Mosquitoes off Jersey

NAVY

Last week along the Jersey coast the rain fell and the grey Atlantic heaved in a 15-ft. swell. But some freighter crews, some fishermen, rolling under bare steerage way, saw a sight that made them forget the dull, grey weather. They heard the thunder of engines, saw the mist ripped open by a trim, broad bow, saw a tiny boat skim by, skittering off the tops of waves, pelting through others in a burst of spindrift. On her bridge they caught a quick glimpse of hooded men, goggled, drenched with spray, hanging on behind a tiny windshield. On her deck, if they got a good look, they saw four torpedoes, two glassed-in turrets housing twin machine guns. Then she was gone, a bellowing little boat that faded into the grey rain. Now & then another one would blurt past.

What these fishermen saw was the U. S. Navy's newest gadget: its growing squadron of motor torpedo boats, getting a sea test in rough water. Returning to the Brooklyn Navy Yard at nightfall each day with his five waterbugs, handsome Lieut. Earl Stevens Caldwell, youngest (and lowest-ranking) squadron commander in the Navy, was able to put down a favorable report. The new PTs (patrol torpedo boats) were as seaworthy as the designer of their prototype, famed Britisher Hubert Scott-Paine, had said they were. In 15-ft. waves they charged along at 40 knots, in smooth seas smashed along at better than 52 knots (60 m.p.h.). Lieut. Caldwell could also report that when the PTs were under high speed all day, their crews were pounded unmercifully; all they wanted, once back at the Yard, was to crawl into a bunk. The Navy had made no mistake in setting the age limit of PT crews at 35, in speedily washing out of PT service any man who got seasick in heavy going.

As commander of the first PT squadron, Lieut. Caldwell and his weather-battered men were pioneering the first new Navy fighting craft since planes became a fleet weapon. For their insignia they went to Cineman Walt Disney, got what they wanted from his Hollywood studio-- a mosquito astride a torpedo. For their tactics they went abroad, for the new PTs--some 70 ft. of hull enclosing 4,500 h.p. in three engines-- are designed for a job new to the U. S. Navy, old stuff to the British, Italians and Germans. The PTs are made for swift dashes into harbors, hit-&-run jabs into enemy fleets. Their four torpedoes give them half the striking power of some of the newer 1,500-ton destroyers, yet they are manned by a crew of only nine, including one officer. For crews they need men who have the make-up of good pursuit pilots, men who do their jobs precisely but can snap their fingers at care.

Squadron Commander Caldwell was swamped with applications for a service in which men will risk much, sleep little, seldom wear dry clothes. For his squadron he sorted out 20 officers, 167 men. When the last boat is delivered next month, he will command 20 PTs, from 59 to 81 ft. overall.

Flagship of the squadron will be the PT-10. Like others of its class, PT-10 is essentially for offshore patrol. She carries 3,000 miles of cruising in her gasoline tanks, could cross the Atlantic if need be. But if they ever do go to war, best bet is that the Navy's new boats will cross the ocean on the decks of battleships or cruisers, or be shipped across the continent on flatcars.

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