brickhistory

I think the shoe clerk's union president just 'outed' himself. Lighten up, Francis!

It's not?! If not, my bad. I always thought it was. Guess my alma mater, Valdosta State (where?) didn't learn me everything.

The end is near. I agree with loyma3. I don't believe 99% of black people care about stuff like this. Funny, I also don't believe 99% of white people care about this. Or Asian. Not sure about the American Indian yet.......... Yet the Reverend Jesse Jackson has made a lucrative career out of shaking down corporate America with racial boycotts and threats thereof. The Reverends Jackson and Sharpton (you know, the admitted perjurer in the Twana Braley (sp?) case) were quick to go after so-so comedic Don Imus with a comment about an obscure Ivy League women's basketball team. They weren't shy at all about the 'outrage,' the 'injustice,' the 'horror' of the comment. Yet no so much when suggesting castration of a Presidential candidate. Hmmm, I wonder what would have happened if a white polarizing figure like Rush or Bill O'Reilly had made the same sort of comment - on or off air? Riots in the streets, led by Jackson and Sharpton. Hypocrisy is not a color, it's a character trait.

mambo, sorry wasn't clear in what I was asking, thanks for the link. Several posts back, codename46 had a 'slight personal reluctance' to renounce his other than US-citizenship. I'm just curious as to what from a practical/personal viewpoint, does holding or renouncing dual citizenship have?

A couple of questions and one piece of advice: to those holding dual-citizenship: Why is renouncing one hard or not desirable to do? How does one have dual-citizenship in the first place? Not a slam, I'm just interested. I'm not in nor will ever be in that situation so I know nothing about it. I'll admit to not reading all nine pages, but if it hasn't been mentioned, SAVE whatever you turn in. Both for this clearance and for not having to re-invent the wheel in five years when it's time to renew the clearance.

There was a thread about 'swingers.' Sounded like it beat the hell out of spwings.... I'm just sayin'......

"One Square Mile of Hell" by John Wukovits. Non-fiction story of the battle of Tarawa, November 1943. I have to hand it to the Marines. Tiny island, no place to go but straight ahead. A 700 yard slog through the water under hellish machine gun and mortar fire. 35 percent casualty rate out of about 5,000 jarheads. Japanese Naval Landing Forces (Japanese Marines) of about 4000-ish dug in well with reinforced pillboxes, etc. 14 prisoners. Three days from start to finish. Guts. Related but fiction is an older book called "Battle Cry" by Leon Uris. Uris was a Marine at Tarawa; good tale of enlisting, boot camp, training in New Zealand, then Tarawa, Saipan.

A missileer, by definition, will only ever get to log one 'combat mission' if it ever happens. It will probably be the last combat mission for the world. Until then, it's just pulling alert, i.e., babysitting bombs. 242 'missions' under North Dakota. One thing I will say from that time was there were some absolutely magnificent 'doofer books.' One guy was a fantastic artist and had an entire saga of an LCC towing LFs under the ground, encountering Soviet counterparts, underground gas lines, electric cables, etc. It was worth the 2+ hour drive in good weather just to read the latest installment. "One ping only, Dmitri....." World class porn drawer (sts) as well.

2. I preferred BDUs as my uniform of choice when given one. Uniform once the LCC blast door is closed is sweats and, in my case moose, slippers. Sponge Bob versions would probably work just fine today.

DG" good! Not a DG? checked the square, good on ya, next..... One non-DG's opinion.

2. It is my favorite book. Ever.

"Rampant Raider" by Stephan Gray, US Naval Institute Press Not a particularly innovative story, but good nonetheless. Tells of his enlisting in the Navy, getting flight school, very detailed about the trials/tribulations there, then on to 1967-era Vietnam flying A-4s. Very good look at squadron flying and life.

Yeah, those peasants aren't as polished as we uber-mortal officer class. Dude, seriously! Cussin' is part and parcel of life - USAF or not. You don't have to, and by that example, I bet you will find most around you will try to refrain around you, but please disabuse (sts) yourself of this 'class' system. There are tremendous folks in uniform, officer and enlisted. There are complete assho...uh, wastes of flesh, officer and enlisted. You commission, should you earn one, does not make you better than the enlisted force; it does make you responsible for the well-being of those under your command. Sorry, I'll put down the

Want to join the Air Force? Then expect to do your job whenever and wherever it's time to work. End of discussion. Nobody will really care about your religion or lack thereof. Nobody will really care about you chasing tail or lack thereof. Nobody will care about your drinking or lack thereof. Oh, except that prick Col Mohammed............................ er, sorry,

Not it you get 'em on the Mexican side of the border.

Once upon a time, before even dinosaurs, there was the missile badge, i.e., 'pocket rocket' without the laurels along the sides. If you worked in the business, ops, maintenance, scientist, et al, you qualified for the badge. Even B-52 crews who carried Hound Dog, and later ALCMs, qualified for the badge (I thought it was douche-y to do so, but I digress). Then in an effort to boost morale and the 'operationalness' of missiles, crew dogs gained the badge with the ops identifier - the laurel wreaths running vertically along both sides of the original pocket rocket. Non-ops missile folks kept the old badge. Space guys had their 'Star Trek Next Generation" badges. After combining the two, there was angst about the differentiation since they were all one happy family - not, but again, I digress. Gen Lance Lord (ret) pushed the spwings through to give that fashion statement to the space and missile force. Despite the fact that heritage and morale would suffer at those forced to give up their pocket rockets. Scoff if you will, but once one escaped that duty, it was a point of pride to wear the missile badge. Kind of like prison cred in the 'hood. Notice that pilot/nav wings havent' been screwed with for a long while, so why mess with the missile badge? But Lance wanted it and it was so. Three-four years ago, I was sitting fat/dumb/happy at my liaison job with the FAA HQ when I got an e-mail from Space Command notifying me that I had been awarded basic spwings. I almost shat myself as I thought I was long gone from the reach of SAC/Space Command, but their ability to find you is almost KGB-like. I was scared that somehow I was gonna be put back in the ground like the undead. And have to wear spwings. Fortunately, neither happened. They grandfathered in those who were awarded the pocket rocket and weren't in Space Command. There are further historical lessons if desired about the blue shirt/pants (aka the old base ops Transient Alert uniform) missile uniform with the 'dashing' ascot being replaced by the non-childproofed blue 'flight suit' and the lovely blue missile jacket, then on to the age of green bags for everyone. But that would be boring and a huge waste of time.

Another WWII vet and a superb pilot who did the transition from the high-powered piston engine fighters to jets into the 1960s. I've had drinks with him here in the US and visited he and his wife in the UK. At 80, when I visited, he still was able to run hard. Some of his stories in immediate post-War Germany had me rolling on the floor. Things Were A Bit Different Then “At the end of World War II, I led the capture of Tokyo. Well, actually, one of four forts that ringed the entrance to Tokyo Bay.” So began a fascinating morning with Commander John ‘Boot’ Nethersole, Royal Navy (ret.). “I was just out of Dartmouth (the Royal Navy’s officer academy) and assigned to the cruiser, HMS Newfoundland. I led one of two Royal Navy (RN) landing parties against two of the forts while some US Marines captured the other two on the other side of the entrance. “So here I am, a young midshipman leading my lot of sailors onto the beach and up the hill, yelling and screaming to keep our courage up since we really didn’t know what kind of reaction the Japanese would produce. “It was all anti-climatic really, for when we got to the top, there was no one there and we were standing around kicking the sand with our boots and nothing to do. Finally, from behind a beached cutter (kind of a long row boat), up pops this white flag on a pole. “I advanced to the cutter and stuck my .45 around the bow, to find three Japanese soldiers attached to the other end of the pole, kneeling and shaking in their shoes. “So with their surrender, I lay claim to having captured Tokyo!” This is only one of the many stories ‘Boot’ recounted with tongue firmly in cheek. Shortly after this episode, he applied to the RN’s Fleet Air Arm (FAA) to be a pilot. At that time, the Royal Air Force taught FAA fledglings until they were awarded their wings at which point the new pilots posted to a FAA operational training unit (OTU). It was at OTU that Nethersole first flew in navalized variants of the famous Supermarine Spitfire. Of these ‘Seafires,’ Nethersole recalled, “Really a lovely little airplane to fly; smelled strongly of petrol when you flew it upside down.” Moving on to the second part of his OTU, he flew another 100 hours in the Hawker Sea Fury, learning basic fighter maneuvers, practicing air to air and air to ground attacks, including his first live firing of 20mm cannons, rockets and bombs before posting to his first operational squadron, No. 802. 802’s senior pilot was none other than famed test pilot Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown. 802 Squadron came aboard the carrier HMS Vengeance and cruised as part of both the Home and Mediterranean Fleets during Nethersole’s first squadron tour, 1949-1951. Nethersole recounts what flying the Sea Fury was like, “Unless there was no wind over the deck, which almost never happened, we did free take-offs. Spotted as far aft as we could, we poured the power to the 18-cylinder Centaurus radial and released the brakes. “When really heavy, carrying a full load of bombs for example, some Sea Furies could use RATOG – rocket assisted take-off. You fired these off as you started forward and the rockets provided several hundred pounds of extra ‘push’ to get airborne. “Although RATOG was seldom used, my squadron commander had had an exciting experience while using them during the Korean War. He was carrying 1000 pounders under each wing, full fuel and ammunition, really rather heavy. “During his pre-flight, he forgot to switch on the masterswitch for the RATOG bottles. Spotted in the front rank for take-off, he was about even with the carrier’s island. When the deck officer gave him the launch signal, he applied full throttle and started rolling forward. As he moved, he hit the ignition switch for the RATOG and, of course, nothing happened, but it was too late for him to stop on the remaining deck. “Over the bow he went, everyone expecting the splash. That never happened and shortly thereafter, he pulled ahead of the ship at nil feet above the water. He had been unbelievably lucky and supremely skilled to take advantage of ‘ground effect’ and stay out of the water (Ground effect – the phenomenon where air is compressed between the underside of a low flying aircraft and the surface, in this case the ocean. It occurs when the height of the aircraft is less than one wingspan above the surface.) “So he was really in a bind; too slow to climb out of ground effect or he’d stall and crash and unable to gain speed since he couldn’t dive to pick up some extra knots. When last seen, he was flying over the horizon with his tailwheel sometimes kicking up spray. He actually flew that way until he burned off enough fuel to lighten his airplane and manage to climb at the lighter weight! “When returning to the ship, we’d typically be in echelon formation, entering the pattern on the starboard side of the ship, breaking off at ten second intervals to set up landings. We strove to land each aircraft within 15-20 seconds of the each other. “When Mother Nature provided wind and the ship was charging into it for all she was worth, we’d usually have 30-40 knots over the deck when on finals for landing in a continuously curving approach to the stern. We had to fly like that so we could keep the batsman in sight. With the twelve feet of nose and engine in front of the cockpit, if we came straight in, we’d be blind in the three-point landing attitude. “Holding 80-82 knots, we kept our eyes glued to the batsman’s signals, when he gave us the ‘cut’ we pulled the power and settled to the deck, hoping we’d catch one of the ten cross-deck wires with the tailhook. If we didn’t, we faced the prospect of taking one of two wire barriers that protected the aircraft parked towards the bow. The barriers would play havoc with the fighter’s propeller and wings, but it would stop the aircraft from plowing into the airpark on deck forward. “If, as happened from time to time, a chap hit rather hard and bounced, he’d balloon over the wires and the barriers and go into the airpark. At best, the fighter would be a write-off and maybe, one or two others. At worst, a collision would trigger explosions and damage or destroy many aircraft.” It was ashore,however, that ‘Boot’ tells one of his funniest ‘there I was’ stories. “We had completed our last day of armaments camp, flying out of the airfield at Sylt, in the Friesian Islands off northern Germany. We had quite a party to celebrate the end of our encampment and I had a bit much to drink. “Next morning, we were to be off back to our base at Wunstorf. Naturally, the weather was terrible - cold, wet, low hanging cloud that went up to who knows what altitude, so we delayed. “I found myself a choice piece of hangar wall to lean against and had a nap. Next thing I know, I’m shaken awake with a “Right, your off!” “I jumped in my airplane, started it up and fell into the taxiing queue and waited my turn for take-off. I lined up on the runway, added power and took off, immediately going into the clouds and onto instruments. “When I finally broke out of the clouds on top, there wasn’t another airplane to be seen. I also discovered I’d lost my radio. “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just set course for home and meet up with the chaps there.” “Well, without the concentration required for formation flying and the soothing drone of the Centaurus, I soon drifted off for a bit. When I awoke, I found myself well off-course, and if my hurried calculations were correct, probably over the Russian Zone of Occupation! “I wasn’t really sure of my position and couldn’t call for a fix, but I knew I didn’t want to be were I was and that if I flew west, I should eventually find the coast and from there, I could determine my position. “So, I flew away, eyes open for either a recognizable landmark or a Russian escort. I desperately wanted the former and not the latter! “Eventually, I did reach the coast over Belgium, so I flew north, looking for a more definitive navigational reference than the sea. Petrol, at this point, was becoming a real concern so I knew I had to do something soon. “I spotted a lovely stretch of autobahn beneath me, so decided that would do. Remember, this is 1948, so there was not a lot of traffic on the road then. “I landed quite nicely, folded the Fury’s wings, and taxied to a carriage way link shut down and waited for a car to come by. Luckily, the next one by was actually a German police car, so we were able to determine my position and what course I needed to get home. “I had the German chap stop traffic, unfolded the wings, and took off. I arrived back at Wunstorf to find my squadron thinking I had crashed as the time expired since we took off from Sylt had long exceeded the fuel endurance of my Sea Fury. Luckily, I was able to explain most of my story and no one was the worse for wear.” In another episode, Nethersole tells of what might be the last time that a British aircraft was ‘fired upon’ by the recently defeated Germans. “I was flat-hatting over the fields of northern Germany when I came upon a German farmer just finishing up loading his hay wagon. “The farmer raised his three-pronged pitchfork like a javelin as I flew by. I thought, “There is no bloody way he can do anything thing with that,” so I pressed in. “I roared right above his piled high wagon, leaving a cloud of dust and straw in my wake and an unloaded wagon. But I’ll be damned if I also didn’t feel a ‘thunk’ on my wing! When I landed, there, impaled in my port wing’s leading edge was the fork and foot or two of the handle of the man’s pitchfork. Nice shot, that!” During his initial tour, Nethersole’s flying ability was recognized by ‘Winkle’ Brown as he was handpicked by Brown to be one of 802’s aerobatic demonstration team pilots. In his auto-biography, “Wings on My Sleeve,” Brown wrote of working the team to such a fine pitch of airmanship that he could feel pressure on his tailplanes from the air being compressed and bunching up in front of the ‘box’ man’s propeller. Tight formation flying, indeed! After finishing his first operational tour, Nethersole was selected for the Air Weapons Officers Course where he became schooled in the latest weapons and tactics to best employ those weapons by tactical aircraft and assigned to 702 Squadron. It was with 702 that he had a very close call in one of the early jets, the Supermarine Attacker. “The Attacker was really just not a good airplane. I think the Navy bought it just so it could get a jet into service.” Derived from Supermarine’s Spiteful which itself was a derivative of the Spitfire, the Attacker kept the Spiteful’s straight wings and tailwheel landing gear arrangement. Fitted with a 5,000lb thrust Nene turbojet, the Attacker had several fuel tanks, including an ungainly auxiliary ventral tank to increase its ‘legs.’ One feature in its fuel system that would directly and dramatically affect Nethersole is the one that had all tanks flow to one 73-gallon feeder tank. If that tank should empty due to fuel pump failure or the other tanks not feeding for whatever reason, it didn’t matter how much gas was aboard, the thirsty Nene would soon sputter out. That is what happened to Boot. “We made a formation take-off and climbed into very thick cloud cover. Trying to maintain my formation in those conditions, I really couldn’t afford to keep my head inside the cockpit. By the time we popped out on top and could gain a few feet of separation, the damage was done. A quick glance at my fuel gauges showed the other tanks still full, but my feeder tank nearly empty! Obviously, it wasn’t flowing and I was just a few minutes from a flame out. “I nearly made it, but not quite. The fuel ran out and the engine quit while I was still a bit too far out. I couldn’t stretch the glide quite far enough and wound up about 100 yards shy of the airfield. Luckily, it was grass and I was able to touchdown with some control because the airfield boundary fence made of concrete posts with wire between them was quickly looming larger. I managed to kick enough rudder to steer the fuselage between two posts, sheering the port wing off completely. I came to rest very nearly on the runway edge inside the airfield. “Now the thing was, there was a group of ‘plane spotters’ parked outside the fence watching the aircraft come and go. After I punched through the fence, they just kind of wandered in and stood in a semi-circle around my aircraft. Since it was now on fire that perhaps wasn’t the wisest thing they could have done. “But I had other problems than the crowd’s welfare to worry about. My canopy was jammed shut and I couldn’t budge it. I tried with some hand gestures to get one of the crowd to come forward and grab the emergency canopy release lever on the side of the fuselage, but couldn’t get the idea across. As I was beginning to cook, I was not happy at the miscommunication. “Finally, I was able to shoulder the canopy open enough to jump out and get away from the burning jet. I started shoo’ing the crowd away because there was still quite a lot of gas that would be going up any second. One wing tank did flare up just as I jumped, leaving me with burns on my face around the edge of my oxygen mask. “About then, the station commander came along in his car. He had been driving along the peri track on his way to one of the other squadrons and saw me crash. He said, “Right, Boot, you take my car to the Infirmary and I’ll deal with this lot.” A few years later, in a fortuitous meeting in the ‘loo’ at RNAS Lossiemouth, Boot ran into a friend, Lt. Cdr. Les Baker, the CO of 801 Squadron. Baker asked Boot what he was up to as 801 had need of a senior pilot. Nethersole, thinking quickly, said that was just what he was looking for. Baker then rang up the Admiralty and the deed was done. Tragically, Baker was killed at sea during 801’s Far East cruise aboard HMS Centaur. Flying Hawker Seahawk FGA.4s, Baker missed a loose nose tank fuel cap during his preflight inspection, as did the Centaur’s deck crew. During the catapult shot, the acceleration forces flung the cap off and raw fuel streamed out and into the spring-loaded low speed engine bay air vents over the Seahawk’s Nene engine. The fuel ignited and Baker’s jet blew up right off the bow. Nethersole picked up temporary, later permanent, command of 801. At that time, he was the youngest squadron commander in the Navy. After rotating numerous times between sea and shore duties including command of his own ship, the frigate HMS Loch Alvie, he assumed the duties of Commander (Air) at RNAS Lossiemouth. It was at Lossiemouth, that Boot claimed another bit of history. He made the last flight in the World War II-era Fairey Fulmar. The first eight-gun fighter in Royal Navy history, the Fulmar failed to live up to expectations during its operational service. Lossiemouth’s Fulmar served as the station ‘hack.’ By Nethersole’s time, the aging fighter was unsupportable. Boot received a message from the Admiralty directing him to ground the aircraft. Recognizing his chance for small piece of aviation history, Nethersole took the Fulmar up for one last flight. Upon landing, he shut down the Fulmar’s Rolls Royce Merlin, thinking, “Well, that’s that.” A few hours later, back in his office, he glanced out the window to see the Fulmar taxiing to the active runway. The Chief Flying Instructor had decided HE wanted to be the last to fly the Fulmar and away he went. Rank does have its privileges, so upon the instructor’s return, Boot again took up the Fulmar, landed, then ordered that no one else was to fly the damn thing! Fast forward nearly 25 years to the FAA Museum at RNAS Yeovilton. Visiting the Museum, Nethersole overheard a guide lecturing a group on that very same Fulmar in the Museum’s collection. The guide got it wrong and Nethersole found himself unable to resist commenting. Thrilled to be able to set the record straight, the Museum has since requested, and upon his death, will receive Nethersole’s logbook with its nearly 4,000 hours including the Fulmar’s final flight. Says Boot now of his time as a pilot compared to today’s much more regulated times, “Things were a bit different then.”

2

Unsat. But then we're surprised when we see the same thing just on a bigger scale with the likes of Hornburg, et al, and the T-birds' contracting fiasco.

A sense of humor in a GO publicly displayed. Maybe there is hope after all.....................

I think that's another thread (see "Rot in the officer corps). I keed, I keed!

Yes, he apparently did. Stupid should hurt. Good luck to the Viper guy, any bets on big Blue standing tall for him? I wouldn't.

By the way, it doesn't end even at retirement: 1) Retired out of the Pentagon MPF several months ago, on my last day of active duty which was a Friday. You have to be retired, according to that MPF, before you can get your old fogey (retiree) ID card. Ok, I'll go on Monday to Bolling since it's closer to work. Monday - do the MPF thing get a pink traditional reservist ID card. "Ummm, 'scuse me?!" "Well that's what the system is showing." UFB! Goober at Pentagon clicked the wrong box and presto! I'm a reservist waiting until age 60 to start drawing a check. Unsat. Ping-ponged between MPF(s) and Finance (not their fault, but I wasn't gonna get paid so I had an interest with them) to get it resolved. No one would own up to it and get the problem solved. Wound up having to get very directive and very loud to an NCOIC who threatened to get his commander. "Please do, I'd love to explain some buffoonery and see some changes made today." I got entered into the correct system oddly enough immediately thereafter. 2) Fat(ter) and dumber in new job after getting my final pay (sold leave, etc), waited a couple of weeks for any stray inputs/deductions, then rolled over my TSP into something else. Come the first of the next (two after retiring) month, there's another full deposit into my TSP. Called TSP, that's mil pay, sir, we just invest the money once it's deposited. Call mil pay "Oh, you're retired, you need to call retired pay." Call retired pay, "That deposit was made by active duty mil pay." Went to Bolling mil pay, got a supervisor and watched him work the phones to figure out the snafu. (Was a TSP deposit from my final pay, hence was off cycle.). Took nearly four hours to find the answer. Don't even start on VA................................. Oh, yeah, one more thing, "You kids get outta my yard!"

A little lovin' for my GCI controllers, er, ABMs.............. WARNING! - EXTREMELY LONG - WARNING! Fifth Air Force’s Army: Signal Aircraft Warning Battalions in the Southwest Pacific Air Force units are usually composed of the traditional flights, squadrons, groups and wings. During World War II, the US Army Air Forces also included platoons, companies and battalions. Some of the largest and most important of these “army” units were the Signal Aircraft Warning Battalions (SAW BN) which used the new technology of radar to provide early warning and air defense. These battalions served in all theaters and developed somewhat differently depending on the tactical considerations of the specific theater. This article looks at the evolution and use of SAW units associated with the Fifth Army Air Force during World War II. UNEASY ALLIANCE At the onset of World War II, the Army Air Force* (AAF) was just beginning to come to grips with the concepts of radar and early warning. It also was grappling with the US Army Signal Corps for control of the equipment and personnel associated with these concepts. It was only in 1937 that the first successful Signal Corps use of radar to detect aircraft was demonstrated at Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey. 1 The Signal Corps was responsible for developing, procuring and fielding all US Army electronics. Radar was just one more developing technology under their purview. But even in the years preceding this historic event, the AAF struggled to gain control over aviation-related communication and other electronic equipment and personnel.2 The AAF argued that only airmen could know what specific equipment was needed for aviation. Radar was just one more bone of contention between the two organizations. However, by the outbreak of the war, the Signal Corps and the AAF had established an uneasy working arrangement. The Signal Corps would develop, procure and logistically support the technical equipment needed to conduct radar early warning. It would also train the personnel to operate the equipment and extract the information the new technology provided. 3 The AAF would simultaneously form units that could use and act on the provided tactical information.4 The Signal Corps still a part of the larger ‘ground’ Army, organized its tactical radar units into platoons – usually led by a lieutenant with 40-50 men; companies – 2-4 platoons led by a captain, and battalions – 2 – 4 companies led by a major or lieutenant colonel.5 These standard Army formations had to be integrated into the AAF organizational chart that used squadrons, groups and wings. Initially, the AAF used fighter control squadrons (FCS), complete with pursuit pilots, to process the tactical information provided by SAW BNs to intercept unknown radar tracks. The pilot controllers would use very high frequency (VHF) radios to scramble friendly fighters and place them in the most advantageous position to identify and, if necessary, shoot down the ‘bogey.’ This technique was, and is, called ground controlled intercept (GCI).6 The fighter control squadrons were a direct result of Gen Spaatz and other American observers to the Battle of Britain during the summer of 1940. The US Army Air Force personnel saw how the Royal Air Force used pilots as controllers to successfully direct fighter squadrons to defend the British homeland against a numerically superior enemy. The lessons learned were brought back and placed into practice albeit a bit differently than the RAF model. The RAF owned all facets of the airborne radar system, from the research facilities, the radars and operating personnel, and the end-users, the interceptors. 7 The US violated the basic tenet of war fighting in that the responsibility of radar for early warning and for intercepting the enemy was split between two commands, the Signal Corps and the Air Force. Eventually, this situation would be rectified, but not until nearly the end of the war. Unfortunately, the first example of this “marriage” was tragically unsuccessful. On December 7, 1941, a Signal Corps operator working at a remote site on Opana Point detected a large formation of aircraft approaching from the north of Oahu, Hawaii. Only recently trained in the complexities of the SCR-270B radar set, Private Joe Lockard picked up a large plot of blips. Following his instructions, he telephoned the information to the radar information center at Ft. Shafter, Honolulu.8 There, a young P-40 pilot never trained in early warning procedures or in appropriate tactical response to such warnings made the now-famous command of “Well, don’t worry about it.”9 Thus, the last chance of challenging the outcome of the attack on Pearl Harbor was lost. The first engagement of the American war did use radar but not effectively. ON THE JOB TRAINING The Signal Corps, stretched like every other U.S. military function, expanded rapidly to meet the demands for radars and the men to operate them. A huge electronics training base was set up at Drew Field, near Tampa, Florida. Here the vast majority of radar men undertook their training in electronics, field living operations and even in some cases, basic training.10 The only operational early warning radars then in the U.S. inventory were the large, bulky SCR-268/270 long-range radars. These could provide excellent long-range coverage but as stated, were difficult to move in a hurry since they consisted of 66 tons of equipment. What was needed was a lightweight, smaller radar set that could go ashore on the first day of any offensive invasion or be situated quickly as the tactical situation dictated for a defensive campaign. Mr. Jake Herring, a radar technician with the rank of T4 (a corporal with specialist technical training) eventually assigned to a SAW battalion in the Southwest Pacific, remembers that after his induction into the Army in September 1942, he went through six weeks of rushed basic training at Drew before beginning his radar training. In a baritone, rich with the coastal accent of North Carolina, he recounts, “We did our basic training there at Drew Field, then I was sent to Kansas City, Missouri for a month of radio school. I was immediately sent back to Drew to begin radar training. We went through our course, learning to operate the SCR-602 mobile radar set.”11 The –602 was a US produced version of a British lightweight (LW) mobile radar set. It was designed to provide forward radar coverage for a sector, reporting its findings to a control center or filter center located further back from the front. 12The –602 had a range of up to 100 miles in optimum conditions although 60-70 miles was more common and more importantly, weighed only two tons. 13 It was used in conjunction with other LW sites and the larger and less mobile SCR-268/270 long-range radar to build a graphic representation or ‘picture’ for air battle commanders. At the filter center, operators would track the overall picture of a developing air battle on a plexiglass plotting board and controllers would make adjustments to the number and placements of Allied fighters to deal with the approaching aircraft. Again, the concepts were based heavily upon earlier British experiences.14 Not coincidentally, the AAF developed Drew Field as a night fighter training base. Many radar warriors, both airborne and ground-based, learned and practiced their skills in mock maneuvers on the flat scrubby fields and in the dark, humid skies of central Florida. 15 Herring continues his reminisce, “After graduating from my course, we were sent out for a month-long field exercise. We set up six platoons, each with a –602 radar reporting back to the control center. Each platoon, by the way was a self-contained unit. We had two cooks, two medics, two truck drivers, and five four-man radar teams. We could load all our gear into two 2-½ ton truck s and a jeep and move out in just a few hours. “Each team had four basic duties: one guy would work as a plotter, one as a radio operator, one as a guard – nobody was allowed into the tent if we were working, and one man as a radar operator. We would switch off duties about once an hour to keep ‘fresh’ and not miss anything on the radar scope.”16 In addition to the LW and heavy long-range radars, a Signal Aircraft Warning company and later battalion, had ground observer platoons. These were just what the name implies. The ground observer was a specially trained signalman who would go into areas where radars couldn’t be sited due to topography limitations or more commonly because the infantry was engaged in combat. Using portable VHF radios and field telephones, these soldiers would voice-tell their observations of aircraft sightings back to the filter center. Their reports were incorporated into the picture to fill out any gaps in radar coverage. 17 As experience with using the electronic realm to guide missions increased, the ground observers were also used later in the war to direct radar-guided ground attack aircraft. A strike squadron would be vectored to a target area by a controller using radar; once over the area, the ground observers would call in corrections for subsequent bomb drops.18 With all these personnel needed to meet the Signal Corps mission requirements of operating radar equipment and detecting aircraft, a SAW battalion could easily number more than a thousand officers and men all designed to get the information to the controller assigned to the fighter control squadron.19 Much smaller, a fighter control squadron (FCS) consisted of fighter pilots and enlisted radio operators initially. Later in the war, specialist officer radar controllers replaced some of the pilots guiding aircraft. In addition, the missions controlled via radar increased from strictly vectoring fighters into intercept position to controlling bombing strikes, providing navigational vectors to lost aircraft, controlling air-sea rescue missions, and weather reporting and warning among others.20 By the time Herring reported for duty at Drew Field, the Signal Corps and AAF had reached a more reasonable accommodation. In September 1942, the two organizations agreed to put the Signal Aircraft Warning units under Air Force operational control. While the Signal Corps continued as the supplier of equipment and troops to operate it, the SAW units would work under the operational orders of the Air Force. This arrangement continued throughout the war.21 FIFTH AIR FORCE EXPERIENCES On December 9, 1941, the 8th Fighter Control Squadron was activated at Mitchell Field, New York. It was immediately assigned for deployment to the Pacific. By June 1942, it was based at Milne Bay, New Guinea as part of Fifth Air Force’s V Fighter Command. 22 In the shoe-string days of the early Southwest Pacific campaigns, the 8th FCS used a hodge-podge of Australian and US radar equipment and an equally assorted collection of fighter aircraft to defend the hard-pressed troops of the New Guinea fighting. 23 The SAW units supporting the 8th were likewise challenged to support the air defense requirements of the theater. Trained personnel and replacement parts for existing radar sets were in extremely short supply and used a mix of US and Australian parts and troops to function.24 By November 1943, however, the Allied forces in the area were strong enough to press ahead with operations to drive the Japanese from outside the New Guinea archipelago. Based at Finchaven, the SAW BNs and 8th FCS first went on the offensive in support of the invasion of New Britain. By isolating or destroying the major Japanese port at Rabaul on that island, the Allies could continue to drive north, eventually towards the Philippines. Reaching that ultimate goal would be difficult however. Finchhaven, New Guinea became “radar central” for the Southwest Pacific. New personnel destined for existing battalions and newly assigned battalions arrived at the jungle town to be incorporated into the theater.25 When not assigned to a combat operation, the radar men would conduct training. In addition to the technical practice needed to correctly interpret the data on a radar scope, the troops had to practice setting up and breaking down their sites. Units would spend a planned week out in the field, having simulated a combat assault. Then they would emplace their equipment, calibrating the radar for true north, making sure the equipment stayed dry in the unrelenting humidity of the jungle, and always, always seeking the best and highest place to site the antenna.26 The reason for the quest for height is due to line of sight consideration. If an SCR-602 was situated on a flat plain, an aircraft approaching at 1,000 feet wouldn’t be detected until it was within 15 miles. Put the radar on a 400 ft hill and detection range jumped to 50 miles. Higher flying aircraft could be detected at even longer ranges.27 Another consideration for radar placement is the need to avoid close by obstructions like buildings or trees. These obstructions would reflect the electromagnetic energy emitted from the transmitter and reflect it back in massive doses causing “clutter” on the radar scope. Clutter is simply an area on the scope that can’t be used for detecting aircraft because of the high level of background reflections.28 Not infrequently, these week-long jaunts went longer. The torrential thunderstorms so common to the area could and did change a rough dirt road into a raging stream. Many times the troops were cut off and had to be resupplied with C-rations and fuel from air drops until the remote jungle track dried out enough to support truck movement.29 For the first campaign not conducted on New Guinea, the SAW BNs went in with the infantry. On D+1 for the invasion of New Britain, the first LW radar platoon went ashore. Assisting the 1st Marine Division, and under fire from the Japanese, the radar proved its worth by picking up Japanese aircraft sortieing from Rabaul. With the 10 minutes or so of advanced warning thus provided, the Allies were able to gain air superiority over the battlefield in a relatively short time period.30 Jake Herring relates his experience from this invasion, “We set up our radar on a small island just off the main invasion beach called Duke Island. One day a ‘Betty’ bomber came over at tree-top level surprising everybody. He sprayed everything in sight with machine gun fire and dropped a bomb on a barge anchored out in the bay. He zoomed off without being shot at. “That night we had a Major King, one of the better officers we had as far as I was concerned, killed by a Japanese infiltrator. We found the major’s body the next morning with his head severed by a bayonet or a machete.” 31 Herring remained on New Britain until April 1944. 32 By the time of the next planned Allied advance to the island of Biak, the integration of Signal Corps SAW BNs and Air Force FCS was nearly seamless. Indeed, retired Chief Master Sergeant Joe Newman was a Signal Corps radio maintenance man assigned to the 8th FCS and for his entire time in the Pacific was under the administrative and operational control of that Air Force squadron. Even though he wore the distinctive Signal Corps emblem on his garrison hat and the aiguillette on his seldom-worn Class A’s, he worked daily in the FCS filter center. At the end of the war, he actually found out he had been transferred to the Army Air Force but never informed. (The Chief went on to have a 30-year USAF career.)33 In April 1944, after a refitting period back at Finchaven, the Herring’s 596th SAW Battalion sailed aboard an LST (landing ship tank) to support the invasion of Biak. Landing at the neighboring islet of Los Negros, Herring’s unit ran ashore under Japanese fire. 34 As the battle progressed, the US troops were on the south side of an east-west oriented Japanese runway just up from the beach and the defending troops were on the north side of the runway. So close were the opposing forces that Herring recalls that the radar couldn’t operate at night because the little two cylinder gasoline generator that powered the radar gave off a blue exhaust flame at night. Like a magnet for rifle fire, the blue flickering drew danger onto the radar site. So at night the radar men shut down operations and manned defensive fighting positions.35 One of the advantages of the self-contained aspect of the LW units was the ability to conduct air intercept operations on its own. In the perfect world, as mentioned previously, the LW sites reported back to a master filter center. However when the radar units were first establishing themselves in a new area each site could work intercepts in its own smaller areas. A controller would be attached to the LW platoon and run fighters onto targets within the limited coverage of the LWs. Not nearly as efficient as the fully integrated LW and heavy SCR-271 designed operations, it was nevertheless better than nothing.36 As the war progressed, the pace of island recapturing increased. In July 1944, Noumfour Island in the Dutch East Indies was slated for seizure from the Japanese. Herring’s battalion went in with the Army’s 503d Parachute Regiment. It was during this operation that Herring first saw the fruit of his labors. A plot was picked up on the SCR-602 radar and the Air Force controller attached to the LW platoon vectored a P-61 nightfighter on the track. Continuing the intercept, the controller guided the Black Widow until the radar operator on the big black-painted fighter picked up the bogey. He, in turn, provided vectors to the pilot until the pilot visually sighted the target. Confirming it was a “bandit,” actually a Japanese “Betty” twin-engined medium bomber; the pilot proceeded to torch the bomber with the P-61’s four 20mm cannons and four .50 caliber machine guns. 37 It just so happened that the intercept actually took place overhead the radar site. Herring and his fellow soldiers were able to spill out of the radar tent and watch the streaks of light racing from the fighter to the victim. Then they saw a big flash, and then many streamers of flames float down from the sky. The fighter pilot radioed, “Splash one bandit.”38 Jake Herring’s battalion, the 596th SAW, was one of only many that served in the Southwest Pacific Theater. The author found references in the U.S. National Archives at College Park of 11 separate SAW BNs during V Fighter Command operations. With an average of 1,000 officers and men in each, one can readily see that there were substantial numbers of troops involved in air warning and defense missions. With all the Signal Corps troops involved, the actually Army Air Forces-owned personnel involved with ground control of radar and fighter aircraft was relatively few in number. For most of V Fighter Command’s operations, the 8th Fighter Control Squadron did yeoman’s work for the theater. The 8th FCS sent detachments of enlisted aircraft plotters and rated pilots to operations and sites throughout the Southwest Pacific. Initially, the pilots learned the job under fire. They did the best they could while learning how best to employ radar in guiding interceptors onto targets. The Air Force thought that only a pilot could properly translate the obscure oscilloscope tracings into a verbal ‘picture’ that an airborne fighter could understand.39 As time progressed many combat tour-expired fighter pilots were recycled into controller positions. Even this pool of resources was not enough to meet the expanding mission demands and ‘pure’ controllers were eventually trained and sent into combat. Freshly minted 2d lieutenants would attend radar and controller school back in the States and come to New Guinea for some seasoning. These controllers went on to become the backbone of the FCS units. In March 1942, the 8th had 6 flying officers and 83 enlisted troops. 40 By February 1944, the 8th FCS had four flying officers assigned, 11 non-flying officer controllers and 231 enlisted.41 Like the SAW BNs, the FCS personnel often fought under fire. In July 1942, the 8th was still based at Milne Bay, New Guinea. In August, Japanese troops landed from barges only six miles from the headquarters. The squadron endured mortar and artillery fire for several days. Due to a shortage of combat troops, the men of the 8th Fighter Control Squadron were pressed into service as infantry, bolstering an Australian infantry brigade. Several tense days in fighting positions ensued but the Japanese threat was eliminated before the airman cum-infantry had to be used.42 In a more serious example, a Sgt Brown, 8th FCS radio operator, was awarded the Bronze Star for Valor for combat action during the invasion of Biak. Coming ashore on D-Day, Sgt Brown killed several Japanese soldiers during an enemy infantry charge against the U.S forces. Sgt Brown later crawled out under intense enemy fire to rescue a wounded U.S. soldier. 43 The airmen of the 8th faced more than ground threats. A combat report dated March 4, 1944 from the commanding officer of the 8th FCS to the commanding general, Fifth Air Force, described a Japanese bombing attack on Gusap, New Guinea and results: 1. Weather: 4/10s cloud cover, vis 8 miles, cloud base 3,000 2. First radar contact: 1230L, last contact 1340L 3. 16 a/c scrambled, 42 a/c returning from mission 4. 4 ‘Tonys’ sighted, 3 destroyed, 0 friendly aircraft missing * 5. Several H/E bombs dropped; 2 A-20s damaged, 3 A-20s slightly damaged No warnings given – enemy a/c came in low and timing of returning mission covered plot board with tracks.44 * ‘Tony’ was the Allied code name for the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force’s Ki-63single engine fighter/bomber Finally, the 8th’s combat reports also include a Bronze Star citation for a Capt Lloyd Brooks who served as a ground control intercept officer aboard a US Navy destroyer supporting the December, 1944 invasion of Ormoc bay, the Phillipines. Capt Brooks was directing a flight of fighters to intercept a group of enemy tracks. Despite the picture-perfect intercept, one of the attackers broke through and performed a kamikaze attack on the destroyer. Capt Brooks continued controlling until the ship lost power and eventually sank.45 These examples are but dramatic interludes in the work-a-day business of providing early warning and ground controlled intercept of enemy aircraft. The 8th FCS, and later squadrons like the 1st, 35th, 49th and 56th, working with the Signal Aircraft Warning battalions expanded the roles that radar could play. By war’s end, GCI had expanded to include both the SAW BNs and the FCS to become Fifth Air Force’s primary means of command and control (C2) for tactical operations. Indeed, V Fighter Command had been designated primary agency for all matters concerning air warning and defense. As such, V Fighter was the sole source for using SAW BNs and FCS.46 The Allied advance into the Philippines was perhaps the culmination of the progress made in combining the SAW BNs and the FCS into a smoothly running air warning and effective air defense machine. Many radar sites spread throughout the islands as the campaign progressed covered virtually every square mile of territory. Radar supplies and replacements shipped from Signal Corps depots from the ZI (Zone of the Interior) arrived into Air Force supply dumps and were distributed as Air Force assets. The signalmen of the SAW BNs drew rations and pay from the Air Force. BN commanding officers took orders directly from V Fighter Command that in turn relied on the Signal Corps officers to lend advice on how best to place and use the equipment. Ground controllers and signalmen worked side by side in operations tents and at radar scopes, directing Allied aircraft in a myriad of missions.47 This unity was a far cry from the early divided concept between the Signal Corps and the Army Air Forces. As a fitting finale, in June 1945, the Signal Aircraft Warning Battalions officially transferred from the Signal Corps to the Army Air Force. 48 LEGACY The legacy of these radar pioneer units lives on in today’s USAF ground tactical air control squadrons (ACS). The ACS’s in the active duty and Air National Guard are constituted much like their World War II predecessors and served in those original roles in Korea, Vietnam, the Cold War, and both conflicts in Iraq. They are designed to be self-contained, self-sufficient squadrons capable of providing early warning, air defense, and ground controlled intercept. The ACS’s personnel include their own operators, communicators, radar and computer technicians, medics, vehicle maintainers, and cooks. A true legacy; the progeny of the Signal Aircraft Warning Battalions and Fighter Control Squadrons are still providing service to the today’s Air Force.

Check your PMs for a Lt Col 13M's name and contact info. He PCS's from DC to Brussels this summer.