Updated
30 November 2016

-- when we discovered that the object walking around at Wellfleet was human and that it was James Berry?

-- when we were changing uniforms four and five times after breakfast and lunch, not because of the training schedule, but because the uniform flags on the pole changed each time we did?

-- when we arrived at Camp Davis and found it to be all we'd heard and worse? 

-- when the old 268 was march ordered during the storm at Wellfleet?

That was when twelve good men from the gun crews, left behind as guards, really took the antique hayrake apart. Working under Lt Winer, who had once seen a training film on the subject, the crew dismantled the 268 to protect it from the storm. Sgt East and the radar men never did get the set working again.

* * * * *

INSPECTIONS

"Will be home tomorrow on the troop train if I don't get gigged." That was the usual Friday night message from Edwards. The grim thoroughness of Saturday morning inspection of barracks, rifles, and equipment with Lts "White-gloves" Winer and "Eagle-eye" Reinhalter tracking down stray specks of dust in rifle barrels, between shoelaces, and under foot-lockers obviated the need for Friday night training schedules.

After chow Herb Gitlin went off to sign the well-worn papers. In upper 2136 Dwyre was on his way for the tree pitchers of beer, and the usual raiders had robbed all the mops and brooms left properly outside the barracks. The four-hour session began with -- "some more soapy water -- now some clear -- scrub the center aisle good; that's were they look -- you get the ledges -- how about some more of you guys giving us a hand in the latrine?"

Saturday mornings remembered are outside rifle inspections held under the soot of the mess hall chimney; Lt Foster, after a brisk right-face, startling Bova with "what did you eat for breakfast?"; Lt Winter always passing the radar men and giving the others a thorough going over; the famous barracks bag opening (with Paul Pincus contributing everything to make up a good beer party: salami, sardines, pumpernickel, and a bottleof wine). The live ammunition, dummy grenades, baseball gloves, extra mess kits, and a STOP sign all helped to add to Captain Phillips' collection and also helped a lot of men to save money in the battery area that week end. Remember a nervous Herman Breslau, confronted by Lt Winer and a request for various general orders, seeing his pass disintegrate, as the only thing he could say was "I don't know, sir"?

And who was it who contributed those two wet pairs of fatigues one Saturday morning at 1130? They passed some forty-odd inspections by Sgt Drieslein when AAATC pulled one final hurdle from the bag to trip the pass-goers at the finish line. "Two pairs of clean fatigues at 1200 Saturday with just a half-hour's notice -- they'll never get by! But they did, half the battery, on somebody's two wet pairs.

Then there was the inspecting officer from AAATC or AGF who asked Cpl Gioia, firmly standing behind his watercooled 50, what he would do if the air raid signal started. Joe's prompt reply was, "Call the corporal of the guard, sir."

AGF inspections were really the high point. There was always the threat that General Lear, King of the Mess Halls, would show up. And woe unto the man who didn't wear his dog tags on THE DAY. General Lear, that rough and ready chief, rapidly became a myth because of his many non-appearances.

The first time we were inspected by AA Command, Cpl Zimmardi and gun two bowled 'em over with his foghorn "Target --direct fire" and their snappy drill. Even Col. Bender, the ghostwriter of 90 manuals for General Ulio, could take no exception to this performance.

The big inspections were those which included the mess hall and supply room. "Tomorrow, General Littledo will inspect the supply room." The supply room crew worked all night through getting eady. "Getting ready" meant hiding excess clothing and equipment in barracks bags and foot lockers labeled "Mercier" and "Pizzuto", originators of the absentee ballot. Then came the big day -- no-one showed up.

It wasn't always like that: just a short time ago our own General McConnell -- yes, a real live US Army general -- inspected the supply room, after two weeks of jittery preparation. All he looked at was the well-maintained sporting equipment, and he asked but one question of the supply sergeant: "Where are your dog tags?"

* * * * *

DO YOU REMEMBER --

-- that the quickest way to get a battery formation is to sound off, "Line up for passes."

THE BATTERY FIRES

The antiaircraft artilleryman lives to fire. He drills and maintains his guns only for the big moment when the gunner pulls the firing lever and the tube eases back in recoil. Much sweat and study lie behind that fleeting second when the projectile leaves the muzzle, but that is the climax. Then the job is done and the artilleryman waits to see what rewards weeks of practice have brought him. Many hands and many minds and eyes influence the flight of a 90 mm shell. They belong to trackers, observers, electricians, plotters, pointer matchers, and every other member of the battery. Battery "A" has fired over two thousand rounds of ammunition in Massachusetts and North Carolina, and hundreds of man-hours of preparation lie behind each round.

Looking back over our several firings, there are spots of brilliance and as many times of stress and tumult. Inspectors, new techniques, and, above all, the elements, plagued most of our shoots. We did, however, learn to fire the 90 under training center adversities in about every mission for which it has ever been used. We fired at all types of aerial targets, on crossing, diving incoming, and high and low altitude courses. We fired at imitation tanks at varying speeds and distances, We fired at ground and water-borne targets as field artillery. We have aimed our guns with directors, plotting boards, and radars. Barring actual combat, we have been through almost every chapter in the book, written and unwritten.

On 18 October 1943, we moved to Wellfleet for our first firing. It was a brisk fall day, and we started early, but some of our limited service prime movers couldn't make the Cape Cod grades. When the guns finally arrived at the firing point, we found that only the M4 tractors could pull them into position in the sand. Consequently our first day -- and it was our last good firing day for some time -- was spent in setting down the battery. Weeks later we chuckled as we remembered those carefree days, for we had yet to learn the sandbagging technique. At night we pitched pup tents in the sand and soon learned that in Cape Cod weather double shelter tents have may advantages over the conventional model. During the next few days we waited for a break in the sky. Sometimes it rained, and sometimes the low ceiling precluded firing, but there was no break. We tried training, but there was little we could do on Wellfleet's wind-swept bluffs. We fired machine guns from trucks and from M3 mounts with the sights on backwards. We fired machine guns at balloons, rockets, and at towed sleeves. We set up .22 caliber rifle ranges. We even had a few night passes to explore the Southward Inn and high school dances at Orleans. Most of the time, however, was spent unhappily goldbricking in double shelter tents, while we grew dirtier and dirtier.

Finally higher headquarters took pity on us, and we were sent back to camp for a change of clothes and a hot shower. The hot water felt like champagne as the dirt rolled off in cakes. Unfortunately the good treatment was overdone as a rivalry sprang up between our group and brigade as to who was to be our benefactor. One would send us in for showers, the other would send us back to Wellfleet, and then the other would order a return to camp. We put in millions of tire-miles on the road from Camp Edwards to Wellfleet and almost wished we could stay dirty.

On Sunday, of course, we were in Wellfleet, and it was raining. Between church services on the dunes, a great football game was played with "B" Battery. Everything went, including our halfback, Sgt Mortie Brown, who was carried out in the third quarter. Tec 4 Jackson and "Tiny" Cohen were also flashy backs. The rain poured down and fatigues were torn, but it was a great game. "B" made more touchdowns, but "A" covered itself with glory.

On the 13th day of this shotless shoot, the weather began to break. Two or three met balloons were tracked into blue holes in the sky. O 2was alerted, and everyman stood by his equipment. After a morning of waiting, we fired trial and calibration fire in the late afternoon. This was the first crack of the guns for most of the crews. Some took it like old timers, but others gained an unwholesome respect for the big noise. We were on our way to becoming veterans. On the next day the sun shone clear, and we shot our bolt. "A" Battery dropped its first sleeve. This was a big moment, and, of course, everygun fired the winning round. It was good shooting -- all the bursts were in close. Adamovitch was reading altitude, Lt Riehemann was having his headaches in the back of a two and a half, Bova and Crosby were on range and altitude at the director, the guns were level, the trackers were on the beam, and everyone on the ball. That's what it took to get our first target. We went home satisfied.

In the middle of November we returned to Wellfleet and our pup tents for advanced firing. The weather was clearer, but much colder. The firing was faster, but much wilder. We fired at incoming targets and diving targets with fair success, but the low altitude course almost threw us. When the target was low enough, cross-matching began at the director, and there were hands everywhere. We were also bothered by inspectors this shoot, particularly during the plotting board fire. Our communications system was one all-inclusive hot loop over which instructions to O2, emergency furlough information, orders from the safety tower, and plotting board data all competed for the listener's ear. The result was chaos. To add to our troubles, we found that the AAATC Record Section furnished faulty orientation data. There were no passed to Orleans, and the mess personnel went through the tortures of the damned. Memories of this shoot are not happy.

Late in November we returned to Wellfleet to find that the rumor of new quarters was more than a myth. There were warm kitchens, barracks, and even classrooms. On the shady side of the picture there was the requirement that this time we would fire from fortified positions. This was our first taste of filling sandbags, and it was backbreaking. The completed fortifications were beautiful to behold and were photographed from the air. No-one, however, has been able to produce the aerial photographs. Maintenance was stressed over shooting during this stop at Well fleet, and long hours were spent shining and oiling. The result of this labor pleased General Harriman, so we completed the firing and went home. It was not quite as easy as that, for the sandbags had to be emptied and baled. "Put "em in bundles of 50." "No, make it 150." "Change that to 125, lieutenant." We didn't pull out until midnight Sunday. It was a bitter night that chilled our eyeballs, until we arrived at camp. On this shoot the machine gun section began to look like experts and successfully knocked down a sleeve.

We returned to Well fleet twice again. In February the 584's had replaced the 268's. They looked like palaces beside the oversized coathangers which had caused us so much grief. We took the 584's to the firing point for unseen fire. The weather, according to form, was miserable, but the shooting was pretty good. We fired with unseen data and with radar altitude. The last trip to Wellfleet was to fire for the AGF test in March. It was "A" Battery's lot to fire by unseen methods at a PQ-8. The weather was cold and clear. By this time we were veterans. The results of the firing proved it. The PQ-8 stayed up, but the bursts were in the money. The critical testers gave us 98%. In this blaze of glory we said goodbye to the icy bluffs of Wellfleet.

From Camp Edwards we went to Suffolk. We were ready for Japs and Germans, but were willing to polish up our AAOR technique with the Air Forces. The Suffolk interlude was pleasant and profitable. Morale reached a new high, until we learned that we were bound for Camp Davis to do just a little firing. So we hurried on our way to complete our last overseas requirement. In North Carolina we became as familiar with the endless sands at Topsail as we had been with the bluffs at Wellfleet.

We were at Camp Davis for some weeks before firing opportunities arose. Our first mission was firing an air infiltration course for B-24s. The battalion's sixteen guns were placed in a single line and aimed at previously calculated points. The bursts were intended to form a line of flak in the sky, along which the bombers would fly. They had been instructed to fly within 500 yards of the line of bursts, but their respect for our potency generally increased this distance. There was no opportunity to check our calculated data or our orientation until the brigade commander arrived and ordered a trial line of bursts. There were tense moments as Evans' gun fired the first round for the battalion and the general waited with his eye glued to a BC scope. His cryptic "line -- one below" was great news. We fired the course several times and with faulty ammunition, but did a very creditable job. During one course, Poss' gun settled back on the rear outrigger. Like greased lightning, his crew re-emplaced, releveled, and was firing again on the next course. Our fondest memories of this shoot are the cooling swims in the Atlantic surf during lunch hour.

A few weeks later we returned to Topsail and a far less desirable location. This time we were near the inlet, where swift currents and "sharks" put swimming off limits. We had other bad news in the form of retaking the AGF tests, which we had successfully completed at Edwards. And then there were sandbags. We were to fire from fortified positions, so we dug and filled and dug and filled until there were revetments, but the revetments weren't good enough, so we tore them down and built them over. We fired a preliminary shoot, principally at PQ-8s which refused to fly a straight course and which frequently wandered out to sea, never to be heard from. There were long hours of waiting for targets, for the record section, and for clearance from the safety tower. We had some good practice trial fire and scared away most of the PQ-8s. We completed the shooting late enough on Saturday so that we had to spend most of the week and emptying sandbags and getting the material back to camp. During the next week we returned to Topsail for frequent police-ups, the last on Wednesday night.

On the day following the completion of the police-up to learned that we were to return to the identical positions at the firing point to take the AGF tests from fortified revetments. We moved out again, and the old round of sandbags and shovels began. This time "A" Battery's revetments were a model for the world. They were three feet on top, and the outer and inner slopes were perfect. The headers and stretchers were laid to the inch. We worked late Saturday night to complete these training-film

revetments and to earn a Sunday of rest, hopeless optimists that we were. But Sunday found us back out at Topsail throwing sand up against the beautiful revetments. This Labor of Hercules ended about suppertime on Sunday, and we knew that everything had happened to us. We were wrong, for that night there was a hurricane warning and all guns were ordered in from the beach. As men came in off pass they were sent out on the twenty-mile road to Topsail. The revetments were torn down; the guns were dragged out for the battalion to haul radars, power plants, and occasionally other trucks, besides the guns. Few of us will forget Spivy's cake and coffee served in the battery area at 0400.

Eventually we moved back to Topsail to fire the AGF tests. As in other pinches "A" Battery did well. We fired a plotting board-radar course which buffaloed the AAATC Record Section, who were to record our bursts and compute the score. We fired this course twice, shooting in all about forty rounds each time. It took approximately two weeks of dreary waiting before the Record Section and the PQ-8 were sufficiently synchronized to complete the test. In the final shoot the target flew a high evasive course. This was our last antiaircraft firing.

The gun crews will probably recall antimechanized firing with pleasure. At Camp Edwards on 29 December we fired at a simulated tank rolling down hill. It was tricky shooting, for the tank swerved and changed speed, but there were hits. At Camp Davis the gasoline-powered target was easier to hit. Waldron's crew, with Walley on the azimuth clock, covered itself with glory, hitting "four out of four" on the AGF test, and earned a couple of cases of North Carolina beer.

There was some field artillery firing at Camp Edwards, but to really proved the versatility of the 90 on a farm near Camp Davis. From here the guns fired over Topsail at targets floating on the water. The results were excellent. Bova computed firing data from observations or sensings by Lt Searles and Cartwright, who called them in by radio from the OP at Topsail. Ansman and Cronin telephoned the data to Lts Reinhalter and Winer, who fired the gun crews. We found we enjoyed this mission of another branch of the service. When the firing was over and Grochan had recovered his last water-borne target, we covered the guns with cosmoline and later turned them in to ordnance.

Throughout the firing, "A" Battery operated as a team. Every man had a job, and our overall operation became smooth and professional in our later shoots. It is impossible to mention every member of the team, but there were many high points. The best remembered are Beaumont and Riccio setting a rate-of-fire record for Poerio's gun crew in the AGF test at Topsail, Waldron's crew making a fine showing on the antimech range, Bova's plotting, Saalfeld's orientation of the range equipment, gun three's fast releveling during the air infiltration course, the job of the height finder crew when the director was out of action during the same shoot, but there were many other jobs by crews and individuals which made "A" Battery a shooting team that we can always remember with pride. 

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