Chapter 13

“Our convoy of ships made the slow journey east, passing under the Golden Gate Bridge, we docked in San Francisco on 12 October. Now that I had Helen back in the States, I had to get her to San Diego. I found out that the nearest civilian airport was about fifty miles away.”

“The naval yard was an immense complex of buildings, cranes, and various ships in dock. Military vehicles of every size were neatly lined up awaiting shipment to the Pacific Theatre. I noticed an aircraft carrier, wondered what its name was, Major Millington and I walked over to it. I found out it was the USS Copahee in port for a few days then onto San Diego.”

“We walked up the gangplank and, saluting, asked for permission to come aboard. I introduced myself, as did the Major, and we asked to see the flight officer. Major Millington did most of the talking, explaining the importance of VMF 124’s Corsair making its way to San Diego for the disbanding of our squadron. We were told the Copahee was going to San Diego in a few days.”

“The flight officer led us up onto the deck elevator, and we rode to the surface. The main deck had several SBDs and Hellcats parked towards the stern. We climbed to the CO’s observation post and were introduced to Commander Farrell, the Copahee’s Commander. The Major gave a brief description of our tour in the Solomon Islands and the importance of Helen getting to her new home base at Camp Kearny, San Diego. I was all smiles when Commander Farrell gave permission for my Corsair to be lifted on board and taken to San Diego. I said I’d prefer to fly her there if possible, as it might be my last time with her. After much discussion, I was allowed to use their deck to take off.”

“I was forever grateful to Major Millington. He said to take good care of Helen for us, as she represents what we fought for and for which many died.”

“I watched as Helen was lowered by crane onto the dock, then a borrowed truck was used to tow her to the carrier, where their crane raised her to the main deck. Dozens of sailors gathered around Helen to view a plane that was fresh out of combat. As I inspected her, one of them told me there were seventeen bullet holes in her. Another pointed to a portion of the rudder and aileron that had been pop-riveted with a new piece of skin. I replied that it didn’t count the ones that had already been covered over. Her sun-bleached paint paled against the fresh, dark blue of the new Hellcats.”

“I stuffed all my belongings into the compartment behind the cockpit that houses the inflatable raft. I reconnected the battery and checked all levels, put on my flying gear, including my Mae West, and climbed into the cockpit. I asked a few people to turn the prop several times to move the oil around from being settled in the crankcase. Everyone standing clear, I turned on the power and gave the engine a few cranks. I made several more turns and let the engine catch. The engine sputtered and coughed, belching out her traditional dark smoke, and then came to life.”

“I touched the switch, and the wings folded into place.”

“As the engine warmed, I was pushed to the stern of the carrier and turned around. I gave my flaps and gauges one final check, then saluted my departure. Holding the brakes on, I pressed on full throttle.”

“Releasing the brakes, I pushed the stick forward, and Helen lurched ahead. Her speed increased, and I felt the bumps of the flight deck under her wheels. There was a slight dip as the wheels lifted past the bow, and I flew straight in a slow climb and retracted the landing gear. I didn’t bank hard right on takeoff at low speed, which can cause the plane to stall.”

“I went to 1500 feet, then did a 180 turn and passed over the carrier, dipped my wings, and pointed towards the sky.”

“‘I hope he knows where he’s going. He’s back in the States now and should have filed a flight plan with the Frisco airport,’ Commander Farrell said.”

“I couldn’t believe I was now flying Helen for pleasure and not looking for enemy planes to shoot me down. I followed visual flight rules, heading in a southerly direction, following the coastline.”

“I was about thirty minutes into my flight when I could hear static on my radio, then I noticed four P-40 Warhawks come parallel to both wings. What a mean-looking airplane. I smiled and waved. I turned the radio dial to different frequencies and heard:”

“‘F ... Corsair niner-niner, IFF!’”

“I thought, what the hell is IFF? Then it struck me what it meant: identify, Identify, Friend or Foe. ‘This is Corsair niner-niner November one-two-four! I am friend. I say again, I am friend! I am not armed!’”