On 8/14/05 I wrote a comment "A Victory at Sea - through Prayer". A true event that I witnessed. Although this event really did happen and it's classified as a miracle by many people, I did not get all the facts right. The next series of comments will give the actual step by step of the miracle, as it was written by the senior Chaplain aboard the USS Wasp, the day after event.
Fortunately another sailor aboard the USS Wasp that day read my comment. He remembered the event well, and sent me some literature on the subject. Yeoman, Thomas A. Hobson, from VA-175, did not remember any jets being airborn that day, only prop planes, and he's right, the jets were cancelled from the exercise at the last minute. My recollection of our jets landing with hardly any fuel left was from another day in another exercise (and that was a miracle in itself). But thanks to Tom Hobson, I found the Miracle occurred on September 23, 1953, aboard the carrier USS Wasp, and two other carriers in the same operation; the USS Bennington, and the HMCS Magnificent (a Canadian ship). All three carriers were in an exercise called "Operation Mariner." Many other ships were involved including the USS Iowa.
Here now is the write up by CDR E.A. Slattery, CHC, USN. as he wrote it the day after, Sept. 24, 1953:
" The North Atlantic was slate gray; not the aquamarine of the Caribbean, nor the blue of the Pacific, nor the azure of the Gulf Stream; but a mean, cold, vicious gray...
This was "Operation Mariner", the sea maneuvers of NATO, a test of ships, planes and men. Air operations each day had been going smoothly. At 1330 on 23 September, more than 50 planes were launched from carriers USS Bennington, USS Wasp and HMCS Magnificent. With a roar the "prop jobs", mostly ADs, were sent into the threatening sky; no jets were launched. Away they went for an afternoon tactical flight. The pilots knew what to expect of the weather for they had been given aerological reports in the ready rooms....but who could foretell the sudden and almost catastrophic change which was about to sweep in from the lowering heavens. It seemed like a routine flight, although the usual survival preparations had been made and the pilots were snug in their exposure suits and parka hoods.
A light fog rolled gradually over the ocean towards the ships. It was insidious in its stealth. At 1420 it became heavier and more strangling, so a recall of planes was issued. Some managed to land on the three carriers before the fog settled to two hundred feet. It was closing fast now.
One pilot read his altimeter at fifty feet and could not see much else. He was barely able to distinguish the froth of the wave caps from the scud of the fog bank. With evident humor, though no relish, he called by radio, "I’m at fifty feet, the flight deck is at seventy feet...I'm pulling up before I run into you".
Then, within a matter of minutes after 1430, the ceiling lowered until it fell to zero, a dreaded condition on land, a horror at sea. No visibility! Thank God for the radio and the ships CIC. At first, the threat was almost casual...so suddenly had the fog rolled over the formation of ships. A double check was made again on the fuel. There was not enough to reach the nearest land, the southern most tip of Greenland; but enough fuel was in the tanks to stay aloft for a few hours waiting for a break.
An AD4W, known as a "Guppie", piloted by LTJG "Pat" Patrova, edged down through the gray barrier of nature's cruelest weapon against aviators. He could have made a landing, for his radar equipment enabled him to "Feel" the frothing waves and he broke out into a momentary clearing to make a pass at his home base as she forged through the icy waters. But, being equipped with radar he could supplement the directions from CIC. So up he went, flying plane 701. We were really to sweat him out as the afternoon wore on.
The practiced discipline of naval Aviation was now manifest as the planes flew along in tight formation above the evil fog bank. What information would the next hour bring? The information was all bad. Repeated attempts were made to coach the planes to the carrier decks by radar, but the pilots could not get into a clearing to see the decks. Weather predictions became more and more discouraging. The battleship and cruisers were ordered to drop out and well astern of the formation to eliminate the hazard of masts and high structures for the flyers.
Minutes were not dragging now, they romped into half hours and then into hours, until at 1620 the planes reported that they had an estimated two hours of fuel remaining. No hope of reaching a clear operating area was given by fleet aerologists or by the planes which circled above. Then came the message from the USS Redfin, a submarine picket, which reported a ceiling of one thousand feet and two miles visibility. It was impossible for the carriers to reach the spot, so Vice Admiral T.S. Combs and Rear Admiral H.H. Goodwin agreed on a decision to order the planes to head for the Redfin's position and to ditch in the immediate vicinity of the submarine if necessary.
here was a showdown. "Ditch planes"....it sounds simple. Forty two planes...forty two pilots plus crewmen in the "guppies" (radar planes) and TBMs. If everyone got out of each plane, if everyone could survive the crushing weight of the terrific seas or the danger of the splashing props, if everyone could live in the frigid water..., if the submarine could pick up each man, it would be a loss of planes; a serious loss for the Navy...but, at least, hearts at home would not be torn asunder by the message...."lost at sea".
Here was a showdown. "Ditch planes".
What prayers were offered by the ship-mates below as eyes strained through the mist? Commander Mike Hanley, the skipper of squadron 175 lifted his heart in prayer for his men. He was angry with himself for not being in the flight. Perhaps, he could bring them down safely somehow. Now, he could only pray; a sincere prayer, yet bowing to what seemed to be inevitable, the loss of a major portion of his squadron.
Aloft, the pilots had their own thoughts and problems. LT Roy G. Davis, flying an AD, plane 508, says, “On the way to the submarine, I experienced probably the lowest feeling that I have ever felt and almost the most hopeless. My mind was filled for the most part with how I would ditch and get aboard the sub".
We on the Wasp were asking for a miracle, for God's direct intervention in a hapless situation."
We will print Part 2 of "The Miracle" next week.
By George Konig
9/2/2007
www.georgekonig.org
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