must have heard the plane and could verify that I had knocked on their door the night before. However, when the farmer, his wife, and two children were questioned, the denied everything. The major said, "They say they heard no noise during the night. They say they heard no plane. They say they saw no parachute. They say you lie."
The soldiers started toward me to relieve me of the .45. It was not a comfortable situation. I protested and was saved from having to tussle with them when two soldiers emerged from the house with the parachute. The major smiled and extended his hand in friendship, and I was thus admitted officially to China. . . .
Meanwhile, the major's men found all four of my crew. . . .
When the soldiers found our plane, [my crew chief] Paul Leonard and I went to the crash site to see what we could salvage. There is no worse site to an aviator than to see his plane smashed to bits. . . .
I sat down beside a wing and looked around at the thousands of pieces of shattered metal that had once been a beautiful airplane. I felt lower than a frog's posterior. This was my first combat mission. . . . I was sure it was my last. As far as I was concerned, it was a failure. . . . Even if we had successfully accomplished the first half of our mission, the second half had been to deliver the B-25s to our units in the China-Burma-India theater of operations. . . .
As I sat there, Paul Leonard took my picture and then, seeing how badly I felt tried to cheer me up. He asked, "What do you think will happen when you go home, Colonel?"
I answered, "Well, I guess they'll court-martial me and send me to prison at Fort Leavenworth."
Paul said, "No, Sir. I'll tell you what will happen. They're going to make you a general."
I smiled weakly and he tried again. "And they're going to give you the Congressional Medal of Honor."
I smiled again and he made a final effort. "Colonel, I know they're going to give you another airplane and when they do, I'd like to fly with you as your crew chief."
It was then that tears came to my eyes. It was the supreme compliment that a mechanic could give a pilot.
Source:
Doolittle, J. H. (1997). I Could Never Be So Lucky Again. Atglen, PA: Schiffer Military History.
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April 18, 1971 as USS FORRESTAL CVA-59 steamed in company with USS LEAHY DLG-16, USS HUGH PURVIS DD-704, USS BRUMBY DE-1044, USS TALBOT DEG-4, and USS WILLIAM R. RUSH DD-714 operating in the Balearic Sea. SOPA is CTF 60 embarked in FORRESTAL. OTC is CTG 60.1.9 embarked in FORRESTAL. Boilers 1B, 2A, 3A, 4A, and generators 1, 3, 4, 7, an 8 are on the line. Condition of readiness IV and material condition Yoke are set. Captain Leonard A. Snead, USN, Commanding Officer.
Record Landing.
Lieutenant Andrew C. Sewall of VA-81 the Sunliners in his A-7E Corsair II completed USS FORRESTAL’s 165,000 arrested landing.
Record Landing.
Lieutenant Andrew C. Sewall of VA-81 the Sunliners in his A-7E Corsair II completed USS FORRESTAL’s 165,000 arrested landing.
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We have to recognize that the most important factor in all aircraft carriers, is the human element, and here are the work teams both on the flight deck and inside the ship. As well as the air group, pilots, mechanics and other work teams.
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CVN-71 "Of all the questions which can come before this nation...there is none which compares in importance with the great central task of leaving this land even a better land for our descendants than it is for us." – Theodore Roosevelt
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TBD Devastator torpedo bombers of VT-6 on USS Enterprise (CV-6) during the Battle of Midway in June 1942. During the battle 41 Devastators recorded zero torpedo hits with only six surviving to return to their carriers. The aircraft would soon be replaced by the Grumman TBF Avenger.
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