The carrier aircraft swept in
from the Tonkin Gulf, seeking targets of opportunity along the Indochina coast. There was no aerial opposition but the
defenders had plenty of antiaircraft guns on ships, shore, and especially on
airfields.
The date was January 12,
1945. Seventy years ago this month.
Admiral William F. Halsey’s
Third Fleet was built around Task Force 38 with 12 fast carriers and 75
accompanying battleships, cruisers, and destroyers. “The Bull” sought big game—two Japanese
battleships partly converted to carriers, but his intelligence proved wrong. Ise and
Hyuga were laid up at Singapore, 800
miles away.
Launching 60 miles off Cam
Ranh Bay—well known to a later generation of aviators—the Hellcats, Corsairs,
Helldivers and Avengers scourged the area.
The 1,500 sorties sank about 45 Japanese or Vichy French-controlled
vessels and bombed or strafed 30 others while burning about 100 aircraft on the
ground or at their moorings.
It was a triumph: probably no
Allied warships had steamed in the South China Sea since 1942. But as always there was a price: 23 carrier
planes were lost including an F6F-5 Hellcat off the second carrier Hornet (CV-12).
Lieutenant (jg) Blake
Moranville was a 21-year-old Nebraskan flying with Fighter Squadron 11, led by
Lt. Cdr. Gene Fairfax. Blake was called
“Rabbit” in the Sundowners because of his name’s similarity to Baseball Hall of
Famer Walter “Rabbit” Maranville. With
six victories, Blake was one of the Navy’s youngest aces but his luck ran out
that afternoon while strafing Tan Son Nhut Airport. A 20mm shell hole drained his Pratt &
Whitney engine of oil, forcing him into a controlled landing. He splashed down in a rice paddy 75 miles
southwest of Saigon.
Blake climbed out of his
airplane, standing in the muck, uncertain where to go. His friends made a last pass overhead,
assuring he was alright, then set course for Hornet. Blake was keeper of
the Sundowners’ mascot, a Boston bull terrier named Gunner, who sulked in the
VF-11 ready room, keenly missing his master.
Eventually Blake linked up
with some Vietnamese who took him to a village overnight. The next morning a Vichy civilian official—a
count--took the American to the French army in Saigon. Because Vichy France was allied with Japan,
Blake Moranville was a prisoner of war.
At the Maison Centrale Blake joined a Hancock
Hellcat pilot, a Marine Corsair pilot off the Essex, and a TBM Avenger bomber crew from the light carrier San Jacinto. The six fliers were well treated by the
French, who knew how the war was going and had no wish to incur their wrath.
Members of the anti-Vichy
community were allowed to visit the Americans in prison, delivering extra food,
reading material, tobacco, liquor, and even a radio. Based on date of rank, Blake was senior
officer and said there would be no escape attempt—the war clearly was in the
Allies’ favor.
However, the prison warden
did not want to be caught harboring Americans from the Japanese, who had begun
searching Saigon. Therefore, he arranged
for Blake and company to be trucked 700 miles north to a Foreign Legion camp
near Hanoi. Once there, presumably the
naval fliers would be in much safer hands.
But their living condition deteriorated with poor food and accommodations. Many became ill. Then things got worse.
In early March the Japanese
turned on the Vichy forces, justly fearing that the French might change
sides. A nearby French garrison was
wiped out as the Japanese began eliminating potential resistance. With no other option, the Legionnaires
released the Americans, provided rifles and ammunition, and invited them to
join a 280-mile slog across the mountains to the Laotian border. Blake’s group accepted, joining 200
Legionnaires as new allies.
For 13 days the group trekked
toward a remote outpost called Dien Bien Phu.
One night they were ambushed en route, and the Yanks only survived
thanks to a quick-thinking German veteran of La Legion. On March 22 perhaps
50 survivors straggled into the outpost, tired, sick, and hungry.
The six naval airmen settled
down to wait. The Army Air Force in
Kunming, China, knew of their presence but weather clamped down, preventing an
evacuation. All the while the relentless
Japanese came closer. As Blake recalled,
“It was really frustrating. We could
hear the C-47 overhead some days but it couldn’t get in for a landing.”
Finally, on the sixth day,
March 28, the ceiling lifted enough for the Douglas transport to land on the
rough airstrip. The 250-mile flight due
north proved a godsend to the trapped Americans. About two days later the Japanese took Dien
Bien Phu.
Back in Guide Rock, Nebraska,
Gunner the mascot was gleefully reunited with Blake. But Blake’s father, a veterinarian, had taken
excellent care of the terrier, and as Blake later laughed, “By then he was my
dad’s dog.”
Summarizing his Indochina
adventure, Blake said, “I wouldn’t take a million dollars for the experience
but you couldn’t pay me that much to do it again!”
In a remarkable coincidence, one of Blake’s sons, Mark, was born on 12 January 1950 and
followed in his dad's wake, spending 29 years in the Navy.
Blake retired as a lieutenant
commander in 1964 and earned two post-graduate degrees. He became dean of students at Oregon College
of Education in Monmouth near Salem, where I met him in the 1970s.
It was a privilege to know
Blake and Mary, as we kept touch until Blake died of cancer in 2000, age
77. I’ve received honorary memberships
in three Navy squadrons, but there’s a special place in my heart and memory for
Blake Moranville, Gene Fairfax, Charlie Stimpson, Jim Swope and the other WW II
members of the historic Sundowners.
