Roving Reporter
By Ernie Pyle
IN THE WESTERN PACIFIC (delayed) – There was nothing dramatic about our start for Japan.
We simply pulled anchor about 8 one morning and got underway. The whole thing seemed peacetime and routine.
Our ships were so spread out they didn’t seem they actually were. It wasn’t like the swarming, pulsing mass of ships that literally blanketed the water when we started to Sicily and to Normandy.
Once at sea our force broke up into several pre-arranged units and each put some distance between itself and the next.
Each was self-sufficient. Each could protect itself. Each had battleships, carriers, cruisers and destroyers. Each was complete unto itself.
The eye easily could encompass the entire formation in which you were sailing. And very dimly, far off on the horizon, you could see the silhouettes of the bigger ships on each side of you, although they seemed remote, and not like neighbors.
Mitscher in command
The formations were commanded by admirals and above them all was Adm. Marc Mitscher.
All day and all night the air was full of conversation between our ships. Messages were transmitted in many ways – by signal flag, by light blinker, by destroyers bringing written messages, even by planes flying slowly over and dropping messages on the deck.
The admiral commanding our unit was a fine, friendly man whom I’d met before we sailed. On the third day out, he sent a message over to our captain which said: “How is Ernie getting along? Does he wish he was back in a foxhole?”
We messaged back that I was happy, hadn’y been seasick yet, and that I hoped all my future foxholes could be as plush as this one.
We had a long way to go from our starting point, and our route was a devious one to boot. We steamed for several days before we were at our destination off Japan. We sailed long enough to have crossed the Atlantic Ocean – if we had been in the Atlantic.
But those days were busy ones. Our planes began operating as soon as we were underway. Three fighters that had been based on the island, flew out and landed aboard an hour after we started, to fill our complement of planes.
We were up before dawn every morning, and our planes were in the air before sunup. We kept a constant aerial patrol over our ships. Some flew at great height, completely out of sight. Others took the medium altitude. And still others roamed in great circles only a few hundred feet above us.
And out on the perimeter our little destroyers plowed the ocean, always alert for subs or airplanes. You really couldn’t help but feel safe with such a guard around you.
Comfortable living
Living was very comfortable aboard our carrier. I shared a cabin with Lt. Cmdr. Al Masters from Terre Haute, Indiana, just a few miles from where I was born and raised.
In our cabin we had metal closets and writing desks and a lavatory with hot and cold water. We had a telephone, and a boy to clean up the room. Our bunks were double-decked, with good mattresses. I was in the upper one.
Our food was wonderful, and you could buy a whole carton of cigarettes a day if you wanted to (doesn’t that make you jealous?). We saw a movie every night except when in battle. The first four nights our movies were New York Town, The Major and the Minor, Swing Fever and Claudia. I don’t know enough about movies to know whether they were old or not, but it doesn’t make any difference to a sailor who hasn’t been home.
I came aboard with a lot of dirty clothes, for I’d had nothing washed since leaving San Francisco about a month before.
Our cabin boy took my clothes to the laundry about 9:30 one morning. When I came back to the cabin an hour and a half later, here was my washing all clean and dry and ironed, lying on the bed. What a ship!