But there was no panic. Matter of fact, as the Captain pointed out in his report of the incident, the damage-control party got the water turned off in half a minute, by which time all personnel had evacuated the affected area.
It didn't take the fire marshal and damage-control officer long after the water had been turned off to locate the active thermostat in the movie booth. When they found a burned-out cigarette stub sitting just beneath it, they both toyed seriously with the idea of securing an anchor around the operator's neck and heaving him overboard. The indignant protests of the operator were futile in the face of this damning evidence. He was seized roughly by the Master-at-Arms, dragged down below, and hurled into the brig. Matter of fact, he was glad to be put behind bars by the time they got to the brig, because on the way there plenty of dripping sailors offered to lynch him if the MAA would turn him loose.
Soon after the great exodus, Joe crept into the crew's bunkroom where his rack adjoined those of his pals who had been helping him at the movie booth. "Boy oh boy! You really fixed him up, didn't you?" said one of them, as Joe slid into his bunk. "He won't give you no more trouble in the chow line the rest of this cruise."
"I guess not," said Joe soberly.
"I like to busted a gut laughing," said his pal, "when I seen the Captain and the Admiral and all them officers jump up and start running. All the ear-banging that movie operator's been doing ain't gonna pull him out of this jam."
"I guess not," said Joe; "but I'm afraid we're in trouble too."
"How come?" asked his pal. "We're just as clean as a couple of plaster saints. Nobody seen us up there."
"I know," said Joe; "but what do you think they will do to that movie operator? Do you think he'll bust him?"
"Hell, compared to the other things they'll do, busting him ain't even a fart in a teapot. They'll throw the book at him. He'll get a general court, they'll bust him clear down to Wave Third Class and send him to Portsmouth until he's eligible to retire on thirty years."
"But that ain't right," said Joe; "they can't do that."
"You just watch and see if they can't," observed his pal.
"But we can't let them do it," said Joe.
"What do you think we can do about it? All the lawyers in the United States couldn't beat the rap for that guy now. He's just had it, that's all."
"We gotta take the rap," said Joe.
"What," asked his pal incredulously, "are you crazy?... And where do you get that we stuff anyway? Leave me out of this deal, brother. If you wanna take the rap, that's your funeral. After all, I didn't have nothin' to do with it... you remember I told you you'd better lay off that thermostat."
"Okay," said Joe; "I'll leave you out. But if he gets a court, I'm going to spill the beans. I wouldn't do a trick like that even to a Marine."
Next morning Bluberry came around to the personnel office to see Mr. Wigglesworth.
"Good morning, Bluberry," said Willy. "I spoke to the Chief Master at Arms this morning and he's going to withdraw that report against you for socking the movie operator; in fact, he said he'd like to bust him in the nose himself. So that's all fixed up now. If anything else comes up that I can help you out in, don't hesitate to call on me."
"Sir," said Joe, "I'm going to have to go to the Captain and tell him what really happened."
Willy looked at him in amazement, and then said, "Don't you do any such a thing! You'll never make chief that way! Why should you want to do a thing like that?"
"Because otherwise that movie operator will get crucified for something he didn't do."
"Well, now, that's just the way it goes in this Navy sometimes," said Willy. "Sometimes you get a medal when you don't deserve it. Sometimes you get hung on a bum rap. It's the same way in the Army - and everywhere else on this earth for that matter. I thought you said this guy was an ear-banger. He probably should of been hung for something else long ago."
"That's right, he is," said Willy; "but I just ain't going to let him get hung for something I did. I'm not built that way."
"Well, now look, Bluberry," said Willy, "that's just a weakness of character that you can correct if you try hard enough. After all, it isn't your fault if you were brought up that way. But you can overcome it. And, besides, all you did was to carry out the advice I gave you. I'm the one who should have a guilty conscience - not you."
"Do you want to tell the Captain it was your idea, sir?" asked Bluberry.
"No, indeed," said Willy, "I'd rather not! But if you're going to try to make a martyr out of yourself, maybe I'll have to."
"Why would you hafta do it? You just got through telling me I shouldn't."
"That's different," said Willy. "You prob'ly wouldn't understand, but sometimes officers have to do crazy things when their men are too dumb to help themselves."
The call to flight quarters interrupted this dissertation on ethics and Joe had to beat it up on deck and get his plane ready for the morning's operations.
On deck Joe climbed into the radar operator's cockpit of his plane and began a methodical check of all the switches, dials, and circuit breakers in the compartment. This compartment, located in the tail of the plane just aft of the pilot's cockpit, has no internal access to the cockpit. Carrier planes are small, and in the Douglas Skyraider the radarman gets in and out of his cubbyhole through a door in the side of the tail. He sits there watching his instruments, only a foot or so behind the pilot's back, and can peek around the corners of the pilot's seat and see part of the instrument panel. He can reach one arm around the side of the seat to hand the pilot a cigarette but he can't get into the cockpit.
After everything was squared away back aft, Joe climbed out of the tail, clambered up on the wing and got into the cockpit to adjust and test the automatic pilot.
When Lieutenant Potter came up to man the plane and get ready for the takeoff, Joe solicitously helped him get into the cockpit and adjust his shoulder harness.
"Good morning, Lieutenant," said Joe. "How's your head this morning? I hear you got quite a bump yesterday."
"It's okay, I guess," said Lieutenant Potter. "Keep that head of yours working this morning and don't give me any more bum steers."
"I won't, sir," promised Joe, as he jumped off the wing and crawled back into his cubbyhole.
So Joe and the Lieutenant took off into the wild blue yonder for what was scheduled to be a 4-hour flight.
One hour after takeoff the following message from Lieutenant Potter boomed in over the loudspeaker in Guadalcanal Combat Information Center:
"Guadalcanal, this is Four Sail One. I'm turning back. I will have to land as soon as I get there. Over."
"Four Sail One, this is Guadalcanal. Roger. What's the trouble?"
"This is Four Sail One. I don't know. Wait."
Combat Information Center phoned this news up to the bridge, and the flight deck was alerted for a deferred emergency landing.
A few minutes later Lieutenant Potter came through again: "Guadalcanal this is Four Sail One. I'm sick. I'm passing out. I'm putting plane on autopilot."
Guadalcanal's No. 1 fighter director barked at the radio direction finder, "Get on that transmission! Get a bearing!" Then at the radar operators, "Stand by to clamp on to this bearing!" Then into his transmitter, "Keep talking, Four Sail One, so we can get a bearing! Give us a short count!"
No answer from Four Sail One.
Meantime the Combat Information Center team hastily checked the flight schedule and determined that Four Sail One, accompanied by Four Sail Two, had been briefed to operate 200 miles northeast.
"Guadalcanal to Four Sail Two. Are you in company with Four Sail One?"
"Negative," the chilling answer came back. "He went down into the overcast five minutes ago and I lost him."
"Okay," said the Combat Information Center officer to his helpers. "Get a bearing on Four Sail Two. That will give us the general area. Plot everything around there and start eliminating."
He called the bridge and passed
the word up: "Pilot of Four Sail One reported he was passing out. Estimate he is to northeast, within 150 miles. No radio bearings or radar fixes yet."
On the bridge the Captain changed course to northeast, bent on thirty knots, and said to the air officer, "Get four radar planes ready right away for a search mission. Have your helicopter ready to go on short notice."
As the Guadalcanal swung around to the northeast, the following came in: "This is Four Sail One, radar operator Bluberry speaking. Stand by for short count. One... two... three... four... five... five... four... three... two... one. How do you hear? Over."
The direction-finder operator announced, "Okay. I've got him bearing zero-four-six degrees. Got a good sharp cut on him."
"Got anything out there, radar?" asked the Combat Information Center officer.
"Yes, sir; we've got two plots; one circling at 110 miles, one coming straight in at eighty."
"Guadalcanal to Four Sail One. Is your pilot okay now?"
"Negative. He is slumped over on one side of the cockpit and appears to be passed out. I reached around, got hold of his microphone and pulled the cord back into the radar compartment. We are flying on autopilot now, and seem to be okay so far."
"Roger, Four Sail One. We have two plots on our radar scope. Are you flying straight or circling?"
"I can't tell. We are in an overcast and I can't see a thing outside. I can't see the compass or flight instruments from back here. Over."
"Guadalcanal to Four Sail Two. What are you doing now?"
"Guadalcanal, this is Four Sail Two. I'm flying directly back to ship on course 225, at angels twenty, estimated distance eighty miles. Over."
"Roger. Four Sail Two, we have you on our radar bearing zero-four-zero, distance seventy miles. Four Sail One is circling forty miles northeast of you. Go back and stand by."
"This is Four Sail Two. Roger. Wilco. You will have to coach me because he is down in the overcast."
On the bridge of the Guadalcanal a hurried conference was in progress. The Captain said, "He's got three more hours of gas left. If he keeps circling we can be under him in three hours. We can spread our destroyers out in a big circle, have the helicopters in the air, and maybe, when he runs out of gas and spins in, we can get to the spot in time to pull him out."
"That's right," said the air officer. "He might not spin in. That autopilot will hold the nose on the horizon, and depending on just how the plane is balanced, he may spiral down instead of spinning."
"There's about thirty knots of wind blowing, so a lot will depend on whether he hits heading into the wind or downwind."
"Meantime we've got to get that radar operator out of there. As soon as we get over to where he is circling, we'll have him bail out. The helicopter ought to be able to spot him coming down in a chute and fish him out of the water without any trouble at all."
Meanwhile, in the radar operator's compartment of Four Sail One, Joe Bluberry was sizing up his situation too. He could see the Lieutenant's head slumped over on the side of the cockpit, and could see that he was still breathing, although apparently out cold. Joe knew that as long as the autopilot was working he was in no immediate danger, and that they had several hours' gas left.
Soon came a message from the Guadalcanal. 'To radar operator of Four Sail One. We have you on our scopes at 100 miles. You are flying in a five-mile circle and are perfectly safe as long as the autopilot works. We are heading your way and will be in your area in about two and one half hours. When we get there, we will have you bail out and will pick you up. Meantime, take it easy and don't get excited."
In the next two and one half hours, while the task group raced northeast, Joe did some figuring and a little experimenting. He could see the controls of the autopilot up in the cockpit, even though he couldn't reach them. Lieutenant Potter had set the bank knob for a standard-rate turn to the left and the elevator knob for level flight. Joe arrived at the same conclusion that the conference on the bridge had reached - namely, that the plane might not spin when it ran out of gas, and that a lot depended on whether the plane hit the water heading into the wind.
Joe also found that by using a short length of spare whip antenna he could reach the bank-control knob. By twisting that knob a quarter turn to the right he knew he could level the wings, and thus set the autopilot for straight flight. As always, he had a big wad of gum in his mouth.
Just before noon the task group arrived under the spot where the radarscopes showed Four Sail One to be circling in the clouds. The Guadalcanal took station in the center of the formation several miles downwind of this spot, with the destroyers spread out in a 10-mile circle around her. Three helicopters were in the air and all lookouts in the fleet trained their glasses aloft to watch for a parachute emerging from the clouds. The task group turned downwind so as to stay under the plane until its engine quit, and word went out from the Combat Information Center: "Guadalcanal to Four Sail One. We are directly under you now, all set for you to jump. The instant your feet touch the water, slide out of your parachute harness, inflate your Mae West, and we will pick you up right away. Okay now. Bail out."
Out of the squawk boxes in Combat Information Center came the startling answer: "Guadalcanal, this is Four Sail One. Radarman Bluberry speaking. Negative. I'm sticking with the plane."
Everyone in the Combat Information Center goggled for a moment, and then the fighter director broadcast:
"Don't get scared, Bluberry. There's no danger at all. The whole task group is right under you. We have three helicopters in the air; we will have you out of the water almost as soon as you hit. Just open the door and bail out."
"This is Four Sail One," said an obviously cool and un-flustered voice; "I ain't scared, and I ain't jumping; I'm riding this plane down."
This unforeseen development made no sense to anyone in Combat Information Center. Neither there nor on the bridge could anyone see how Bluberry could do any good by riding the plane down. If he jumped, his chances of coming through okay were a thousand to one. If he stayed with the plane, they weren't much better than fifty-fifty.
Soon another voice from Guadalcanal came on the air: "Four Sail One, this is the Captain speaking. Do as you are told. That is an order. Bail out."
Back came the cool and positive reply: "Captain, sir, negative. I won't do it. I think when we run out of gas I can straighten this plane out and make it hit the water heading into the wind. I'm going to ride her down and maybe she will float long enough for me to pull the Lieutenant out of the cockpit after we hit."
The tense group in Combat Information Center mulled this one over incredulously. "Impossible" was the general consensus, but the fighter director officer said, "Maybe. All the control cables run through the radar operator's compartment. If he knows which ones are the ailerons, and if he pulls hard enough on the right one, at exactly the right time, he might overpower the autopilot and straighten the plane out. If he bails out, the plane might sink before we can get to it and pull the Lieutenant out. The odds are pretty long against this deal, but it isn't impossible;"
This conference was interrupted by another message from aloft: "This is Four Sail One. I see other planes all around me on my radarscope now. When our engine quits and we spiral down out of the clouds, somebody is bound to see me. Let the first guy that sees me sing out on the radio and tell me when the plane is headed into the wind. I'll try to level the wings and hold them that way until we hit the water. Acknowledge. Over."
"This is Guadalcanal. Roger your last message. We advise you to bail out. If you refuse, we will do the best we can to help you."
While the circle of eyes in the Combat Information Center fixed on the fighter director began to light up with gleams of admiration, the fighter director officer muttered huskily, 'That kid has a lot more guts than he has good sense."
Half a minute later: "Guadalcanal, this is Four Sail One. Engine just quit. Stand by."
Presently the squawk box in the Combat Information Center said: "Four Sail One
is okay so far... We are still in the clouds, but I think we have slowed down as much as we are going to and she hasn't spun yet... I think the autopilot may hold her... If the cloud base is still at 3000 feet, we should be breaking out any minute now."
A dozen lookouts sighted the stricken plane as soon as she broke out below the overcast. Another plane only a quarter of a mile away came on the air immediately with: "Four Sail One, I have you in sight. You are in a normal left spiral and are headed nearly downwind now. Keep coming to the left and I'll let you know when you are in the wind.... Ninety degrees to go... forty-five degrees... twenty degrees... stand by... Bring her out."
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