As the carrier Philippine Sea eased into the sea wall at NAS San Diego, 50 members of VC-35's night attack Team Mike lined the flight deck to catch a glimpse of wives and sweethearts ashore.

With the return of Team Mike, the squadron's first splinter unit to come home since the Korean truce, 34 months of successful and unique operation against the Communists came to a close. During this period, Mike and 17 other teams sent to Task Force 77 by VC-35 chalked up an impressive record of night heckler flights in Korea.

Although the primary mission of Composite Squadron 35, commanded by Cdr. L. E. Burke, is antisubmarine warfare, the greatest number of combat missions were night interdiction flights. On their ASW flights, the VAN team planes worked with VC-I I aircraft in forming hunter-killer teams.

With the launching of each night ASW hop, the night radar raiders also left the deck. These missions were not the run-of-the-mill carrier sorties. They were highly specialized raids to seek out and destroy evasive supply trucks and trains speeding to the front under cover of darkness. "Night hecklers" to some, "roadrunners" to others, the Communists no doubt had a special name for these pilots and crewmen who cut away, night after night, at their precious truck convoys and rail shipments.

Each team has its own tale to tell, full of color and achievement. All are thrilling and in keeping with the traditions of a fighting outfit. Some, however, stand out--a close shave, a record, or a big kill. For one of these, let's go back to April, 1953, when Team George was operating aboard the USS Oriskany.

A pall of haze clung to the rugged Korean coast and shrouded the many canyons and valleys jutting inland. The night was cold and black and the drone of the Skyraider resounded from the rocky seawalls as it skirted in and out along the shore. The pilot, Lt. T. P. (Teeps) Owens, and his crew, J. C. Peckenpaugh, A03, and R. M. Rial, AL3, stared down into the darkness as they followed railroad track Mable, only occasionally detectable in the haze and gloom. All of a sudden the pilot spotted smoke below. Owens banked and dropped a powerful flare.

The blinding light flashed like a giant spotlight in a fog, then flooded the area in whiteness. There directly beneath was an eight-wheeled locomotive pulling nearly a score of cars.

Lt. T. G. McClellan in another "road-runner" three miles ahead and to the left was alerted by the flash of the flare. His earphones crackled with Owens' voice, " Hey Mac, I've got a good one. Fly for the flare." McClellan jammed the throttle forward and called to his crew, F. B. Georges, Aviation Electronicsman third class, and E. L. Hazelwood, Aviation Machinist's Mate third class, "Looks like 'Teeps' got us a train. Here we go.

Immediately Owens began his firing run on the train. The first boxcar burst into flames. The engine uncoupled and began a run for a tunnel a short distance ahead. The Skyraider veered back for a second run and swooped low. Bombs away! and a direct hit on the track two hundred yards ahead of the speeding locomotive. The eight wheeler plowed into the railbreak under full steam, nosed up, smashed onto its side in a cloud of dust, smoke, and steam, and exploded.

Lt. McClellan was busily raking the freight cars with cannon and bomb when Owens rejoined the strike pattern. The train was helplessly at the mercy of the attacking aircraft. The cars exploded and burst into flames under the barrage, indicating a heavy load of supplies.

With ammunition expended and fuel running low, Lts. Owen and McClellan turned their planes to sea. Behind them the Communist supply train was a pile of rubble issuing columns of black smoke that rose straight into the air and then flattened into the thickening layer of haze. Track Mable was a mass of twisted rails and splintered ties.

The pilots knew that in a few hours the track would be clear and the twisted rails replaced. Soon they would be back to bite once again into this vital enemy artery. But the most important task at that moment was the return trip to their sea-going base and the unfamiliar but pleasant feel of their bunks. This mission was typical of the thousands flown in the squadron's nearly three years of continuous operation in Korea. VC-35 boasts proudly that except for three ships, they supplied an attack team for every attack carrier that left for Korean combat.

Since VC-35 was commissioned in May 1950, its complement has risen impressively from an onboard count of seven to more than 100 officers and better than 650 men. The majority of the pilots are seasoned World War II aviators averaging over 1000 hours. These mature combat veterans are carefully selected for their specialized tasks as night attack and all weather pilots.

Before an attack team is sent to the line, all hands undergo eight months of rigorous training at various stations stretching from NAAS El Centro, Calif., to NAS Barbers Point in Hawaii.

When a new pilot reports aboard, he has to disregard a lot of his former tactical experience. He soon realizes that being a night heckler requires a special skill and an entirely new approach to this business of flying.

First, he is launched on a course of aircraft familiarization. After two weeks of mockups, lectures, and study he becomes a walking technical manual on the AD-4N.

Then comes a concentrated course in survival which even includes the Dilbert Dunker of cadet days. Next the prospective Roadrunner again packs his bag and he's off to Barbers Point for three months of instruments, night flying, and radar-controlled bombing.

In the same manner, the squadron's aircrewmen are crammed with knowledge. They undergo what has been described as one of the best aircrewman training programs in the Navy. Under the direction of Chief Radio Electrician W. E. Gallagher, the men learn their "two-hat" jobs as members of a night attack team. Along with the diversified responsibilities of conventional aircrewmen, they learn to operate and maintain the flying laboratory of electronics gear jammed into their aircraft.

In flight these men are electronics technicians of the first degree. On the deck they are hard-working, capable mechanics, ordnancemen, and metalsmiths. With them it's fly and keep 'em flying. Their ability is aptly demonstrated by the high combat availability of each team's aircraft. Ninety-eight percent is the rule. In one instance Team Baker operated six months, I flew 325 sorties, and returned home with all original aircraft, an availability record of 99%, and not one engine change.

When the pilots return to San Diego from training in Hawaii, they are joined by their crewmen. As a team, they attended more schools - anti-submarine warfare, close air support, more electronics and bombing practice.

As the syllabus draws to a close, the group of six officers, over 40 men, and four planes become a closely-knit unit. When the day of their deployment arrives, we find a hard-hitting, self-contained team. The reason behind their extensive and thorough training becomes obvious once aboard ship; for when embarked they are responsible for their own maintenance and support.

The training also pays off in emergencies when quick actions and clear thinking mean the difference between life and death. Proof of this was evident one night when the last light of evening had just faded from the Korean sky and three Skyraiders of Team Mike winged inland toward Hamhung.

Lt. P. E. Sullivan and Lt. B. K.. Harmon flew a standard staggered formation behind their flight leader, Cdr. F. G Edwards, VC-35 executive officer. The target was a heavy concentration of boxcars and locomotives in the marshaling yards of the important North Korean rail center.

In those few moments of total darkness between twilight and moonrise, the planes passed over the target area gaining position to make their strike seaward. Lt. Harmon peeled off from about 5,000 feet and Lt. Sullivan followed. When the second plane was on target at about 3000 feet, the sky was suddenly filled with a maze of anti-aircraft fire. More tracers than the pilots had ever seen streaked upward and converged on Cdr. Edwards, and Lt. Sullivan's planes.

Sullivan continued his run and released two bombs on the roundhouse that sheltered the locomotives. As he pulled out of the dive, his Skyraider lurched sharply. A shell had found its mark and struck the starboard wing root. The plane began to leak oil and hydraulic fluid and a strong smell of gasoline filled the cockpit with each change of the throttle setting.

With his airspeed indicator out and after jettisoning the rest of his ordnance load, Lt. Sullivan headed south for the nearest emergency landing field, 100 miles distant. As the two other aircraft joined up, one of Lt. Harmon's crewmen flashed a light on the damaged Skyraider. The dreaded news came through - except for two bombs and a flare, Sullivan's plane was loaded -- really loaded! His bomb racks had failed to release and he was still carrying four 100 -pound bombs, two 250-pounders, and five flares.

As the aircraft approached the emergency strip, the situation grew worse. Hydraulic pressure had dropped to zero and the crippled plane was now difficult to control. A low overcast blanketed the field.

Lt. Sullivan was forced to use emergency procedures for lowering his landing gear. Both wheels lowered but the indicator showed the starboard gear as unlocked. This was bad! If the gear collapsed on landing, the flares might fire and with the gas leak, the bombs could very possibly explode!

The Skyraider dropped through the overcast and the field burst into view a few hundred feet below. Lt. Sullivan eased the plane down, groping for the landing strip like a blind man for a curb. He banked the plane slightly. First the left wheel touched as the aircraft slowly leveled off, the right. They both held!

The Skyraider settled onto the strip but much too fast! A complete loss of hydraulic fluid had left the aircraft brakeless. Lt. Sullivan saw that he would not stop before reaching the end of the runway. A deep gully loomed ahead as his thoughts raced. Then, just as time was about to run our, he intentionally ground-looped the plane in an skillful maneuver.

Tires screeched as the Skyraider spun around a few feet from the drop-off at the end of the runway. It shuddered to a halt with not so much as a scratched wing tip. The long months of training and a thorough knowledge of his aircraft had enabled this VC-35 aviator to avert disaster. He, his crew, and plane would fly again.

For the most part, VC-35 shipboard operations were plain hard work performed undramatically in all kinds of weather. There were, however, a few chuckles. On one occasion last winter, two VC pilots on the Valley Forge were scheduled for an Anti-submarine patrol. When they awoke at 0130, they were almost certain that the hop would be canceled. It was snowing heavily and visibility was measurable in feet. They received their briefing with one ear cocked toward the "squawk box" for the words, "Flight canceled."

Instead, in disbelief, they heard, " Pilots, man your planes".

There was just a trace of panic in the airmen's eyes as they stumbled across the deck groping for their planes on the catapults. This was ridiculous! They thought. Snow was piling up on the wings of their planes faster than the deck crews could sweep it off. They climbed in.

Still no word. Then, "Start engines."

As the clock edged towards the launching time, the catapult officer stepped onto the flight deck flexing his arms. Unable to remain silent any longer, one of the pilots called the ship, "Uncle George, this is Crock One', for your information I am on the starboard catapult and in my opinion, the weather is unsatisfactory."

Silence, then. "Crock One this is Uncle George. Roger your message regarding weather on starboard catapult. All planes will be launched from the port cat!" This was followed by another calculated period of silence and then, "Cut your engines. Your flight is canceled."

Perhaps the term "all weather" should be modified to "almost all weather pilot".

VC-35 was often called upon to perform tasks outside of its normal schedule of operations. Among the extra-curricular activities delegated to the squadron was the combat evaluation of the 2.75" folding fin rocket, the Mighty Mouse. Executive Officer Cdr. E. G. Edwards was in charge of the evaluation which was conducted by Team Mike aboard the Philippine Sea in the spring of this year.

The weapon consists of seven "mice" (rockets ) in an expendable plastic-cardboard pod mounted in the usual fashion to external bomb racks. During these tests Team Mike's planes carried a standard ordnance load of six rocket pods, 800 rounds of 20-mm ammunition, one 500-pound bomb and three 250-pound bombs, and four flares. This payload totaled about 2,800 pounds.

The effectiveness of this new rocket is vividly portrayed by a raid of Lcdr. F. E. Ward, officer-in-charge of Team Mike. One clear, moonless night late in March, 1953, he and his crewmen, E. B.. Willis, Aviation Machinist's Mate third class, and R. M. Yonke, Aviation Machinist's Mate second class, were covering a sector just west of Wonson.

Throttled back at 5,000 feet they scanned the area for the tell-tale headlight light winks of a truck convoy. They knew the tactics employed by the "Commie" teamsters. The trucks would be well spaced with every fourth truck sporadically blinking its lights as the column rumbled along.

Beneath the Skyraider lay a valley, its greens broken slightly by the outline of a sandy river bottom. Suddenly, two tiny beams of light stabbed through the darkness below. Two more blinked farther to the west, and after them others. Lcdr. Ward swung the heavily loaded plane to the left and began a "dummy" run.

As the aircraft swooped down the valley, the flickering headlights stopped. Ward detected the long string of trucks winding its way down from the hills and through the valley. He pulled his plane up just as the lead truck reached the river.

The driver flashed the first truck's headlights across the narrow bridge and stopped short. Apparently he was afraid to cross without lights but dared not use them with the heckler overhead Lcdr. Ward made another pass as the vehicles piled up close behind one another. This time a flare from the attacking Skyraider turned the blackness of the valley into daylight.

The plane climbed to about 2,000 feet and leveled off at the head of the valley. Ward checked his rocket launching switches and nosed over into a dive. About 30 trucks were like sitting ducks.

The altimeter counted off the descent-1,800 feet, 1700, 1600, Lcdr. Ward's hand gripped the stick tightly. The glowing needle slipped to the predetermined altitude and his thumb snapped down on the red button. All 42 rockets streaked forward and almost instantly the convoy was showered with a barrage of white-hot explosions. Supplies and torn metal rent the area and flames leaped from the truck beds and canopies. One push of the "pickle" and five trucks had been blown to oblivion.

This report is one of many made during the evaluation by Team Mike pilots on this new weapon.

Another example of the squadron's versatility and scope of operation was its large number of VIP passenger hops. Since their AD-4N's were among the few shipboard aircraft with two rear seats, the VC-35 aviators were often called upon to transport notables from ship to ship and ship to shore.