Flying early warning for Task Force 77 - personal narrative of naval officer who served during Korean War

Naval Aviation News, March-April, 2003 by Jack Sauter

An interesting theory was bandied about. Since the introduction of MiG fighters into the air war, our planes could chase them to the Yalu border but no further. Those were the current rules of engagement laid down to avoid expanding the conflict, but this stricture was very unpopular with our fighter pilots. However, many of the officers felt that perhaps it was this very limitation that had kept the Chinese from launching an attack on us. Their MiGs enjoyed a "Manchurian sanctuary"--perhaps the Sea of Japan was ours. Considering the havoc our air groups were wreaking on enemy supply lines and installations, one could imagine the pressure being brought to bear in Peking to seriously damage that capability. Fortunately for us, TF 77 was left undisturbed.

During my 21 missions we often vectored CAP aircraft, usually a Skyraider or Corsair, to investigate unidentified air or surface targets. In every instance, they turned out to be our own planes or a Japanese transport off course. Once, one of our AD-4Ws picked up a surfaced submarine in international waters, apparently tracking our ships, but again the rules of engagement precluded any attack.

The only threat to TF 77 occurred on 26 July 1953, the night before the truce was signed. Many bogies were seen closing on the force and we all went to general quarters. Aircraft, including one of ours, were launched, but whatever was out there disappeared before our planes got close.

If our missions appeared mostly dull and tedious, that was true. On the other hand, carrier flight operations were anything but dull, especially on straight-deck CVs or at night. During one predawn launch, an AD-4N from VC-33 was the victim of a cold cat shot that effectively dropped the plane just in front of our speeding carrier. The pilot and two aircrewmen only narrowly missed being turned into mincemeat by the four screws as the ship was deftly maneuvered around them.

Once in life rafts, the aircrew attempted to signal our plane guard destroyer with their WW II-vintage flares. The first five fizzled, but fortunately the last one ignited and the crew was soon drinking brandy on board a destroyer. Seeing this, one of our aircrewmen became very concerned about the unreliable flares. He convinced our parachute rigger to give him another dozen, along with a heavy-duty flashlight. He felt quite confident, but we told him he wouldn't have to worry about being picked up if he ditched. Once he hit the water, he'd sink like a rock!

After flying long missions, we were often pressed into service maintaining the very radio and radar gear we had just employed. The Navy got more than its money's worth out of the aircrewmen! Despite the long hours, hot and uncomfortable compartments, enormous burden and general lack of recognition, none of us would have traded places. Looking back, I think each of us exhibited the skills, dedication and resolve necessary to locate the targets and keep all of our electronic equipment in top form. In the end, that's what counted.