Death of Ensign Tom Stanley While the battle for Saipan raged, the floating Marine reserves were kept well south and east of the embattled island at a place on the map called “Point Oak.” There, they were well out of the path of the expected attack from the entire Japanese fleet. It was this powerful enemy armada, eager to close with the American invasion force that descended upon the Marianas for what became known as the Battle of the Philippine Sea. During the battle, the Imperial Navy would lose over four hundred irreplaceable planes and their dwindling cadre of experienced pilots. This battle would not only end the life of Tom Stanley but would also prove to be catastrophic for the Japanese, ending once and for all any serious naval or aerial threat to the Marianas invasion. Ironically, without realizing it, Tom gave his life to save many of his fellow Pensacolians that were fighting and dying on and around the desolate piece of coral of Saipan. In the meantime, his younger brother Lucius C. Jr. would serve in the US Navy while his older brother Clinton Allen would do his duty with the US Army in Europe.
During World War II naval aviators traditionally received their training in three distinct stages. The first stage was their initial flight training, which also included their indoctrination into military life. Next came an assignment to a squadron or training center where they learned how to operate the particular aircraft, they were assigned to fly such as a fighter, torpedo bomber, dive bomber, patrol aircraft, etc. The final stage was an assignment to an air station where they were required to first practice their landings on airfield runway especially marked to simulate carrier decks and then later on actual carriers. After eight successful landings a Navy pilot was considered to be “carrier qualified” and then they were assigned to a permanent squadron either stateside or overseas.
Following Tom’s enlistment, was sent to their preflight training at Athens, GA and then to primary flight school at Lambert Field, St. Louis, MO on 11-5-1942. He then reported into NAS Pensacola where he received his coveted wings in June 1943. After operational training in Jacksonville, FL in August 1943 he was assigned to the new carrier CV-18 USS Wasp as a dive bomber pilot.
One of the problems at the beginning of the war was that the Navy had too few carriers to be able to provide one for the sole purpose of training pilots. Plus, they could not afford to risk even one of these valuable vessels in open waters where German submarines prowled up and down the East Coast looking for victims. The Navy’s solution to the problem was to convert two old coal-burning paddle wheelers into a type of aircraft carrier. The first conversion was the USS Wolverine, which was commissioned on August 12, 1942, followed by the USS Sable in May the following year. Both vessels were former excursion ships that now sailed the Great Lakes, completely safe from the threat of enemy submarines. These two ships (below) were stationed at what was known as the “Navy Pier” in Chicago on the shores of Lake Michigan. Also located at the downtown base was a huge, attached barracks that could house up to twelve thousand sailors at a time. Here the two makeshift carriers could sail just offshore where they provided the required flight decks so desperately needed to qualify hundreds of student aviators. Each ship was fitted with a 550-foot flight deck with no accompanying elevators or hangar decks that the larger carriers used to keep their topside clear. This meant that when a student was unlucky enough to be involved in a barrier or deck crash then the day’s operations had to be cancelled.
Another problem with a short deck carrier was the limited amount of wind they could generate over their flight deck. Certain aircraft required a particular amount of wind under their wings in order to land and take off. Therefore, if there wasn’t enough wind out on Lake Michigan operations often had to be curtailed because the two slower ships were unable to generate sufficient speed on their own to create what nature had failed to provide. Neither of the two carriers was capable of making more than twenty knots under their own power. Occasionally, when low wind conditions persisted for several days and the number of waiting aviators started to back up, an alternate system of qualifications was sometimes employed. The alternate system was to qualify the pilots in what was known as an SNJ, aka AT-6 training aircraft, which required much lower speeds and winds to stay airborne. Every one of the Navy’s pilots had qualified in these stalwart trainers during their preliminary flight training, which for most of them had only been a few months earlier.
However, Tom Stanley’s road to war took a somewhat different path than those flying over Lake Michigan. In his case, he was commissioned an ensign immediately upon completion of his flight training at NAS Pensacola in June 1943. From there he was assigned to VB-14, which was a dive bomber squadron destined for duty aboard the newly built carrier, the USS Wasp. The squadron’s new home was still in the process of being outfitted for war while her “iron birds” were completing their own preparations for the upcoming fighting.
The keel of the Wasp had been laid on March 18, 1942 by the Bethlehem Steel Company in Quincy, Massachusetts where she was originally named the Oriskany. However, eight months later she was renamed the Wasp after her namesake (CV-7) had been sunk by a Japanese submarine on September 15, 1942. The new Wasp (CV-18) was launched the following year on August 17, 1943, and received her commission three months later under the command of Captain Clifton A. F. Sprague. Ironically, the ship's original name was given to another carrier that would one day be sunk as an offshore fishing reef in Ensign Stanley’s hometown of Pensacola, Florida in May 2006. In the meantime, following their shakedown cruise that lasted until the end of 1943, the Wasp returned to the Boston shipyard to correct minor flaws, which had been discovered during her initial cruise at sea.
While his ship was preparing for combat duty Tom left Pensacola to join up with his new squadron at a place called Wildwood, New Jersey. The origins of his new base began at the outbreak of the war when the American government began looking for locations to train their badly needed aviators. One place they found was in Cape May County in the southernmost part of New Jersey, which happened to be surrounded by water on three sides. Upon approval the base was commissioned on April 1, 1943, under the name of “Naval Air Station Rio Grande.” However, the name had to be changed to “Wildwood” because the station’s mail, telegrams and telephone service was constantly being confused with Rio Grande, Texas.
His new squadron was originally commissioned in September 1943 at Wildwood with Lt. Commander John Devereux Blitch named as its commander. Blitch was a 30-year-old Annapolis graduate from Charleston, South Carolina. And his new home at NAS Wildwood quickly became known as the exclusive domain for dive bombing training during the entire war. It was also where the aircrews were trained in combat tactics in such aircraft as their old SBD "Dauntless" and the new improved "Helldiver." There was also an outlying field in Delaware where the dive-bombers from Wildwood could practice their night flying skills, particularly their simulated night carrier landings. The Navy also constructed targets out of lumber and had them towed out into Delaware Bay or further out into the Atlantic Ocean where the dive-bombers made one attack after another until they got it right. During their tour of duty at Wildwood, Tom and his fellow pilots were flying the old reliable SBD aircraft but following their transfer to Quonset Point they were equipped with the newer Curtiss SB2C “Helldiver.” Little did they know that it would have served the squadron better to have stayed with the older SBD version. The new Helldiver could carry up to one 1,600-pound bomb in its internal bomb bay, plus two one-hundred-pound bombs under its wings. It had a top speed of 281 miles per hour and could climb at a rate of 1,750 feet per minute. The plane’s maximum range was 1,100 miles and its combat radius was 276 miles. By comparison, the older Dauntless SBD carried the same bomb load, had a top speed of 253 miles per hour and could climb at a rate of 1,620 feet per minute. The maximum range of the Dauntless was 1,100 miles with a combat radius of 285 miles. Between the two, the older plane had the lowest combat losses of any American Navy aircraft of the war. Therefore, many of the Navy pilots were understandably reluctant to relinquish an airplane that had so deservedly earned their highest trust.
The base at Wildwood remained a dive bomber training field from 1943 until 1945 with a total of forty-two pilots losing their lives during the process. Today, Hangar #1 remains as the only intact structure left of the original World War II buildings, a silent reminder of the men that passed through its huge rusting doors to answer their nation’s call to arms.
On November 1, 1943, the three squadrons, known as Air Group #14, were ordered to NAS Quonset Point near Providence, Rhode Island. Here the SBD pilots received their new Helldivers for their next level of training. The VB-14 squadron was joined by VF-14, who flew the Grumman F6F Hellcat fighters and VT-14 flying the Grumman TBF Avenger torpedo planes. Prior to the transfer, the torpedo pilots had been training in Charleston, Rhode Island whereas the fighters had been stationed in Atlantic City, New Jersey. However, tragedy was quick to strike the air group just as the thirty-six Hellcats came in for their initial landing at the new base. Two of their number collided in midair as they were making their final approach and both pilots crashed offshore and were killed instantly.
But when the three groups finally came together the first thing they found at their new duty station was the intense cold. It was so cold that the pilots were forced to wear electric flying suits made of heavy leather that was laced with electrical wire together with fur lined gloves and heavy boots. The pilots would plug their new suits into a socket located in the cockpit and then dial in their desired temperature.
The Quonset Point Naval Air Station was established just prior to the beginning of World War II as part of the Lend-Lease Act of 1941. It was also where the indestructible “Quonset hut” was first developed, modeled after the Nissen hut perfected by the British in the First World War. During the height of the station’s existence its workforce, combined with that of the adjacent Davisville Seabee training center, became the largest in the state of Rhode Island much less the northeast United States. During the reign of President Richard Nixon, the base would eventually fall victim to politics and budget cuts even though Nixon himself went through basic officer training there in 1942. However, all appeals from the military and state authorities failed to save the base and it was decommissioned on June 28, 1974.
While at the base Tom’s days and nights were filled with training activities of every conceivable kind. They were sent up every day to dive-bomb one towed target after another somewhere out in the bay or in the broad reaches of the Atlantic. For night flying they would muster shortly after lunch and then take off for an afternoon flight that lasted into the dark of evening. But fortunately for the rambunctious young men the unpredictable New England weather would occasionally blanket the area with fog, rain, or snow forcing the instructors to cancel all training flights for the night. This usually meant an exciting trip into Providence for a night of drinking, bragging, and carousing. But minus the occasional liberty into town, Tom and his buddies continued their intense schedule of constant night flying and carrier landing practice on the inland airstrips.
On November 24, 1943, Tom and the other pilots from Air Group #14 were bussed into Boston where they walked up the gangplank of the new indomitable Wasp. There they awaited the arrival of the president’s wife, Eleanor Roosevelt who was to speak to the formation of young men all decked out in their spiffy dress white uniforms. One of the men waiting on deck happened to be her son Lt. John A. Roosevelt who was a naval officer stationed aboard the carrier. Following the stuffy but heartfelt ceremony the boys hit the streets of Boston for an adventure into the city’s famous nightlife before they had to head back to the base. With such an intense training schedule the boys had little time for entertainment therefore they spread out over the streets of Boston and let loose their pent-up energy and saved up money.
Shortly after they returned to the base it was time for their carrier qualification landings aboard the CVE-30 USS Charger. The ship had recently been obtained from the Royal Navy and then converted to what was known in those days as a “jeep” carrier for the sole purpose of training naval aviators. Day after day the ship steamed up and down the Chesapeake Bay, north of Norfolk, taking aboard one flight after another of the nervous young ensigns coming in for a landing. Each pilot had to satisfactorily complete eight carrier landings in order to earn their qualifying points to be “certified.” The quest of each naval aviator was to not only obtain his certification but also to avoid being dubbed a “Dilbert.” This dubious title was bestowed upon “accident prone” pilots and the moniker unfortunately had a tendency to follow them throughout their military careers. One of the most frequent accidents during this stage of their training was the “nose up” landing caused when the nervous young pilots taxied too fast then hit their brakes too hard causing the aircraft to turn up on its nose, slamming its propeller into the deck.
It was a cold crisp December day when it came time for Tom’s first landing. The anxious young Pensacolian approached the ship just like he was taught to do and then began circling overhead with the other waiting planes. He stayed in this holding pattern for approximately twenty minutes as each of his comrades ahead of him made their own feeble attempt to land. The whole time he was circling above the carrier his mouth was bone dry and his stomach tight as a knot as he kept looking down at that tiny pitching deck in the middle of that huge body of water. The captain of the ship had turned his bow into the wind to provide more “lift” for the pilots coming in from the stern. When Tom’s turn finally came, he entered his approach pattern and descended to eight hundred feet then lowered his wheels, which locked into position with a loud “thunk.” Tom quickly reviewed his checklist just like they had taught him to do in Pensacola. The Navy used the “GUMP” method, which stood for (1) G-make sure you’re fuel selector was on whatever tank had the most gas (2) U-make sure your wheels are down and locked into place (3) M-make sure your fuel mixture is auto rich and (4) P-make sure your prop is in the “low pitch” setting and set at 2,400 rpm’s. Tom also remembered to lock his canopy back and cinch up his seat and shoulder harness. He lowered his flaps as his nose lowered slightly in response to the increasing drag. He slowly moved his throttle back dropping his airspeed to about a hundred knots. As he dropped into “the groove” he reduced his speed further to ninety knots with his nose slightly higher than the rest of his aircraft as he came in over the white wake of the ship’s fantail.
Adrenaline pumped through his body like a fire hose as he kept his eyes and every ounce of concentration, he possessed on the little man with the two paddles who was guiding him in. The “landing signal officer or LSO” was located in the stern of the ship and directly responsible for the safe recovery of every single pilot, which meant that every hand signal given to the approaching plane must be obeyed without question. But even the LSO had his own checklist to go through to ensure the safety of the pilot’s landing. Through his mind went the litany, “wheels down, flaps down, hook down! Check to see if the deck is clear!”
As Tom came in, he kept the nose of his plane up and his wings as parallel to the pitching deck as possible. However, as the wave action caused the ship to pitch from side to side and up and down the landing officer would adjust his arms and paddles accordingly and convey this to the incoming pilot. Most pilots, even today, describe the landing on a carrier as nothing more than a “controlled” crash. And as far as Ensign Stanley was concerned, this wintry day was to be no different. Everything had to be as perfect as possible to stave off the constant threat of tragedy.
About a quarter mile out from the ship Tom completely lost sight of the vessel leaving him totally dependent on the hand signals from the LSO. At the appropriate time the LSO gave him the “cut” signal whereby Tom jerked his throttle all the way back, waited one second then pulled his stick all the way back at which time seven tons of aircraft dropped onto the wooden planked deck!
Suddenly, Tom heard a bang as he hit the deck followed by a howling screech as his tail hook grabbed the arresting wire, which begrudgingly played out what little slack it was going to allow. The deck of the carrier was covered with either Oregon pine or Douglas fir but to Tom it felt like solid steel. The wood planking was used to lighten the weight of the upper deck as well as reduce the risk of sparks in the middle of all of the nearby aviation fuel. Inside the cockpit, every part of Tom’s body was thrown against the straps as his legs and arms felt like they were going to separate from his body. Before he even knew what hit him, he had come to a complete stop in about a second and a half. To Tom it felt like hitting a brick wall and was a thousand times more violent than he ever expected. As soon as the tension was off the arresting wire a deck crewman ran out and disengaged Tom’s tail hook. At this time the “plane director” signaled Tom to rev up his engine and move forward out of the way since the next plane was already in the groove and moving in for a landing thirty seconds behind. Unfortunately, Tom would soon take off again and go through this exercise seven more times before he could ever hope to obtain his coveted qualification as a genuine carrier pilot.
By the middle of January 1944, all of the pilots were qualified to land their aircraft on a carrier in both night and day operations. The completion of this part of their training had been carefully coordinated with the exodus of their new carrier from the Boston Shipyards. With this in mind all three squadrons were ordered to take off from Quonset Point and fly to Norfolk, Virginia, where they were to board the Wasp for their upcoming shakedown cruise. The purpose of the shakedown was to give the ship's company, as well as the pilots and air crewmen of Air Group #14, the necessary experience in both flight and deck procedures. But while they were anxiously waiting for their ship at Norfolk, they were also experiencing one day after another of bad weather, which gave them far too much idle time on their hands. Men were fighting and dying in the Pacific while the Wasp’s warriors saw themselves as sitting around twiddling their thumbs. By January 28, 1944, the weather was still bad enough to prevent them from flying their planes out to the deck of the ship. Therefore, in desperation each pilot was ordered to taxi his plane the two miles from East Field all the way down to the pier so that the giant cranes could hoist them onto the ship’s waiting deck.
The carrier left Boston harbor on January 10th heading south for Hampton Roads, Virginia where she was ordered to remain until the last day of the month waiting on her aircraft. After a short delay due to the inclement weather, she loaded up her planes by crane at the pier and sailed out on January 31st headed into the Atlantic Ocean. Their new home had four steam turbine engines that could propel the vessel up to thirty-three knots with a cruising speed of sixteen knots. At this speed the new carrier had a range of 17,000 miles.
The men were exuberant that they were finally doing something about getting into the war. Very few of the men had ever seen actual combat and with the real fighting thousands of miles away it was easy to swagger and demand the opportunity to get into the thick of it. But as with all young warriors their day would come soon enough. So, during the first day of the voyage the pilots were idle enough to wander all over the ship exploring their new home and talking about what it was going to be like when they got “out there.”
By the next day, they were all assembled in the muster room for their first briefing on the upcoming air operations. For the next three weeks they spent every minute of their time working out the intricate procedures involved below deck as well as above it. It was a very complex system involving not only the pilots but each of their air crewmen with the whole show having to be closely coordinated with the work of the deck crews. Over three thousand men had to work in perfect harmony to make the process work, especially when the ship and its crew were deep in the throes of combat where every detail could mean life or death for themselves and their ship.
To reduce the confusion on deck the men in each division wore a different color uniform depending on their particular function. For instance, the catapult and arresting wire crews wore green while the plane handlers were blue and the “fuelers” were purple. Ammunition handlers sported red tunics and landing officers (LSO’s) wore yellow.
One of the first problems they encountered was with their new dive-bombers. It turned out that the squadron’s new “Helldiver” needed a longer runway to take off than the fighters and torpedo planes. In fact, the first two bombers that took off lacked the required air speed and lift needed to become airborne and went over the side into the water. Upon discovery of the problem the Helldivers had to be placed in the rear of the “launch” line in order to give them a longer distance than the others.
By the 4th of February, the ship had passed Puerto Rico and was pulling into Trinidad where they had set up an area for training operations. Between Trinidad and the coast of Venezuela there was a large bay called the Gulf of Paria, approximately thirty miles wide and seventy miles long, which provided a safe haven from the threat of German submarines. During this period of time, they cruised throughout the area constantly practicing their take offs and landings. It was also where the air group commander introduced his pilots to their first catapult take offs, which involved a sudden acceleration from zero to ninety knots in about two seconds. The advantage of the new launch system was that it provided the extra air speed and lift the planes so desperately needed for successful take offs. But the disadvantage was that the catapults were very time consuming and complex to use. Therefore, for maximum safety it was still better to use the original “deck run’ to launch their planes if at all possible.
With this part of the training completed the ship began steaming back to its Boston port for more repairs on the 22nd of the month. When they got within range of the base the air group commander launched his fighter aircraft with orders to land at the Quonset Point naval air station. There the VF-14 squadron was presented with thirty-six brand new shiny “Hellcats” for their upcoming tour of duty in the Pacific.
With its repairs and adjustments completed the Wasp sailed out of Boston for the final time on March 15th and steamed south for the Caribbean and this time it was for real. All during the voyage the pilots continued their air operation exercises just to keep their skills sharp for the upcoming ordeal ahead. On the 20th, they arrived at the Panama Canal and after docking at Colon the captain let as many of his sailors and pilots as he could have liberty ashore. The next day the ship began its transition through the canal, but the vessel was so large that its flight deck stuck out over the side of the canal walls. At one point they even had to remove some attachments off the side of the ship to keep them from being scraped off.
In no time at all they passed through the canal and reached the Pacific Ocean on the other end where they docked in the town of Panama City. Again, the men were given liberty but unlike Colon this new port had an “anything goes” reputation as long as you had enough money in your wallet. And fortunately, each of them had a full months pay or more bulging in their pockets just waiting to be spent. Every cab in the town was stuffed full of pilots and sailors from the ship as they cruised up and down the main street with men hanging out the window or standing on the running boards. The men went from club to club and street to street in their diligent and exhaustive search for wine, women and song. Some men went to the darker alleyways where the seediest prostitutes offered their seductive wares whereas some went to more upscale lounges and hotels where first class prostitutes gave their undivided attention to the brave young American warriors heading to war.
The ship pulled out of port the next morning with half its crew suffering from severe hangovers as they steamed northward for a six-day cruise to San Diego. Again, the young pilots continued taking off and landing both night and day as they honed their reflexes and navigation skills. They arrived in San Diego on March 27th but after only two days they were loaded up and sailing west heading into the far reaches of the Pacific. By now the balance of power in the war had definitely shifted to the Americans but there was still a lot of hard fighting left and the new carrier and its crew was badly needed for the upcoming offensives.
But before long every pilot was bored to tears on the long, monotonous voyage. Tom and his companions read everything in print, played cards or acey-deucey until they were broke and had gossiped and prognosticated about the war till, they were blue in the face. They continued with their flight operations but by this time there was more down time than flight time as the ship steamed at full speed for its combat destination. The ship finally arrived off Hawaii on April 4, 1944, where the Wasp launched her aircraft for a short flight to Ford Island and then another quick hop to NAS Barbers Point.
During most of their time at Barbers Point the Wasp was kept busy cruising offshore where they continued to perform flight operations, including night flying and landings, predawn take offs, and large group formations, all of which they would be doing for real in the very near future. Tragically, during one group exercise one of their fighters collided with a dive bomber and both pilots were killed in the crash. The dive bomber pilot, Ensign Robert C. Wernitz, was one of Tom’s buddies in the squadron and his loss was a tremendous blow to the group as a whole. But flying was a dangerous occupation whether in practice or actual combat and this was already Air Group #14’s fourth loss of the year.
When the pilots were not training, they would all pile into a truck and go body surfing down on the beach or just lay around in the sand relaxing while they still had the chance. Tom and many of his buddies also went down to the harbor to look at the destruction that still remained from the Japanese sneak attack that destroyed so many of America's battleships. But on April 30th, the time for relaxation was over and the pilots were ordered to fly their planes out to the Wasp for embarkation. After the planes were loaded aboard, the ship headed west on May 3rd for the Marshall Islands in the company of the large carrier Essex and the light carrier San Jacinto plus the cruisers San Diego and Reno. Two days later, while making practice attacks on their own flotilla, one of the fighters from the Wasp started spouting black smoke from his engine just before he plummeted into the sea about thirty miles from the fleet. His buddies circled the area as long as possible trying to find their lost comrade but were never able to locate him. Based on their information the task force commander refused to send any of his ships back to look for the downed pilot much to the anger and heartbreak of his fellow pilots. But war was war and the fate of the fleet mattered more than that of just one pilot.
On May 8th, the task force dropped anchor in the Majuro Lagoon among a huge group of destroyers, cruisers, carriers, and battleships. The lagoon was created by Majuro Atoll located within the Marshall Island group, which was composed of over sixty islands. Majuro itself was only four-square miles of white beaches and swaying palm trees but its lagoon was 114 square miles. Majuro also lay equidistant between Hawaii and their next target in the Marianas making it the ideal anchorage for the huge American fleet.
The mission of this mighty armada was to carry out bombing operations against Wake and Marcus Island, not only to neutralize them but also for their young pilots to gain experience in these types of operations. Taking part in the mission were the new large carriers Wasp and Essex, the new light carrier San Jacinto and the cruisers Boston, Baltimore, Canberra, San Diego, and Reno plus fifteen destroyers.
At dawn on May 19th, planes from the three carriers took off into the dark sky of morning and struck Marcus Island with a vengeance. The Wasp itself launched eight planes from VF-14, eight from VB-14, and eight from VT-14, which meant eight fighters, eight dive bombers, and eight torpedo planes. Soon afterwards the boys of Air Group #14 had acquired their first taste of actual combat when they shot down one Japanese "Betty" bomber that was snooping around the fringe of the fleet. As each group of planes approached the island, they began to experience heavy AA fire during each of their several attacks. Tom and the other bomber pilots from his squadron began their dive at an altitude of 10,000 feet with each of them carrying a two thousand pound “general purpose” bomb. Each pilot released their bomb at 3,500 feet directly above the enemy airstrip or any other suitable target they could find. The next morning, they launched a second attack on Marcus Island, this time flying in from the north. They blew up everything in sight as they flew all over the island searching for anything of military value to strike. During the attack the Americans lost three planes and two pilots, an unfortunate but necessary price to pay for experience. On May 21, the entire task force pulled out and headed for the former American base at Wake Island.
The island of Wake had become a US possession in 1899 but was overwhelmed by Japanese forces and forced to surrender on December 23, 1941. Now two days after the attack on Marcus Island the Americans were back to extract revenge upon the Nipponese invaders. That revenge came in the form of Tom and his fellow squadron pilots who took off early on the morning of May 22nd and made five strikes on Wake with 500 and 1,000-pound bombs. Each of the planes from VB-14 dove from an altitude of 14,000 feet for the first two attacks then returned at a lower level to strafe anything and everything with their .50 caliber wing mounted machine guns for the last three assaults.
There were no losses from the Wasp during the attack, but the Essex lost one fighter over the target plus a fighter and a dive bomber that went down on their return to the ship. Fortunately, these last two pilots were picked up and brought back safely to their ship. With its mission accomplished the group returned to Majuro Lagoon on May 26th where they joined the gigantic Task Force #58, gathering for the Mariana invasion. Every day more and more ships joined those already anchored in the lagoon where their crews were able to rest and relax for the upcoming ordeal.
On June 6th, Task Force 58, containing 111 warships, sailed out of the lagoon in single file through a narrow opening in the coral ring that surrounded the atoll. There were so many ships that it took them seven hours to finally get out of the lagoon. While en route the captain of the Wasp played the radio broadcast over his loudspeakers about the famous landing on the beaches of Normandy that would forever be known as D-Day. While their Army counterparts were fighting and dying halfway around the world the men of the Wasp were up at dawn every day preparing themselves and their aircraft for their own upcoming ordeal while each evening at sundown the entire flotilla went to General Quarters. As a safety precaution at night, they ran with no lights and every fifteen minutes they would suddenly change course in case there were any enemy submarines in the area. The Wasp itself was located in the middle of the huge fleet surrounded by their battleships, which were in turn surrounded by a ring of cruisers, who were then surrounded by their destroyers that were racing around them like a pack of wolves.
The number one mission of this mighty task force was to protect and support the Marine landings on Saipan while at the same time placing themselves in a position between the landing and the expected approach of the Japanese Fleet. Should the enemy choose to come out of hiding and make an attempt to interfere with the landing then Task Force #58 would be in a position to strike them a crippling blow once and for all.
While all preparations were being made for the upcoming battle Tom Stanley and his fellow pilots of VB-14 of the USS Wasp gathered for squadron photos along with their air crewman on the 7th of June. Sadly, this would be Tom's last photograph of his young life before his heroic death on June 20th.
By July 1944, the Japanese fleet was assembled at Tawi Tawi, anchored off the northeastern tip of Borneo and under the command of Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa). The great admiral and his superiors had been waiting for the American fleet to become involved in some particular offensive somewhere in the Central Pacific. To this end they had created a counterstrike called the “A-Go Plan” to be launched once an American target presented itself. The Japanese hoped to have the advantage because of their numerous airbases scattered among the islands and all hopefully within range of the upcoming battle. The Japanese high command knew that their naval air and surface forces were now inferior to the Americans; therefore, they were depending on their land-based aircraft to balance out the disparity.
Finally, the US offensive they had been waiting for occurred on June 15, 1944, when the Marines landed on Saipan, an island so crucial to the enemy’s defensive line in the Marianas Island group. But the Japanese had been hoping for an American attack somewhere in the Carolines or the Palaus, south of the Marianas and therefore closer to their land-based aircraft positions. Unfortunately, all of their planes had already been distributed according to their original plan thus their forces would now be much weaker in the Marianas. And it was too late to redistribute their air forces, so the Japanese decided to make the best of it and converge on the Marianas in order to put the “A-Go Plan” in effect regardless.
Ozawa’s fleet would be comprised of five heavy carriers, four light carriers, five battleships, twelve heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, twenty-eight destroyers plus cargo ships, oilers and other miscellaneous vessels. He divided his fleet into three groups called: (1) the Van Force (2) the "A" force and (3) the “B” force. The Van Force consisted of three light carriers, four battleships, nine heavy cruisers, and eight destroyers. The carriers were the Chitose, Chiyoda, and the Zuiho representing a total of sixty-two Zero fighters called "Zekes," nine torpedo bombers called "Jill’s" and seventeen torpedo bombers called "Kate’s."
The “A” Force was comprised of three carriers, two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and nine destroyers. The three carriers were the Taiho, Zuikaku, and the Shokaku with a combined air complement of seventy-nine Zekes, seventy Judy bombers, seven Val dive bombers, and fifty-one Jill torpedo planes.
The final attack group was the “B” force made up of three carriers, one battleship, one heavy cruiser, and ten destroyers. The three carriers were the Junyo, Hiyo, and the Ryuho with a naval air force of eighty-one Zekes, twenty-seven Judy’s, nine Val’s, and eighteen Jill’s.
To keep these attack ships fueled and supplied Ozawa provided a group of “supply” vessels divided up into the 1st and 2nd Supply Force, together with a fleet of twenty-four submarines patrolling in front of the entire armada. This Imperial Fleet represented the largest Japanese striking force of the entire war. However, at this point of the war most of their pilots and aircrews were inexperienced and so poorly trained. The majority of their more veteran crews had already been killed during the previous two years of fighting with the Americans who were now able to flood the Pacific with a huge force of experienced, aggressive pilots, all bent on revenge against their hated enemy. To make matters worse for the Japanese, the US was also able to produce faster and more heavily armored aircraft in much greater and inexhaustible numbers than their enemy ever imagined. Again, Yamamoto’s words following Pearl Harbor came back to haunt them, “All we have done is awaken a sleeping giant", and that giant wanted their revenge in blood!
As the great Japanese fleet began to assemble another Pensacolian stepped forth to make a tremendous contribution in helping bring the enemy to their final destruction. William “Bill” V. Diamond son of Hubert A. and Amelia Diamond of 400 7th Street, was a 1st Class Radioman serving aboard the submarine USS Harder where he drew an extra fifty percent hazardous duty pay. Hubert and Amelia were from Alabama and had moved to Pensacola to seek better employment. By 1920, Hubert was a carpenter working at the shipyard to provide a living for his young family who would soon add two more sons to his household. William’s two brothers were now already in uniform serving with Charles Douglas, Pensacola High School Class of 1941, with the Army Air Corps and Robert Franklin, Class of 1942, in the US Navy.
As the story goes it so happened that the Harder sailed out of Fremantle, Australia on May 26th and arrived in the Tawi Tawi area to begin its fifth patrol of the war. However, their new area was located in one of the most obscure places in the world. It contained the southernmost harbor in the Philippine Island chain but also happened to be located close to nearby oil fields, which produced Tarakan crude oil. This particular type of crude was actually capable of being used raw without any type of refining. However, this type of oil was also highly volatile, an undesirable characteristic during a naval battle and one that would cost the Japanese two of their very limited aircraft carriers.
There in the Sibutu Passage, between Tawi Tawi and North Borneo the Harder discovered a convoy of three enemy tankers and two destroyers. Built and trained to attack, the Harder chased after the small flotilla on the surface but because of the bright moon she drew the unwanted attention of one of their escorts. When discovered, the Harder immediately submerged and turned her stern toward the charging destroyer. When the enemy ship came within range she fired three torpedoes, two of which struck the Minatsuki and sank her immediately in one massive explosion.
Early the next morning the Harder was sighted by an enemy patrol plane, which in turn brought out another Japanese destroyer. As the Hayanami bore down on the submarine the submerged vessel again fired three torpedoes at close range striking the destroyer amidships sending her to the bottom in another fiery blast. On the evening of June 8th, the Harder was again sighted by two enemy destroyers patrolling in the Sibutu Passage, just a few miles from where the huge Japanese fleet lay anchored at Tawi Tawi. She immediately submerged and fired four torpedoes at two of the oncoming Japanese ships blowing both the Tanikaze and its companion out of the water. After the inevitable depth charging that followed the submarine set its course for a point just south of Tawi Tawi in order to reconnoiter the enemy fleet at anchor. It was here on the afternoon of June 10th that the Harder sighted a large Japanese task force, including three battleships, two of which was the mighty Yamato and Mushasi, and four cruisers together with a screen of destroyers. Unfortunately, an overhead plane spotted the submarine at periscope depth and one of their escorts promptly steamed toward her last reported position. Rather than running away the Harder once again became the aggressor. At a range of 1500 yards she fired three torpedoes in what was known as a "down the throat", shot then dove deep to escape the onrushing destroyer. Within a minute two torpedoes blasted the ship with a tremendous force just as the Harder was passing under her at a depth of only eighty feet. The deafening explosions of the dying vessel shook the submarine far worse than any depth charge ever could. But for the next two hours she had to endure a tremendous bombardment from an infuriated enemy above. The next day the Harder reconnoitered the Tawi Tawi anchorage where they sighted additional enemy cruisers and destroyers joining Ozawa’s fleet. At 1600 hours she headed for the open sea where Bill Diamond transmitted their observations to Admiral Spruance who was waiting desperately for any information he could get as to the enemy fleet’s strength, position, or movements. As a result of their ferocious attacks Diamond and the crew of the Harder not only depleted the enemy's ever dwindling supply of enemy destroyers but also made the Japanese admirals think that Tawi Tawi was surrounded by a huge fleet of American submarines.
As a result, Admiral Ozawa’s Mobile Fleet was forced to depart Tawi Tawi a day ahead of schedule. Their premature departure upset the entire Japanese battle plan and forced Ozawa to delay his arrival in the Philippine Sea, thus contributing to the stunning defeat they suffered in the ensuing battle and all because of Diamond and the crew of the Harder!
In the meantime, Ozawa ordered his flotilla out of Tawi Tawi on June 13th with the sole purpose of attacking and destroying the American invasion force at Saipan. However, from the time he left port he was under constant surveillance by American long range patrol planes and submarines. He refueled his ships in the Philippines then passed through San Bernardino Strait on June 15, 1944. He was sighted shortly afterwards by a submarine and his speed and course made it apparent that he was heading towards Saipan where the Americans knew a major sea battle was imminent somewhere west of the Marianas in the Philippine Sea,
For weeks American intelligence units had suspected that if such a battle took place, Ozawa would most likely conduct what was known as a “shuttle bombing” operation. This meant that he would launch his strikes from his carriers, which he would try to keep out of range of American aircraft, and then have his planes land on their own airfields at Guam, Saipan, or Rota before refueling and rearming for another attack on the long flight back to their own ships. It was a great plan had the Americans not outguessed Ozawa and taken steps to prevent it.
After the huge American victory at Midway in 1942, Admiral Raymond Ames Spruance was criticized for not having pursued the Japanese Fleet more aggressively. Instead, he had chosen to break off his attack rather than risk his two remaining carriers to a possible counterattack. Now, two years later he faced a similar situation in the Philippine Sea. Spruance was now the Commander of the Central Pacific Force, which would later become the US 5th Fleet, while Admiral Marc Andrew “Pete” Mitscher served under him as his commander of his Fast Carrier Task Force.
But now the main concern of both Spruance and his commander in chief Admiral Nimitz was to provide support for the large Marine force already ashore on Saipan plus those groups scheduled to invade Guam and Tinian once Saipan had been subdued. Their fear was that if the American fleet sailed west to attack Ozawa, then a secondary enemy force might slip into the void and destroy the defenseless landing force and their support ships lying just offshore of Saipan. Therefore, to accomplish both objectives at the same time Spruance moved his troop transports, one of which contained Pensacola High Classmate (Class of 1943) Cary Carlson Ward, and his supply ships to a position well east of the island to keep them out of harm's way. Then he tethered Task Force 58 to a westward defensive position that was always in between Saipan and the oncoming enemy fleet of carriers.
By June 17th, the Navy’s patrol planes were still tracking the Japanese fleet but before long all contact with the enemy ships was lost. Spruance flooded the area with every available American patrol plane and submarine he could lay his hands on but all to no avail. Ozawa had virtually disappeared.
But until Ozawa could be located, Tom Stanley and the boys on the Wasp had nothing to do but hurry up and wait. On the 18th they held church services in memory of the two pilots they had lost over Marcus Island leaving them all in a somber mood. These were men they had trained with, bunked with, ate with, partied with and now they were gone forever. They all knew that death was a part of war, but it was personal when it struck so close to home. Many of them kept thinking that one day in the near future they could be the victims of these same memorial services and sadly many of them were right.
While the burial services were being conducted Admiral Mitscher was facing one logistical problem after another in an attempt to bring the enemy fleet to battle. His destroyers were now critically low on fuel to the point that they only had a few days of high-speed patrol and pursuit left. The larger ships had ample reserves but without their destroyer screen they would be vulnerable to enemy submarines or a night attack by enemy surface ships. Fuel tankers were on their way to the fleet but were still hundreds of miles away. And since the destroyers were conducting high speed searches, they were unable to take the opportunity to take on fuel from the larger ships. Since it was assumed that the Japanese were still far to the west, Task Force 58 likewise was forced to maintain flank speed just to bring them within range of its scout planes. Once located, the task force would then have to keep the Japanese within range in order to give their strike planes a chance to hit them while at the same time American surface ships would need to close the distance to finish off any cripples with gunfire.
Regardless of Spruance’s logistical problems Ozawa still had to be found in order to be destroyed. So, on June 18th at 0532 hours, the first American scouts took off from their home bases, formed into scouting teams of one fighter for every bomber, and all headed west. At 0600, their Japanese counterparts launched their own fighters and floatplanes trying to find the Americans to the east. Two hours later, the first fighting of the pending battle ensued as both groups of scouts met each other in the air. But at 1514, a Japanese scout found the US fleet first and reported their position back to Ozawa. More sightings were reported at 1600 but given the time of day Ozawa made the decision not to launch a strike. He knew his inexperienced airmen could never make a strike at dusk then make a subsequent night landing in the middle of the black ocean. So, to play it safe he decided to wait till dawn to go after Spruance and his carriers.
Throughout the night the scouts on both sides filled the skies in an effort to keep an eye on each other. The US flying boats and land based aircraft were operating from such places as Manus in the Admiralties and from tenders off Saipan while similarly, the Japanese scouts were flying from Palau, Truk, and other such bases in the area. But the first U.S. sighting of the Japanese main battle group came from a PB4Y Liberator out of Manus, operating under the command of Douglas MacArthur’s Southwest Pacific forces. The heavy bomber dispatched a contact report that unfortunately never reached Spruance. Though the radio dispatch was picked up by numerous vessels located further out, these ships never bothered to relay the information to Spruance or Mitscher. Therefore, as late as 0218 hours, the US carriers were still launching their scouts trying to find the enemy’s position, which sadly had already been determined. It became evident by the morning of June 19th that unless the American scout planes found the Japanese fleet by that afternoon then lack of fuel would cost America its greatest chance for a victory since Midway.
Even though no one could find Ozawa and his ships, Admiral Spruance knew he was probably going to be attacked sometime that day. Therefore, he ordered Mitscher to clear his carrier decks of all bombers and torpedo planes by sending them to orbit over Saipan. He wanted nothing but his fighters on the carrier’s flight decks with each one armed and fueled to repel the attack he knew was coming. He then placed each of his four carrier groups twelve miles apart while pulling the battleships out of each group and forming a fifth group fifteen miles further to the west. This last move was just in case Ozawa tried to bring his huge surface ships within range of the American carrier groups. Spruance also decided to assign Task Force 58.4 the duty of protecting Saipan while at the same time continuing to neutralize Guam and Rota. An additional advantage to this move was that this particular group commander happened to be Spruance’s least aggressive admiral, William Keene Harrill. Therefore, he had his most capable and aggressive commanders in the position to inflict the greatest amount of damage on his enemy. After seeing to the disposition of their fleet Spruance and Mitscher sat back and waited for Ozawa to make his move. And unfortunately for Ozawa his move would be against America’s first-string defense comprised of the following:
Task Force 58 Aircraft Carriers
(CV=large carriers and CVL=smaller carriers)
Task Group 58.1
USS Hornet (CV 12)
USS Yorktown (CV 10)
USS Belleau Wood (CVL 24)
USS Bataan (CVL 29)
Task Group 58.2
USS Bunker Hill (CV 17)
USS Wasp (CV 18)
USS Monterey (CVL 26)
USS Cabot (CVL 28)
Task Group 58.3
USS Enterprise (CV 6)
USS Lexington (CV 16)
USS San Jacinto (CVL 30)
USS Princeton (CVL 23)
Task Group 58.4
USS Essex (CV 9)
USS Langley (CVL 27)
USS Cowpens (CVL 25)
The smaller American carriers, designated as CVL’s, were more plentiful and easier to produce than their larger sisters. They contained approximately 1,600 men with a compliment of thirty-three aircraft and a cruising range of ten thousand miles. The US shipyards could produce them much faster than the larger ones so that any battle losses were replaced quicker than the enemy could inflict the damage. Once again, the sneak attack at Pearl Harbor had indeed “awakened a sleeping giant” as American industrialism swung into its full and awesome power.
The original Japanese battle plan called for about five hundred aircraft to be on hand from other land bases in the Marianas. But Spruance had sent aircraft from his American carrier forces to inflict heavy damage on these bases between June 11th and June 18, 1944. This left Ozama with only about fifty planes at his disposal and most of these were based solely on Guam. This meant that he was not going to have the air superiority he had hoped and planned for.
One of the pilots flying cover over the Mariana Islands that day was Lt. James “Red” Alexander Shirley. Between the 11th and 18th of June he carried out eight missions, sometimes bombing, sometimes strafing, and sometimes slugging it out with Japanese fighters over Guam, Saipan, or Rota. By the 19th the Japanese had lost eighteen aircraft in the air plus over sixty destroyed on the ground.
This ferocious pilot entered the US Navy in 1942 and was sent to NAS Pensacola where he earned his wings that same year. However, because of his excellent flying skills he was retained at the base as a flight instructor. But while stationed on the Gulf Coast he met and married Virginia Dell Bledsoe, Pensacola High School Class of 1937, the daughter of Will P. and Bessie D. Bledsoe. Her father was employed as a joiner at the Naval Air Station in 1930 where he supported his wife and eight children.
Shirley was content with his new life, but it was not long before he began to feel guilty about remaining safe and sound in the states while others were fighting and dying in the South Pacific. So, he began a one-man campaign with the Navy Department trying to obtain a transfer to a combat unit. Finally, he won his argument, and the coveted orders were received whereby Shirley reported for duty aboard the USS Princeton in 1943. And it was off the flight deck of this proud carrier that Shirley launched on June 18th heading for the Guam area in an attempt to deprive the enemy of any refuge in the Mariana’s.
His particular air group was one of the most aggressive and successful in the entire fleet. In fact, the enemy knew its pilots from the distinctive nose art they sported on their aircraft. They had a shark’s mouth painted on the nose of their fighters complete with blood dripping from their teeth, a sight the Japanese soon learned to fear.
On June 18th, Shirley was flying his Hellcat fighter over Guam when his wingman detected incoming enemy aircraft. The two fighters from the Princeton dove out of the clouds where Shirley shot down two Japanese in the ensuing dogfight. His Hellcat sported six .50 caliber machine guns firing 1,800 rounds per minute, which ripped the terrified enemy pilots to shreds.
Another fighter in the skies that day from the Princeton was Lt. Henry Flournoy Brotherton. He was born on November 23, 1916, in Merit, TX, the fourth child of Holman Atlee and Beauna Ann Shelton Brotherton. Following Pearl Harbor, he enlisted in the US Navy as an aviator and his first tour of duty was the training base in Pensacola. Upon receiving his wings, he remained at the station as an instructor before being sent overseas aboard the USS Princeton with Air Group #27. However, before shipping out Henry had the opportunity to meet and marry a young Pensacola girl by the name of Margaret Elizabeth Garmany. She was born in Newburgh, New York on August 4, 1924, the daughter of William P. and Margaret E. Betts Garmany. Her family had moved to 915 North Spring Street in Pensacola where they were living when she married Hank on March 20, 1943. She bore him a daughter on August 13, 1944, the first of their three children. After the war Henry went to college at Oklahoma State University where he became a varsity football player. He graduated in 1948 and taught school in both Dalhart and Gruver, Texas.
The sun rose out of the east on June 19th casting its rays on a bright and gorgeous day. The temperature was in the low 80’s causing vapor trails to steam off of the wing tips of the high-flying aircraft. The first assault came at 0550 hours when a Japanese Zero on a scouting mission out of Guam located and attacked a destroyer on picket duty just before he was shot down. The next action took place over Guam when Hellcats from the Belleau Wood, encountered Japanese aircraft taking off from Orote Field. At 0807 more Japanese aircraft were detected by radar, all heading towards Guam. These particular planes were part of the reinforcements flying in from other Japanese held islands trying to refuel before the upcoming battle. American fighters were sent out to intercept them, resulting in a continuous fight over and around Guam that lasted nearly an hour. During these air operations over thirty-five Japanese aircraft were shot down, but others were still taking off from Orote when the Hellcats received a "Hey Rube!” signal. The signal came from the old circus call that meant “Everyone come help!” It was sent out because Task Force #58 had detected large numbers of unidentified aircraft approaching from the west and the commander was calling his 450 planes back to his carriers to protect them.
However, at this point the luck of the Japanese began to turn sour. A few days before the battle the commander of the American Submarine Force had positioned four of his boats in a line to intercept the Japanese fleet. At 0816 the submarine USS Albacore sighted Ozawa's carriers and began an attack on the Taiho, which just happened to be Ozawa's flagship. As the Albacore was about to fire a spread of six torpedoes her fire-control guidance system suddenly failed forcing them to aim the torpedoes visually. Their target was steaming at twenty-seven knots at the time and had just launched forty-two aircraft, which was her component of the second-strike wave against Task Force 58. Unfortunately, four of Albacore's torpedoes were off target from the onset. To make matters worse one of the Taiho's pilots, who had just recently launched off the flight deck, sighted one of the remaining two torpedoes heading straight for his ship and heroically crashed his aircraft into it. Nonetheless, the remaining torpedo struck the carrier on her starboard side near her aviation fuel tanks causing only slight damage or so they thought at the time. However, the damage was much more severe than they first realized resulting in dire consequences later on in the day.
While the Albacore was attacking the Taiho, the Japanese strike waves had already been launched at maximum range just as the American experts had predicted. The enemy pilots flew into the rising sun never knowing that the Americans had once again outguessed them and were waiting hungrily for their arrival. But the Americans did not know where the enemy carriers were and had only a general idea of the direction these planes would be coming from or when they would arrive.
But there was a second submarine that knew exactly where the enemy fleet was and that was the USS Cavalla who had spotted another enemy carrier on the horizon. This time it was the Shokaku, the remaining participant of the dastardly attack on Pearl Harbor and a survivor of three previous carrier battles. The big flattop was in the process of launching and landing its planes, the same planes that comprised the fourth strike wave against Mitscher. Strangely, the whole Japanese fleet seemed totally oblivious to the threat of US submarines. But the Cavalla’s periscope pierced the surface of the Philippine Sea at exactly 1152 and quickly closed with the carrier without being detected by the sleek destroyers racing around the fleet. The Cavalla fired six torpedoes at the gigantic Shokaku then dove deep before they could be detected and attacked. Three of their six torpedoes slammed into the carrier, which immediately burst into flames. Just like the Taiho, its fuel tanks, filled with Tarakan crude oil, were ruptured and the deadly fumes spread throughout the ship. At 1500, a powerful explosion finally resounded throughout the ship, dooming the carrier to death at the bottom of the sea along with many of her crew.
Ironically, just thirty minutes later a violent explosion erupted in the Taiho's hangar deck causing her armored flight deck to buckle while fires spread quickly out of control. At 1828 hours, the Taiho went under after another tremendous detonation, heeling over on her side and beginning her long voyage to the bottom. The original torpedo from the Albacore had finally done its job after vapors from the ruptured fuel tanks began to spread below decks and were eventually ignited. Both submarines were subjected to heavy depth-charge attacks, but they were able to escape without any serious damage. During the battle, the Cavalla alone received over one hundred depth charges with fifty-six exploding close by.
Unfortunately, the two doomed enemy carriers had already launched their aircraft around 1000 hours, and it was not long before large groups of incoming planes began to appear on the American radars at ranges of more than 150 miles to the west. Spruance now had the general location that he needed to close with his enemy and destroy him. First, he needed to beat back Ozawa’s incoming aerial attack then launch his own against the enemy carriers and sink them once and for all.
Tom’s Part in the Battle
Early on the morning of June 19, 1944, Tom and the crew of the Wasp went to “General Quarters”, along with every other ship in the fleet. This alarm began the long wait that was so characteristic of these types of operations in the Pacific. They knew the Japanese fleet had finally come out of hiding but didn’t know where it was. No one had seen it for nearly two years, but everyone knew that the Japanese could not tolerate the loss of Saipan. All of them had also noticed that the Japanese search planes had been increasing every day all around the carrier groups indicating that Ozawa wanted the location of the American fleet as much as Mitscher wanted theirs. Even though they were all shot down the enemy pilots were still able to radio their information to their own ships before they died. But later on, the enemy planes began arriving in ever increasing numbers from all different directions. At that point the American task force was located several hundred miles west of Saipan and was steaming back and forth in a north-south pattern waiting to intercept the enemy fleet.
The American pilots had been dressed since dawn and were waiting anxiously in their ready rooms. The ready room was located just beneath the flight deck and was considered the operational and social center for each squadron. Card games, bull sessions, pinup girls and teletype messages adorned the bulkheads for all to see. The ambience of the ready room was described as somewhere between a men’s locker room and a fraternity house. One level above them their individual planes were fueled and fully armed and just waiting on deck for word to take off. But the majority of the pilots on the Wasp had never seen an enemy plane much less confronted one in actual combat. Finally, at 10:30 AM the order came over the loudspeakers, “Pilots man your planes!” The carrier’s air group commander immediately launched his fourteen Hellcat fighters into the clear, beautiful morning, the beginning of what would become known in history as the great “Mariana Turkey Shoot.”
Throughout the entire fleet all of the big carriers were turning into the wind and launching every available fighter they had. The wind was blowing at less than twelve knots, so the carriers had to accelerate to twenty knots to give the pilots their thirty knots of lift needed to launch. Mitscher had already reinforced his combat air patrol flying above his fleet with massive numbers of fighters, while others just taking off were sent out to meet the incoming threat as far away from the Task Force as possible. At 1036 planes from the Essex were the first to locate and engage the enemy at a distance of fifty-five miles away from the fleet. The Essex boys were quickly joined by others from the Bunker Hill, Cowpens, and the Princeton. However, it was here that the inexperience of the Japanese flight leaders began to emerge. Within sixty miles of their target the enemy planes began flying in a circle for several minutes while they were given their final orders. This maneuver gave the American fighter’s time to intercept them far from their own ships. It also gave the Hellcats the advantage of attacking from an optimum position above. This pattern was repeated all day long, and many of the Japanese pilots for some unknown reason indulged in aimless aerobatics before engaging. This inexperience and lack of training caused each of their four massive strikes to be cut to pieces by the whirling American fighters long before the Japanese had a chance to do any serious damage to the fleet. Few of the attackers ever made it past this wall of Hellcats but those that did now faced another canopy of fighters waiting for them above the US fleet.
Some of the initial survivors fell on the destroyers Yarnall and Stockham, which were operating as pickets out in front of the fleet but were unable to damage either of them. Three or four bombers broke through to the battleships, and one was able to make a direct hit on the South Dakota causing numerous casualties but failed to permanently disable her. Not one aircraft of Ozawa's first wave ever got through to the valuable American carriers.
At 1107 radar detected another and much larger enemy attack on the way. This second wave consisted of 109 aircraft that was again met by American fighters sixty miles out from the USS Lexington. Twelve Hellcats again from the Essex made the first interception, led by none other than Commander David McCampbell, the highest scoring Navy ace of the war. He and his fellow Hellcat fighters shot down approximately seventy aircraft and the survivors that broke through the combat air patrol were quickly destroyed or driven off by gunfire from the battleships, cruisers, and destroyers. Nonetheless, a handful of the enemy bombers succeeded in attacking some of the American carriers. Three torpedo-planes attacked the Princeton but were all shot down in the process. In all ninety-seven of Ozawa's second wave failed to return.
Ironically, alongside McCampbell was his brother-inlaw, a Hollywood actor Wayne Morris who never made it to the top billings. Morris was considered by the Navy to be too big to fit into the cockpit of its fighters. After repeatedly being turned down as a fighter pilot, he visited his brother-inlaw, Cdr. David McCampbell and beseeched him to assist him. His brother-in-law was the legendary fighter pilot who had shot down 34 enemy aircraft becoming the Navy's all-time leading ace. With such an endorsement how could Morris lose. Cdr. McCampbell interceded, and Morris was accepted. He flew with the VF-15 squadron aboard the USS Essex and together they became known as the infamous "McCampbell Heroes." Morris was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross in 1944 for destroying seven Japanese planes, six on the ground and one in the air. He flew 57 missions in an F6F Hellcat and helped sink five enemy ships during the war. Several times his plane was so full of bullet holes that after landing they just pushed his plane off the side of the carrier rather than try to repair it. Morris suffered a massive heart attack while he was visiting aboard the aircraft carrier USS Bon Homme Richard. Morris was pronounced dead at the age of 45 years old upon arrival at the Oakland Naval Hospital in Oakland, California. He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery at the rank of Lt. Commander.
In the meantime, the third raid, consisting of forty-seven aircraft, came in from the north. However, at 1300 hours it was intercepted by forty American fighters some fifty miles out from the task force. Seven Japanese planes were shot down although a few broke through and made ineffective attacks on the fleet. Many others failed to press home their attacks, enabling them to suffer fewer losses so that forty of the enemy aircraft hightailed it out of there and were able to return to their carriers.
After this third assault there was a brief lull in the battle and both gunners and pilots took the time to refuel or grab a smoke break. The fourth and final assault wave was launched from the Japanese carriers between 1100 and 1130. These planes were given the wrong location resulting in some of them flying aimlessly around looking for American targets or just returning to their ships. One group failed to find anything, so they headed for the Japanese island of Rota to refuel. But on the way they sighted a group of carriers and immediately bore in for the attack. Nine dive bombers eluded the American fighters and attacked the Wasp and the Bunker Hill but failed to make any direct hits on the carriers with all but one shot down. One bomb from a “Betty” however struck alongside the Wasp killing 23-year-old Gunners Mate Alfred B. Bridges from the massive concussion alone. Three more Tony’s attacking the Wasp were shot down by the Cabot cruising not far away. A separate group of eighteen aircraft from the Japanese carrier Zuikaku were jumped and quickly lost half its number to American fighters.
The largest group of strike planes in the fourth raid was forty-nine aircraft that headed for Guam after they failed to locate any US ships. They were picked up on American radar and the last Combat Air Patrol of the day, made up of twelve Hellcats from the Cowpens, was sent to intercept them. The US fighters came upon the Japanese planes just as they were circling Orote Field ready to land. As the fighters went in for the attack, they were joined by seven Hellcats from the Essex, again led by the ace McCampbell plus eight more from the Hornet. These twenty-seven fighters shot down thirty of the forty-nine Japanese planes, then turned their attention to the remaining nineteen survivors. The hapless enemy pilots were just landing when their planes were shot to pieces by the strafing hellions from above receiving heavy and irreparable damage.
None of the remaining enemy planes in the area had enough fuel to return to their own carriers so their choice was to either face the American fights over Guam, Saipan, or Rota or ditch into the ocean. In the long run an enemy pilot who crashed into the sea was as good as having been shot down and killed. One group stationed over Guam was the Hellcat fighters from the Cabot who shot down seventy enemy planes that day diving on them from above as they entered their landing pattern with their wheels locked down. But as the day came to an end both sides withdrew to count their losses. Many of the American ships, such as the carrier Langley, never even fired their antiaircraft batteries during the entire battle. Only twenty-nine American planes were lost during the day’s fighting of which six of those were from operational causes and not from actual combat. None of the US carriers were hit and few of their surface ships were damaged to any great degree. However, on the Japanese side there was a loss of over four hundred planes as well as the loss of two precious carriers.
With the enemy’s naval air force finally destroyed their fleet withdrew in an attempt to avoid the American wrath they knew was sure to come. However, Mitscher knew that repulsing an aerial attack was one thing but attacking and destroying the ships that launched those attacks was the real victory. During the entire night of the 19th and the early morning hours of the 20th the American fleet sailed at full speed westward to intercept Ozawa and finish him off once and for all. Preceded by his battleships, Mitscher gave chase with ninety of his warships in pursuit of his opponent’s forty-eight vessels plus their vital oilers. To the American disadvantage the weather began to turn bad as their long-range search planes and submarines again tried to locate the enemy fleet. Hour after hour they searched the broad ocean while their attack planes were parked on deck fully fueled, armed, and ready to go. The plans for Tom’s specific squadron called for twelve bombers, twelve fighters, and twelve torpedo planes but as far as the fleet was concerned, eight of the remaining twelve carriers would be launching a total of 216 planes whenever Ozawa was located.
Amongst the Japanese fleet there was great confusion caused by the fact that Ozawa was attempting to control his forces from a destroyer where he and his staff had transferred when his flagship was sunk by the Albacore. The destroyer's communications system was too inadequate for her to act as the Admiral’s flagship; therefore at 1300 Ozawa transferred his command to the large carrier Zuikaku. Following the loss of the Shokaku, the Japanese carrier Zuikaku was now the only survivor of the six original carriers that attacked Pearl Harbor. After his transfer, Ozawa learned of the horrendous massacre of his air groups the day before. In fact, he was told in hushed tones that his force had only one hundred surviving aircraft that were even still operational. Nonetheless, he was determined to continue the battle, believing erroneously that he still had considerable numbers of aircraft available on Rota and Guam. With this in mind Ozawa intended to launch further strikes against the American fleet at dawn on the 21st of June.
But first he had to survive the long hours of June 20th and if Spruance and Mitscher could discover his whereabouts they were going to do everything within their power to keep that from happening. All day long the plane captains on every flight deck in the fleet were starting up the engines on every aircraft to keep them good and warm. Every plane was fully loaded with armor piercing bombs and their fuel tanks were topped off every time the engines were shut down to ensure that every aircraft had a full load of fuel at takeoff.
At 1530, an Avenger from the Enterprise, flying at 700 feet above the wave tops, finally found the enemy fleet 275 miles west of Task Force 58. However, the pilot’s message was so garbled that Mitscher did not know what had been sighted or where. He nonetheless was determined to make an all-out strike as soon as more information came in, despite the fact that there were now only seventy-five minutes left before sunset. By 1605, further reports from the Avenger’s pilot gave the Task Force 58 commander the information he needed. As soon as it was received Admiral Mitscher made the decision to launch his first strike wave. At such a distance his planes would need auxiliary fuel tanks to be able to fly that far and return safely but none had been attached to the planes waiting on deck. And unfortunately, there was no time to remove some of the bombs on their wings and attach the auxiliary tanks in their place and still be able to hit the enemy fleet before dusk. But sometimes leadership is all about making tough decisions and this was one of the toughest Mitscher would ever make in his career. Therefore, the pilots were told to launch without the extra fuel regardless of the consequences. At 1600, the aircrews manned their planes, and at 1621 the carriers turned into the wind to launch the strike. Unbelievably, the launching of 226 aircraft was completed in the remarkably short time of only eleven minutes. In all, ninety-five Hellcat fighters, fifty-four torpedo planes, and seventy-seven dive bombers took off into the darkening sky to deliver their deadly payload. The flagship of this mighty air armada was none other than the USS Lexington (CV16) whose homeport would one day be Tom Stanley’s hometown of Pensacola, Florida. The mighty ship now rests quietly as a museum in Corpus Christi, Texas.
Once the last aircraft was launched the task force turned west toward Ozama and proceeded at full speed to reduce the distance between the carriers and the Japanese fleet in order to shorten the return trip for their pilots.
As Tom and every other pilot in the fleet waited for Mitscher’s order to launch they all began going through the same regimen in their briefing rooms. They all knew the enemy fleet had been spotted and were now just waiting for the order to attack. Knowing those orders would come at any moment they began buckling up their gear one piece at a time. Tom strapped on his pistol holster, backpack, life jacket, shook his canteen to check to see that it was full, cleaned his goggles, checked his pockets for his knife, and ensured that his good luck piece was still where he left it.
Air Group #14 aboard the Wasp received the launch order the same time as everyone else and as each one clamored out of their briefing room running for their planes. From that point on everything moved extremely fast with little thought by the pilots for what they would be facing once they took off. As each of the pilots in Tom’s squadron went out the door they were patted on the back and received a word of encouragement by their comrades who were lucky enough to be staying behind. If a second strike was ordered, then they too would follow Tom and the boys into the setting sun. Tom and his comrades never whined or grumbled as they each climbed up into their cockpits and did what had to be done. Soon one starter cartridge exploded then another, then more and more all along the line of parked planes as each engine coughed to life. Each plane’s engine racketed to full power with halos of pale vapor streaming from their propeller tips. The blast of air glued the deck crew’s dungarees to their bodies, and sent small debris blowing everywhere along the flight deck.
The air group as a whole applied full brakes to their aircraft as they gave their roaring engines full throttle and one by one launched into the sky at 4:25 PM. First the Hellcat fighters, then the Avenger torpedo planes and finally Tom and his Helldiver bombers. Each and every pilot knew they would probably never return to their carrier again with the amount of fuel they had on board. To make matters worse, immediately after taking off they received a new scouting report placing the enemy fleet sixty miles further west, which would cost the pilots an extra 120 miles worth of fuel. Based on this discouraging news Mitscher cancelled the second strike, unwilling to lose the extra planes and pilots. He decided to gamble entirely on his first attack wave to do the job or die trying. More bad news was received when they learned their planes would find rain squalls and huge cloud formations when they reached their target after their long flight of two hours.
As soon as Tom got aloft he “leaned out” his fuel mixture as far as he dared in order to stretch out his flight time as far as he could. Tom kept his cylinder head temperature below 232 degrees Celsius while pulling no more than thirty-four inches of manifold pressure. The fighters and torpedo planes were going to have a tight time of it, but Tom and his fellow dive bomber pilots had absolutely no room for error because of the nature of their engines. Because of this the Helldivers did not wait for the other aircraft as was normal but immediately after launching they set course for the Japanese carrier fleet. Tom and the dive bombers from VB-14 joined up in flight and leveled off at 15,000 feet after a slow climb from sea level. They did everything they could to conserve their precious fuel including flying in a loose formation rather than a tight one in order to keep their throttle changes to a minimum. Tom also evened out his fuel in his wing tanks by shifting it from one side to the other every fifteen minutes. This was to keep from having an uneven load in his dive if and when they found the Japanese fleet. He also had been warned that you wanted at least some fuel in each tank because a completely empty tank was considered more likely to explode because of its residual vapor.
From the Wasp alone there were a total of twelve dive-bombers (VB-14), twelve torpedo planes (VT-14), and twelve fighters (VF-14) with each group flying independent of those from the other carriers. Now that they were aloft the pilots settled into the routine of a long boring flight. It was now that each pilot on his own terms began to think of home, family, and what might or might not happen when they reached the enemy fleet. Anxiety prevailed but many of the greener pilots tried to imagine what it was going to be like. Would they perform well, would they die, would they see their families again? Prayers were quietly spoken, promises made, regrets remembered. Each one thought about things they should have said if they could only have had one more chance to say them. But their time had run out and their destiny with fate was now measured in only minutes.
Soon they were jerked out of their reverie when at 6:15 PM on June 20th the planes from the Wasp spotted an enemy group of six oil tankers, several large freighters, and six destroyers. The destroyers were waiting to take on fuel from the oilers when the American strike force appeared in the sky overhead. But they knew this was only the support ships following behind the main battle group, so they flew south for another forty miles searching for the elusive enemy carriers on the horizon. To make matters worse there was so much chatter on the radio from the other carrier groups that VB-14’s commander John Blitch could not get a chance to find out anything. Plus, with the cloud formations and rain squalls there was no way to locate the enemy carriers with the remaining time allotted to them, so Blitch decided to return and strike the support ships instead. The planes from the other carriers had already passed up the support fleet and headed straight for the main battle group. There at 1845 the main strike force found Ozawa’s carriers and began their descent into attack positions. There was another group of enemy carriers sixty miles further west, but these were never seen by the American strike force therefore never attacked. Blitch was later critiqued by other flight commanders for his decision to go after the oilers rather than stick with the original game plane and attack the carriers. One of the other strike leaders called Blitch on his radio and said, "Unknown Strike Leader from 41 Sniper. The carriers are dead ahead. What are you trying to do? Sink their merchant marine?" He later found out that their commander (Blitch) stated that his dive bombers were low on fuel but then who wasn’t that day. When Rear Admiral John Walter “Blackjack” Reeves, commanding officer of Task Group 58.3 heard about it he was infuriated. Fortunately for Blitch he was not under Reeves’ command, or he would have been relieved from duty immediately. However, hindsight is always more accurately analyzed especially from the comforts of your living room or board rooms.
Ironically, the hard charging commander of Task Group 58.3 was Rear Admiral John W. “Blackjack” Reeves Jr. who had a definite connection with Pensacola, Florida. Blackjack graduated from Annapolis in 1911 and did not enter naval aviation until 1936 at the age of 48- years old. He was the former captain of the USS Wasp and was described as a stern, steady, and dependable commander. Within his task force he had under his command the Lexington, Enterprise, Princeton, and San Jacinto making his flagship the Lexington along with Admiral Mitscher. His son, Lt. John W. Reeves III, followed in his father’s footsteps and attended the military academy where he graduated in 1941, just before the outbreak of the war. During his training as a naval aviator young John met and married a young woman by the name of Kathryn (Allen) Hendrix, a graduate of the Pensacola High School Class of 1941. The young couple was married on October 12, 1943, however, just seventeen days later Kathryn was notified that he had been killed in a plane crash in Melbourne, Florida.
In the meantime, the planes from the Wasp lined up in attack formation where Commander Blitch assigned three dive-bombers to each of the four oilers and four torpedo planes to the fifth. This way he kept four torpedo planes in reserve to strike against any possible stragglers that survived the first air strike. He kept his sixteen fighters high above for either flak suppression or to deal with any enemy Zekes that might show up unexpectedly. And sure enough the minute the bombers began their run the enemy fighters appeared coming in from the west. Hovering above the bombers and torpedo planes were the Hellcat fighters where Blitch had placed them just waiting for just such a scenario to unfold. Out of the sky they poured down on the enemy Zekes and immediately engaged them in a dogfight to the death. As the aerial fight was developing around them Tom and his fellow pilots began their dives on the enemy tankers through a barrage of intense antiaircraft fire. The American pilots had never heard of antiaircraft (AA) fire so thick as what they were now experiencing. Yet, the whole moment seemed to take on a surreal quality as they dove down through the most sensational colors they had ever seen. There were green, yellow, black, blue, white, pink, and purple air bursts filling the sky all at one time. There were moments that the overlapping array of colors terrified the pilots more than the noise of the surrounding flak explosions.
The noise, explosions, colors, and cloud formations all combined to create a scene out of Dante’s Inferno. As the attack progressed it appeared that coordination between the torpedo planes and the dive bombers broke down with both of them attacking the same Japanese ship at the same time. Of course, this also served to benefit the pilots because it confused the enemy gunners since the American planes were coming at them from every direction and altitude.
Through it all, Tom stayed alert on pure adrenaline as everything was swirling around him like a whirlwind. But to survive he had to keep his concentration on what he was trained to do; fly his plane, find the enemy, and bomb his target. It was plain and simple as long as he could stay focused on what had to be done.
The young Pensacolian could see far below him a mass of winking lights as the enemy’s antiaircraft guns opened up on his incoming squadron. He could see the Japanese ships churning out a huge wake as they went into emergency turns at flank speed trying to dodge the dive bombers plunging out of the skies. Bombs hurled from on high; some smashing into enemy superstructures in fiery explosions while the near misses sent up huge geysers of white-water hundreds of feet into the air.
When Tom’s turn to attack came, he picked out his target, a slow-moving enemy oiler belching black smoke from her boilers as her propellers were turning every revolution, they could to escape the death that Tom was about to release. As it turned out Tom had chosen the Genyo Maru which was an oiler located in the 2nd Supply Group although both groups were sailing in close proximity of one another. He lined himself up on the oiler sailing fifteen thousand feet below, pulled up his wing flaps, then eased the aircraft forward into his first dive on an actual enemy ship. His rear gunner, 2nd Class Albert T. Buckhop from Henry County, Ohio, was blasting away with his machine gun at some unknown target but Tom had to concentrate on one thing only …..his dive to his target.
First, he had to ensure his aircraft was perfectly balanced for a smooth dive. Too much or too little elevator trim would put excess pressure on his control stick. Also, his reflector sight had a small ball inside its housing, which either through rudder trim or finesse he had to keep centered on his target far below.
He began to pick up tremendous momentum as his angle became steeper and steeper, coming almost straight down as he turned left then right trying to confuse the enemy gunners trying to knock him out of the darkening sky. Tom was barely able to hold the enemy vessel in his scope as he plunged thousands of feet in a matter of seconds. He held his plane at a seventy-degree angle, which seemed almost vertical to Tom, and the sudden loss of altitude caused his eardrums to pop as his hands sweated profusely around his control stick. The muscles in his leg began to ache as he kept his pedal jammed hard to the floorboard of the cockpit in order to neutralize the planes tendency to yaw in these type situations. At the same time, he began to throttle back on his engine speed as the image of his target grew larger and larger inside his scope. In previous dives the lens of his scope had a tendency to fog up as his plane dropped from the higher, cooler altitudes to almost sea level but today there was no fog to hinder Tom’s view. To counteract the pain in his eardrums he kept trying to swallow to equalize the pressure, but his mouth was so dry that he didn’t have enough saliva to perform the task. But all of his physical ailments never really registered on his consciousness as he stayed focused on the oiler suddenly looming large in his bomb sights. Tom had selected his “point of impact”, which was where he wanted his bombs to land in order to do the most damage. For a carrier it would be the center of the flight deck but for an oiler anywhere other than the superstructure was liable to blow it to kingdom come. However, the aiming “dot” inside his scope had to be offset to allow for the ship’s motion and wind. Tom’s target was making about twelve to fifteen knots,so he had to move his “aiming point” slightly ahead of his intended “point of impact.” This particular ship was steaming upwind, which made his job a little easier than having to make the dreaded “crosswind” attack. An upwind attack meant that all he had to do was put his aiming point on the bow of the ship and wait as long as he dared to release his bomb. During the hundreds of hours of training he and his gunner had worked out a technique whereby Albert would sit forward instead of backwards and would use his microphone to call off the altitude changes as they sped by at the rate of three hundred feet per second. This simple maneuver kept Tom from having to divert his attention to his altimeter, allowing him to concentrate on all the other more pressing issues. At about 5,000 feet Tom opened up with his wing mounted .50-caliber machine guns just to keep the target’s gunners distracted from shooting at him. Whether he killed any of the enemy sailors or not was irrelevant just as long as he kept them distracted.
A quick glance showed his altimeter at almost three thousand feet, which was the approximate altitude his instructors had taught him to release his bomb. However, today he would take her down to twenty-five hundred just for good measure to assure a solid hit. He was now low enough to see the enemy sailors running along the oiler’s deck and the antiaircraft gunners swiveling their pieces this way and that in order to bring their guns to bear on his aircraft. When Tom was at exactly twenty-five hundred feet and slightly forward of the oiler he pressed his bomb release button, hurtling his one-thousand-pound bomb down toward his target. The bomb was specifically engineered with a displacing fork, which arced downward and forward tossing the bomb clear of his propeller below before retracting under the pressure of a heavy coil spring. Now that his messenger of death was screaming down at a rate of thirty-two feet per second Tom pulled his control stick into his stomach sending his body sinking deep into his cushioned seat. The G-force brought to bear on his body made his 160-pound body weigh close to 1,280 pounds, which in turn forced his chin deep into his chest. Blood was also forced from his head down into his lower extremities causing Tom’s head to swim and his stomach to ram against his backbone just as a gray mist came over his eyes. Some pilots experienced anything from a “grayout” to complete blackout. Tom’s respiration became constricted as he found it harder and harder to breathe. From the beginning of his dive to his gut wrenching pull out took only about thirty seconds, an eternity to Tom and Albert.
When his eyes cleared, and his brain began to function again he looked around trying to determine the best escape route for him and his gunner. He increased his power and pulled up his flaps as hundreds of men he had never met tried to kill him. But plain old curiosity about his marksmanship caused Tom to kick his tail rudder over so that he could look out the side of his cockpit and see what damage he had done to his target below him. What he saw was a sheet of white fire climbing out of the oiler’s deck as it billowed black smoke and spread along the sides of the ship. Debris was flying in every direction, with human bodies erupting upward like rag dolls making the chaotic scene appear to move in slow motion. Tom also saw a torpedo plane zeroing in on the same oiler just above the wave tops as other planes darted in and out going after any enemy ship in the formation. Many of the Japanese oilers were struck by multiple planes while the enemy destroyers were being attacked and strafed by one American fighter after another. It was learned later that the oiler had been so damaged by Tom’s bomb that the enemy were forced to scuttle her and send her to the bottom.
But it was here that the young Pensacolian’s luck ran out. The antiaircraft fire was so intense that as Tom pulled his Helldiver out of this dive and tried to gain altitude the enemy gunners found him. Shells from several ships ripped into his fuselage like tissue paper rendering his aircraft uncontrollable as he crashed full speed into the sea. He crashed into the sea with such terrific force that both Tom and his gunner were killed instantly and never felt their long slow descent to their final resting place on the bottom of the trackless ocean.
Of the 226 men that comprised the first and only attack that day, 160 miraculously returned. As for Tom's VB-14 squadron, the outcome was grim:
Back home, the Stanley family was notified in July 1944 that Tom was missing in action. His mother till the day she died held onto the believe that he may yet be on an island in the South Pacific and would return to her.
In 1960, a memorial stone was placed n the Clopton Cemetery in Pensacola in honor of his sacrifice.
The Japanese fleet oiler Genyo Maru, sunk by Pensacolian Thomas F. Stanley in June 1944 carrying 93,000 barrels of crude oil (12,031 tons)
Thomas F. Stanley, Pensacola High
School Class of 1940
Pensacola News Journal 8-12-1945
Pensacola News Journal 1-8-1945
Thomas F. Stanley , last photo
ever taken 6-7-1944
Tom's Gunner Albert T. Buckop
Last photo ever taken 6-7-1944
6-20-1944
Brother Lucius C. Stanley Pensacola News Journal 1-7-1945
Brother Clinton Allen Stanley, US Army WWII
Memorial Clopton Cemetery, Pensacola, Escambia County, Florida
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