Since the age of six, Jim Neefus dreamed of becoming a pilot. Military service seemed to be the logical path forward and he first joined the Army, serving two years with the 319th Field Artillery Battalion before applying for Naval Aviation. Peacetime budget restrictions forced a six month wait before he was able to report for flight training and he gladly dropped his Army commission to pursue flying. In August 1935 he enlisted in the Navy as a Naval Aviation student for a rigorous course of intense academics. The dropout rate was incredibly high, but Jim finished as class captain and ultimately was commissioned into the Marine Corps. After training on carriers with biplanes, he was assigned sea duty on the U.S.S. Wasp.
After the Japanese began their conquest in the Pacific sphere and Germany solidified the onset of a global war in Europe, Neefus found himself flying neutrality patrols over the Atlantic with a scout bombing squadron. In the three years he was with them, the squadron changed identity three times: VMB-1 from June 1938, VMS-1 from August 1940, and finally VMSB-131. He flew the SB2U Vindicator which would become obsolete in only a few months – it had accumulated problems throughout its service life despite being a novel machine only a few years prior. In the rapidly aging craft, he reported and tracked air, surface and underwater threats, performing well across all tasks.
As the Dauntless began replacing the Vindicator, Neefus transferred from the bombing squadron to VMF-221. The fighter squadron flew the equally obsolete Brewster F2A Buffalo, a stout little fighter that was one of the United States’ first monoplanes. It was unstable, overweight, and a notoriously dangerous fighter handed down by the Navy after breaking wheel struts too often during hard carrier landings. The Marines persevered with what equipment they had, continuing missions in what they dubbed as a flying coffin that leaked oil, misfired guns, and had too many terminal flights. These issues were not apparent during the 1938 tests when the Brewster fighter excelled, performing like sleek machine on the cutting edge of technology. Still, they felt it was a “good looking little fighter” and a “thrill to fly.” In only a couple of years, the Navy abandoned the plump little craft, dumping it and its problems in the hands of the Marine Corps' pilots. It performed adequately enough during training and flights with mechanical issues that paled in comparison to how feebly they would perform in combat against the Japanese.
MIDWAY
Equipped with twenty of these F2A-3 Buffaloes and seven F4F-3 Wildcats, VMF-221 embarked from San Diego the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor. They were on the U.S.S. Saratoga when they were diverted to Midway Island on December 22nd, 1941, leaving Jim feeling dejected and “saw some of his shipmates weep in frustration.” The change in direction had been controversial, but strategic since Wake fell the next day. Second to Pearl Harbor, Midway was seen as the best defense of the United States' west coast. The Japanese were still trying to bomb critical points on United States soil, including more damage to Pearl Harbor.
Midway was little more than a hunk of coral in the middle of the ocean. It was a total of two and a half square miles, devoid of vegetation, and surrounded by reef. The main airfield was on the larger Eastern Island and Sand Island was home to some of the more permanent structures as well as a smaller airfield. The only notable inhabitants were large albatrosses that were equally as entertaining as they were a nuisance.
On March 9th, a dispatch from Pearl Harbor warned Midway that enemy flying boats might attack that night or the next. They had just been harassed by two “Emily” H8K Flying Boats of the elite 801 Kokutai Fighter Squadron. The aircraft, renowned for incredible range and armament capacity, had intended to make the journey to the Hawaiian Islands to disrupt salvage and repair efforts. The operation began on March 4th as part of Operation K, a follow up to the first strike on Pearl Harbor known as Operation Z. The mission commander in the first aircraft, Pilot Lieutenant Hisao Hashizume, and Ensign Shosuke Sasao flying the second, had both missed their targets over Hawaii, but made it back to their bases in the Marshall Islands. Due to the route Hashizume took flying nonstop on the return trip, he set a record for the longest bombing run in history at that point. Almost one week later, they were on their second flight – the mission that Hashizume would not return from.
The air raid alarm sounded shortly after noon on March 10th after a target appeared to the southwest by radar bearing about 260-degrees 43-miles distant. One division was already airborne and was sent out on 275-degrees, 25-miles at nine thousand feet altitude and directed to circle. Two additional divisions, one led by the squadron commander Captain R. M. Haynes and the other by Neefus, took to the air to fly out 280-degrees, 25-miles at eight thousand feet altitude. Within six minutes of the alarm, thirteen F2As had cleared the runway. They split into two patrols, high and low, and waited for orders. The squadron was anxious to get into combat after weeks of dummy runs and news of how poorly the war in the Pacific was going. Major Wallace ordered one division to continue on their 280-degree vector to intercept. The chosen division happened to be under command of Jim Neefus. He accepted the orders and headed out above the clouds.
Within five minutes, flying the Buffalo emblazoned MF-1, Jim spotted five miles in the distance and a thousand feet above them a Japanese four-engine patrol plane, an Emily, heading toward Midway. He radioed an exuberant “Tallyho!” to the other three Buffaloes under his command: Lieutenants Francis P. McCarthy, an ex-newspaperman, now his wingman flying MF-12; Charles W. Somers in MF-4, an ex-telephone lineman; and Gunner Robert L. Dickey in MF-9, the oldest of them with years of Marine aviation already behind him. On hearing they had contact, Major Wallace ordered them to pursue and the section chased the H8K to seven thousand feet.
The enemy plane was remarkably fast for its size and tilted for a sweeping right turn. With the side exposed for a broad target, Jim sent a burst from his .50-calibers into one engine, scoring the first hit at ten thousand feet. With thick smoke trailing from the punctured engine, she plunged into a 30-degree dive to take cover in a broken cloud bank at three thousand feet. Each of the other pilots chased the Emily at full power and in high blower, each making a pass at the fleeing plane while the Japanese pilot returned murderous fire and tried to escape the abrasive attacks by the four Buffalo fighters.
Gunner Dickey came down from behind and was peppered with a seven-shot burst from the Emily’s machine guns. “One passed through the tail wheel bearing, three simply passed through the Buffalos skin, one passed through the engine's number seven cylinder, one punctured the firewall between two cylinders, and the last passed through the left side panel of the windshield and hit Dickey's left arm, breaking it above the elbow. With neither "movement or sensation" in his left arm, Dickey put MF-9 into a diving turn for home, pulling out at five hundred feet.” McCarthy and Somers strafed the aircraft from above before losing sight within the cloudbank. Neefus pushed his Buffalo into the clouds above the path of the obscured Emily, matching its pace to come out to attack from above, which he predicted with precision and opened fire before disengaging and pulling up through the overcast again.
After several minutes, Neefus emerged alone below the clouds over a glassy sea and on doubling back to find his wingman and second section, saw a trail of black smoke rising from below the area of their engagement. He circled for four minutes around the blazing wreckage and radioed Midway to report that what he presumed was the enemy aircraft was burning and his division was turning back for base. Hashizume's last flight credited the squadron with their first kill of the war and the first kill for a Brewster Buffalo in combat. A broadcast from Tokyo Rose that evening confirmed the loss of Hashizume's plane in a “successful attack” against “elated Marine defenders.”
Major Wallace recommended Jim for the Navy Cross and the rest of his division - Somers, McCarthy and Dickey – each received a Distinguished Flying Cross for taking out the Japanese plane. They also each received a bottle of bourbon. Admiral Nimitz with his staff plus Admiral Ballinger presented the awards in May. From then on, flying consisted of routine patrols without much more excitement outside of air raid drills. Captain Neefus assumed command of the squadron when Major McCaul moved up to Group Operations Officer, a progression Jim would eventually follow as well. Weeks before the infamous Battle of Midway, Jim was transferred out of VMF-221 and his first Pacific tour came to an end.
SOLOMON ISLANDS
Near the end of August 1942, Jim took command of the squadron which would become VMF-215. At first the unit was going to be part of divebombing group, but with no SBDs available, rumors spread that they would become a fighter squadron which greatly excited the pilots. They were branded VMSB-242 in September, which was a great disappointment to see nomenclature for a dive bomber squadron, but it was only a day before they would become VMF-215.
“Neefus kept the pilots in the air as much as possible, calmly chiding them on their mistakes and giving pilots with low time more hours in the air to improve their skills. His XO, Owns, was more direct and pilots of the squadron remembered him as a hammer in comparison to Neefus who was firm but subdued.”
The war had changed since Neefus last flew and he and Owens inquired returning veteran pilots passing through the new squadrons at Santa Barbara about how to keep their young pilots alive over the Pacific. The Japanese Zero was suprioer to the F4F in most respects and they also preferred to take advantage of altitude and dive away after attacks to avoid dogfighting. Thought he was disappointed in the lack of combat aircraft to train on, Neefus worked his men to prepare them, particularly on navigation as he knew and was familiar with flying over the open ocean.
The squadron ended up beginning its combat tour with the new Corsair. For a fighter, it was massive. It was nearly twice as big as the F4F Wildcat and riddled with problems yet to be resolved. Neefus was the first to fly one after picking it up at North Island in San Diego on New Year’s Day. After two take offs and landings, he left for Goleta where the squadron delicately treated the only Corsair they had with great care. The squadron finally acquired its full allotment of eighteen planes and in two months prepared to embark.
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They arrived at French Frigate Shoals which was entirely underwhelming and desolate. From there, they flew to Midway which had changed little in the year Neefus had been on the West Coast. It was hardly better than French Frigate. The gooneys still infested the island with feathers, eggs and droppings. It became undesirable duty to clean up fried, chopped and shredded birds from the engine cylinders. They quickly set into a routine starting on April 14th with a flight of four Corsairs on alert or patrolling while the others were on standby. For two months they continued with dawn and dusk patrols with a smattering of accidents in between because of the powerful unruly planes. Neefus became frustrated enough that he lined up the entire flying echelon stating he wished they had glass bellies so he could see who had their heads up their ass.
The squadron quickly molded into a close unit of friends who respected Neefus. Newcomers who ‘chafed’ at his leadership quickly learned to respect who the old timers called “Gentleman Jim.” He was able to lead without raising his voice and entrusted his reports to lead their own divisions and sections in their own way. He had no fear of delegating responsibilities especially when he was required at Group and Wing Headquarters, leaving Bob Owens to deal with daily problems.
On June 13th they received orders to depart Midway and within four days were on the Chandeleur for the South Pacific combat zone. The allies were after Rabaul, but had to get through New Guinea and the Solomons and establish bases short range escort fighters for attack bombers. After a long several days at sea, VMF-215 arrived at Espiritu Santo just after the capture of two islands in the Russels group north of Guadalcanal. The accommodations were wonderful, but they were left acting as ferry pilots for frontline units in need of aircraft to replace recent losses. While they waited, Neefus implemented a new training program focusing on gunnery and section tactics of which ‘the weave’ was crucial in evading the nimble Japanese Zero.
They received eighteen new (or refurbished) Corsairs to take to Guadalcanal where they had time to explore the recent battlefields to search for relics and souvenirs. Their living quarters on the island reflected the impending war- between metal Nissen-type huts and cloth pyramidal tents laced slit trenches and foxholes for cover from occasional air raids.
Finally, they had their first official mission on July 25th to patrol Rendova 170 air miles north. Neefus led a division as did Tomes and the only event was Tomes’ engine seizing up forcing a water landing. Other flights that day met no enemies, but the next day would be different.
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The first encounter with the enemy was a disaster – not because of the Japanese, but because of the condition of their Corsairs. Members of the squadron slowly dropped off – George Sanders immediately as he could not take off – then three more from engine trouble before reaching new Georgia, five on passing through. Stockwell watched his leader Pickeral suddenly shoot around in erratic movements until he plunged toward the sea and became the first death of 215. Stockwell returned to Guadalcanal, for another two to drop out of the formation.
Miraculously, the actual bomb run on Kahili was clean even though Japanese interceptors stalked them through the run. The Corsairs escaped damaged and the bombers took no major hits.
On the return trip, Jim retired with Jack Nichols and his wingman Don Moore when their calm flight was startled by tracers snapping over Neefus’ wing. A lone fighter was going for Moore’s plane, which still was damaged and smoking when Jim pulled hard left to meet the adversary. Nichols followed and the Zeke sped right past them to escape north. Moore drifted off to the right in a trail of smoke and hit the surface of the water in flames. Moore did not get out and was the first casualty due to enemy action.
Of the twenty planes they started the day with, eight did not make it to Kahili, one was badly shot up, and two went down with their pilots. They were bitter about borrowing their malfunctioning aircraft from other squadrons and not their own trusted ground crew.
“As a matter of routine, ComAirSols would notify Neefus the day before a mission what the target was and the number of planes available. Unlike the movies, pilots had no personal aircraft and the operations officer would just point to any aircraft and say ‘Take that one!’ After a few missions, pilots became familiar with the characteristics of various airplanes and dreaded when they were assigned one that had a poor reputation. There were plenty of pilots and few planes, so many pilots had to wait a day or two to fly.”
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Eleven corsairs flew up the Slot toward Bougainville to rendevouz with 27 B24 bombers – two had to turn back as was becoming the usual and terrible weather with dense clouds forced most of the bombers out as well. Neefus was irritated that only nine of the bombers joined below them at 7000 feet. He wanted to call of the flight, but the bombers were adamant. The commander found his target but their bombs missed, only to stir up enemy fighters and anti-aircraft fire from the airfield and nearby islands. As they made their return flight, several acrobatic fighters closed in on their little group. Tracers zipped across the canopies of Jim’s division and he and Spears turned to face the fighters. A hail of bullets caught Nichols’s fighter and he dropped from the formation before Neefus got onto the Zeke’s tail. The Japanese pilot pulled up and Neefus chased after him in a vertical climb before losing him in the thick clouds. He resigned from the chase and turned home, breigly seeing Nichols below with his fire extinguished. When Neefus returned and inquired about his pilot, he had not returned and only Lieutenant Crowe had claimed to see him make a water landing, but he was not seen again.
August opened with some foul luck for Jim when his division along with those of Don Aldrich and Dick Braun were off to cover shipping off Rendova. Neefus’ plane failed to start and his division was delayed long after the others. On August 11th, he took Ray Tomes and Thrifty Warner’s divisions with his own up to the recently captured Sefi Point runway on New Georgia for combat air patrols and strip alerts. Unable to reach Segi Point due to bad weather, the Corsairs landed at Banika in the Russells and stayed on strip alert for two days.
On the 15th, three divisions led by Neefus went up to Munda and sat on the edge of the coral runway as the alert flight, on call if Japanese were expected. The field was either a dust bowl or terribly muddy from a moment of rain and was extremely spartan in affordances and had been barely improvised by SeaBees and engineers. It was extremely close to the fighting and the occasional artillery round smashed nearby the camp. Along the airstrip were the stinking bodies of unburied Japanese which attracted swarms of flies that in turn infested the food. Giant mosquitoes preyed on the men of 215 making sleep fitful and the hot stagnant days were no better for sleep.
Three days later, Jim Neefus and Hal Spears were sent on an unusual assignment, high altitude reconnaissance over Kahili. It was uneventful without aerial contact, but they did report a large transport, nine or ten smaller craft, and some barges clustering nearby bays and inlets. It was one of his few operations from Munda during August since he became unofficial commander of operations. At the end of the month, while on strip alert on August 30th, Neefus was talking to the alert pilots when a corsair flew in low over the battered trees and landed. He immediately recognized the pilot as an old friend Ken Walsh from VMF-124. His plane had super charger problems and he was hoping to borrow one to rejoin his squadron en route to Kahili. Neefus had no problem gesturing at the row of planes simply saying: “Take your pick!” The action that followed earned him a Medal of Honor.
It was not uncommon for a division to fly two missions a day, sometimes three. The squadron rarely flew in any great stretch, divided up piecemeal to meet the requirements of ComAirSols. The number of planes available did not always meet the number called for by Operations. Squadrons shared planes and the ground crews worked hard to get the maximum number of aircraft ready each day. The weary but robust Corsairs were pushed to their mechanical limits without many of the usual periodic checks. The pilots, too, were pushed to their limits simply living on the island. Disease and fatigue were rampant and they were losing weight quickly.
The fighting ended abruptly on September 5th when they fulfilled their six weeks of combat. The rotation policy ensured they would have several weeks of liberty and training to follow. By the time they left Munda, they bore whiskers, bloodshot hollow eyes and creased faces. Back on Guadalcanal, days on the beach and remembering what it was like to relax brought great comfort. Liberty in Sydney was even better.
Before they returned to the combat zone, Jim, the father of the squadron who prepared them for battle, was moved up to Air Group Staff. He recalled later that 215 was the “greatest group of pilots ever put together” and that what made them so great as “the things they brought with them,” acknowledging the variety of personalities in the squadron. He finished his time in the Solomons as Assistant Operations Officer for a year on the Staff of the Commander Aircraft, Solomon Islands and later Northern Solomons. His knowledge of aircraft and coordination of strikes carried the operational aircraft through the Solomon Island and Bismarck Archipelago campaigns.
KOREA
The Marine Flag Allowance for Commander, Carrier Division Fifteen consisted of two men in July 1950: Lieutenant Colonel James L. Neefus and Technical Sergeant Robert W. Ross. The carrier division under Rear Admiral Richard W. Ruble included the flagship, the U.S.S. Baedoing Strait and the U.S.S. Sicily, the latter of which was the vessel on which the two men sailed into the war in Korea. The Sicily reached Yokosuka where the Marines embarked and sailed therefrom, stopping in Kobe the next day, and commencing operations in Korean waters on August 3d. The Sicily had no aircraft on board until Corsairs of VMF-214 landed briefly before taking off to support action at the Pusan Perimeter. After only three days, Neefus and Ross transferred over to the Badoeng Strait which hosted another Corsair squadron VMF-323, which had been operating since the first of the month. His role was once again Assistant Air Operations Officer, with additional responsibility of Marine Air Liaison Officer. They worked directly with the Provisional Marine Brigade’s forward air controllers at the western end of the shrinking Pusan Perimeter, breaking only to replenish at Sasebo.
They sailed back to the Korean Straits on the 5th, operating off seventy-miles off the west coast while VMF-323 annihilated targets between Kunsan and the 38th parallel. They saw the Sicily again when she rejoined to launch strikes into west-central Korea. Targets consisted of bridges, boxcars, tunnels, airfields, vehicles, artillery installations, and supply depots. Wolmi-do was subjected to an incinerating 95,000 pounds of napalm before the ships departed to replenish once more. Throughout the first month, the squadrons flew a combined total of 1,359 sorties with Marine Tactical Air Control Parties responsible for eighty percent of strikes in support of Marine ground units. “Close air support furnished by Marine airmen was a marvel to everybody concerned, including the Marines. We had never seen anything like it even in our practice.”
When they returned, it was to support the Inchon landing. “Limited by pilot rather than plane availability, the schedules worked out by Lieutenant Colonels James L. Neefus and Norman J. Anderson (flying with MAG-33) the two senior Marines afloat, called for at least two missions per pilot and, in many cases, three.” Planes of VMF-323 were airborne at dawn to add strikes to the pummeling naval gunfire for three hours preceding the landing.
After Inchon, they sailed around to the east coast in frigid waters off Wonsan. Desperate missions to free the entrapped men of X Corps ensured a withdrawal from the Chosin Reservoir area and evacuation of Hungnam. To ensure the evacuation of Eighth Army troops from the Seoul area, they sailed around the peninsula again to blockade the communist held west coast. Within thirty-three miles of the enemy coastal area, Jim ensured the organization for continuous daily launchings with two-hour missions of six to eight aircraft.
Those last days in the Yellow Sea ended the Badoeng Straits first tour in Korean waters, but Neefus remained in the Far East. He transferred with Carrier Division Fifteen staff to the U.S.S. Bairoko, which had been on anti-submarine warfare duties in the area of Yokosuka during the current war. He then moved to the newly formed Carrier Division Seventeen, commissioned on the deck of the familiar Badoeng Strait under Captain J. L. Kane. Their new role was to train hunter-killer teams in anti-submarine warfare.
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For the next several years, Jim progressed through multiple commands, staff college and helicopter training before a final overseas assignment in Japan. He built a wonderful relationship in Iwakuni that culminated in several thoughtful letters from Japanese civilian and military personnel. He was showered with compliments by the Japanese – a dramatic difference from his first engagement with them in 1942. From K. Tsuji, Chief of Kure Procurement Bureau: “You, with specific comprehension, made every resultful effort to cultivate the amicable relations between the United States and Japan.” Kyoichi Doi, Mayor of the City of Iwakuni who was reluctant to see Neefus depart, wrote to him: “I hope the friendliness and cooperation between our two people, as in the past, will continue in the future and hope that we shall be associated again some day.” Similar compliments came from Admiral Misugu Ihara and Governor Taro Osawa. With such overwhelming appreciation, he departed Japan and returned to Cherry Point for retirement three years later.