Classification
(Pilot/Navigator/Bombardier)
The
next assignment was at Santa Ana, California for another series of
tests to determine a classification for the pilot, navigator or bombardier
training. Again, the background of
the whole time here was to further prepare for a possible commission. Really,
the main goal of most was the silver wings - not the gold second
lieutenant bars.
After
many days of testing, marching, physical training (PT), Sunday afternoon full
dress parades (white gloves helmets, etc.), the day arrived for the
classification assignments. The graduating class was gathered for the final
results.
Obviously,
most of us were looking forward to becoming pilots. Imagine the concern that
existed when the first person to address the group stated that there was a critical
need for navigators. Therefore, many that met or exceeded a certain level in the
math tests would probably be assigned to navigation school. Does one now
regret all the efforts expended on math? Probably not...but it was at least a
passing thought.
For
whatever reason, I ended up with a navigator school assignment. There was a
short time when there was a doubt on whether or not navigation was my cup of
tea. The other choice was to go back and get a commission in communications;
however, the chance to fly would be gone. Navigation training won out.
Navigation
School
So
off we go to Hondo, Texas to start the real grind of trying to
succeed in the new goal of becoming a navigator. There was the feeling of
confidence that you were equal to the tasks ahead but also the suppressed fear
of "washing out".
So
the only thing to do was settle down and accept the strange world of compasses,
drift meters, three star fixes, wind triangles and many other strange things
that must become second nature to understand and put in use. The need to always
be accurate was constantly stressed and later proven to be of the utmost
importance.
Going
in, it was expected that celestial navigation, with the need to identify about
thirty stars by the pointer system, use of the sextant, air almanac, celestial
tables to determine a star, sun or moon altitude and azimuth, would be the most
difficult tasks. In fact, it was probably the least difficult.
There
was the typical need for some (navigator) humor in the situation. So, when
someone came back with an exceptionally good circular error on a celestial
flight, he was accused of using Dubhe, Deneb, and the Flying
Red Horse for his final fix. In other words, he peeked out the window and
used the neon sign with flying red horse, shining brightly over Dallas, as the third star.
Pages
could be written about our experiences during training in Texas. From a personal
perspective, two instances stand out. The first was that the only time I ever
got sick in a plane was during a very low level search and patrol mission over
the Gulf. The second was when we had to get the planes out of the predicted path
of a hurricane. (Consider that this was in the middle of August in Southern
Texas.) We went to Oakland, California. Naturally, everyone wanted to go into
San Francisco that night. We soon learned, the hard way, that you don't go into
Frisco at night in short-sleeve summer uniforms if you have been
acclimated to a Texas August.
Eventually
the time arrived to learn if you would make the final "wash out" list,
be appointed as a flight officer, or be commissioned as a second lieutenant. The odds were that approximately 20 percent would wash out during or
at the end of training. 20 percent would be appointed to flight officer status,
and 60 percent would actually receive a commission. Again, the main personal
goal of most was to earn the silver wings .
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