Showboat

From aboard Rear Admiral Edward Ewen's flagship with Task Force 77, in Korean waters, TIME Correspondent Jim Bell cabled:

In his small cabin off the flag bridge of an Essex-class carrier, known in the fleet as "the Showboat," Admiral Edward Coyle Ewen sat sipping orangeade, explaining the targets for the next day. Task Force 77 was barreling along Korea's west coast, intent on blasting strategic targets at Pyongyang, Seoul and Inchon. While Ewen was talking, fuel and ordnance men readied the Showboat's planes.

As dawn came up slowly over Korea, the admiral stepped out on his bridge and squinted into the first light. Commander Charles Kinsella, air operations officer, announced, "Make ready to launch in ten minutes." Captain W. K. ("Puss") Goodney, the carrier's captain, responded with an order to make "fox at the dip"--meaning: raise the code flag for the letter "f" (red diamond on white base)--halfway.

Then the take-off signal went up all the way. First the Corsairs were shot from the catapults, then the big, rumbling Skyraider dive bombers; and after the propeller-driven craft were well away, the jets were brought forward. Started by motors hustled about the deck by tiny yellow jeeps, the Grumman Panthers shrieked protest, then raised their voices to a horrible, thundering howl as they shot from the catapults.

When I suggested maybe it would be a good idea if I went over Seoul with the big bombers, I had no more than said it than I was in a flying suit, being hustled into the back of a Skyraider.

"Beautiful, Harry!" In our flight there were six dive bombers, carrying a total of some 18,000 Ibs. of bombs. High overhead we had eight Corsairs flying cover. We moved in on the railroad marshaling yards just southwest of Seoul, a wide scar in the countryside filled with railroad tracks and cars.

"Ready?" asked the pilot, Ensign Harry May, over the intercom.

We peeled off to the left and went roaring down at an angle of about 80 degrees. I seemed to be standing on my head. At 3,000 feet, the plane pulled out of the dive, leveled for a moment, then climbed steeply to the left. When my eyes would focus again, I could see a tower of brown, dirty smoke rising from the center of the marshaling yards. May said we had dropped two of our three 1,000-lb. bombs.

"Beautiful, Harry!" someone called over the radio. We climbed for another dive as the rest of the flight went in. Another plane's bombs landed directly upon a bridge and it collapsed onto the tracks. Other planes set a row of boxcars on fire and ripped up long lines of track.

The People on the Beach. At this moment, the admiral back on his carrier got an urgent message: the enemy was exert ing strong pressure all along the Naktong front (see above) and all available aircraft were needed. Ed Ewen, who used to be considered a very good Annapolis end, especially famed for his end-around plays, now pulled an end-around play that would have brought Navy fans to their feet had they been there to watch it.

Ewen immediately ordered Task Force 77, then steaming northeast at 27 knots, into a turn with no slackening of speed. Straightened out, Ewen raised his speed to 29 knots and sent the "people on the beach" a message that the Navy was on its way. Then he recalled his planes.

In the air over Seoul, we were baffled by the recall message. The young pilots started for home in the mood of kids dragged from a party. Before we headed back to the Showboat, Ensign William Bailey vented some of his anger by blowing a warehouse at Inchon to bits.

Familiar Ground. At dawn next day, Ed Ewen's carriers, operating almost in sight of the enemy coast, were again filled with roaring propellers and shrieking jets. At 5:45 a.m. I went to the little ready room. Our Skyraider took off from the Showboat and flew fast and low for the Naktong line west of Masan.

The ground was familiar. I had been over it with the Marines three weeks ago. The enemy had apparently advanced about seven miles from the point the Marines had reached in their southern drive before they were pulled out of line. Lieut. (j.g.) Don Loranger, our pilot this time, quickly spotted two tanks and a truck hidden away on a back road. With our wingman, Ensign Leo Profilet, we went in to attack.

We roared down toward the first tank, a Russian-made T-34, and Loranger laid a 500-lb. fragmentation bomb right behind her. The tank was engulfed in smoke and dirt. Ensign Profilet's plane followed with another 500-pounder. Just to make sure, Loranger clobbered her with a third bomb and we went after the truck. On his first run, Loranger came down with his cannon wide open, then pulled out of his dive and laid a bomb right in the truck bed. As we pulled up, we discovered he had not only disintegrated the truck but had also ripped up the whole road.

The First Worry. It is evening now, and Ed Ewen is sitting in his high chair on the bridge with his baseball cap shoved back on his head. This afternoon, as the Navy poured planes and bombs to help the infantry, there have been messages of thanks, congratulations and well-dones from the "people ashore." The admiral knows his boys have done a good job. But there is a lot more war, a lot more work ahead. Then, too, there is always Formosa off there over the horizon to the right of the flag bridge.

"Formosa," says Ed Ewen, "is always our first worry. We watch it all the time. If anything starts down there, we will be ready for it."

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