The big bombers of the 20th Air Force are not in sight yet. As the photo planes orbit, waiting, Buddy suddenly cries into his radio: “Cap’n, my number one prop is acting up…erratic…I think it’s gonna run away!” His plane is yawing violently as the troubled engine’s power fluctuates wildly. Calmly, John talks him through the emergency procedure for the runaway propeller, something F-5 pilots faced all too often. Buddy responds evenly, his drawled replies belying the terror gripping him. It is no use; the prop rpm control is not responding. Buddy will have to pull the engine back, descend, and head for home.
As Buddy drops below 12,000 feet, he picks up an escort of two Navy F6F Hellcat fighters, but they are not able to stay with him long, called away to more urgent duties just south of Miyakonojo. Buddy plods ahead on his slow mount, the left engine at idle, toward Okinawa.
John, now alone, picks up the B-29’s approaching from the east and establishes radio contact with the flight leader. The bombers pass, 16 strong, heading west to Kokura, their P-51 escorts weaving above. John follows them to the target.
The sky soon fills with enemy planes. The Japanese have really pulled out all the stops against this B-29 raid, throwing everything into the air that might get to the bombers’ lofty altitude. The “Tony” interceptors have arrived first, trying to shoot the Americans down with their cannons and machine guns. They are immediately engaged by the P-51’s. Some Kamikaze planes try to struggle up to altitude in front of the bomber formation, seeking head-on collisions. The P-51’s are being spread thin in their efforts to protect the bombers.
John stays several miles behind the B-29 flight, weaving and orbiting to trade space for time, awaiting the completion of their bomb run. Seeing the massive B-29’s at work for the first time, the most advanced and deadly bomber in the world, he is awestruck. The first combat aircraft with a pressurized cabin, Boeing’s proud, four-engined creation is comfortable in the thin air and deadly cold of these high altitudes. The crew does not need to wear oxygen masks: compressed air maintains cabin pressurization and allows normal breathing. This same compressed air also provides heat for the crew compartments, so bulky flight clothing is not needed, either.
Inside f-stop at 30,000 feet, though, John is freezing. He has put his canteen inside his heavy flight jacket to keep the water inside from turning to ice. So far, no Japanese planes have paid him any attention.
The aerial battle in the sky ahead is a beautiful but deadly ballet, a snarl of white contrails and occasional streams of black smoke. The radio chatter is the usual cacophony of frightened, high-pitched voices screaming instructions and encouragement, crescendos of excitement about American victories quickly followed by somber recognition of American losses. The escorts’ efforts have shifted to driving off the Kamikaze while the bombers’ gunners work on the interceptors, but the gunners are having little success. Two B-29’s have been damaged. One has been hit by cannon fire in both engines on the right wing; those engines are ablaze, threatening to engulf the fuel tanks within the wing. The second has taken numerous cannon rounds to the rear crew compartment, opening gaping holes which have caused the aircraft to depressurize. The three gunners in that compartment are badly wounded in their extremities from metal fragments; flak vests and steel helmets have protected their torsos and heads, but they need oxygen to breathe. None flows from their emergency masks, however; the supply lines have been severed. They struggle to reach portable oxygen bottles through the clouds of dust and frozen mist that accompany the depressurization. They do not make it. Slipping into unconsciousness, death from blood loss and hypoxia follows quickly. Those in the cockpit cannot help; they are separated from the gunners’ compartment by the long tunnel through the bomb bays. The tail gunner is busy holding off Japanese planes. The other four machine gun turrets, now lacking the sophisticated fire control computer operated by the mortally wounded gunners, are of little use. Unable to maintain speed and altitude, both planes drop away from the formation, to be mauled by the interceptors. Their surviving crew members become prisoners of war after parachuting to Japanese soil.
The Kamikaze score only once. Most of their decrepit aircraft are attempting to fly beyond their performance capabilities and cannot attain the altitude of the bombers or keep up with their speed. One pilot, however, manages to get his plane, almost out of fuel and very light, above the bombers and dives into the top of a B-29’s fuselage, where the main wing spar passes through the fuselage. The bomber’s pilots had seen him coming from 12 o’clock high but too late for their attempts at evasion to take effect; while large aircraft possess many desirable flying traits, maneuverability is not one of them. Even the streams of .50 caliber bullets from the two top turrets did not stop the suicide plane.
The stricken bomber actually limps along for a few miles, mated with its unwelcome guest, until an explosion on board causes the spar to fail and the wings to fold, sending the shiny cylinder that is the fuselage plummeting to earth. It takes 10 Americans to their deaths, accompanied by one already dead Japanese pilot.
The remaining B-29’s make it to Kokura, drop their bombs, and head back to their bases in the Marianas without further challenge from the enemy. John watches the bombs fall away, calculates their time to impact, and orbits three more times before beginning his camera run. The sky has few clouds, and the surface wind will carry the smoke from the bombs’ explosions and resulting fires to the northeast. He decides to remain at 30,000 feet to take the pictures. He will make three passes, photographing the same objective each time: one straight and level, one banking to the left, and the final one banking to the right. This will replicate the images on all the cameras in case any decide to malfunction. The Japanese planes have vanished, low on fuel, oxygen, ammunition--or perhaps all three.
Since he is alone and unthreatened in the sky, John throttles back, decreasing his airspeed so the turns at the end of each camera run can be tighter. This will reduce both the distance flown and total time over the objective, saving some fuel. It is a good plan until turning to the third and final pass when he sees the two flecks in the sky over his right shoulder. The flecks get bigger quickly; they are heading right for him. In a moment, they grow wings--they are “Tony” fighters.
Cursing his decision to slow down, John shuts off the cameras, opens the throttles, releases the empty drop tanks, and pushes the nose over. He needs speed now and he needs it badly. The Tonys overshoot on their first pass, a deflection shot with a low chance of success, firing their guns but hitting nothing. As f-stop accelerates in its dive, her pursuers are behind and to the left, maneuvering for another shot. John, sweating in his heavy flying clothes despite the intense cold, taps his airspeed indicator with a gloved finger at the mark on the scale indicating maximum allowable speed; he is not quite there yet. He speaks the word “compressibility”--the phenomenon of excessive speed that will make it impossible to pull out of a dive--several times in rapid succession. His throat feels like sandpaper. The Japanese fighters are still keeping pace; John wonders if they know they are chasing an unarmed airplane.
At this rate, they will be down to ground level in about two minutes. The ground in question here is the mountains of north central Kyushu; the highest, Kuju-san, rising almost 5000 feet. John must avoid getting caught in the twisting, turning valleys. He needs straight runs to capitalize on the F-5’s speed; maneuverability is not her strong suit.
f-stop is finally putting some distance between herself and her Japanese pursuers. John begins to guide her out of the dive, putting gentle back pressure on the control column, relieved to feel the input take effect as her nose begins to rise. At this speed, the Tonys will never catch up. He wishes he was higher than 2000 feet as he speeds toward the mountains, but to climb means losing some of this lifesaving airspeed. To maintain this altitude means a dash down the valleys ahead. He chooses the valleys.
John removes his oxygen mask, wipes his sweaty face and takes a much needed drink of water. His bladder is sending the first signals of
the need to urinate. He tries to ignore them. Okinawa is still two hours away. f-stop races into a valley.
Fortunately, this is a fairly straight valley, so the need for hair-raising high-speed maneuvering, with treed slopes rushing past on both sides, is held to a minimum.
Suddenly, the streams of little red balls, the telltale sign someone is shooting at you, are on either side of f-stop. At first, John thinks this is ground fire coming up at him, but no--they are coming from above and behind. Looking over his left shoulder, he is horrified to see two Japanese fighters diving down on him.
Are they the same two? Can’t be!
John is right. They are not the same two he had just eluded. Fortunately, their marksmanship is no better, but f-stop is still a sitting duck, albeit a fast-moving one. The Japanese planes are getting really close.
SHIT!
The only trick that will work now is a rapid deceleration, one that puts your pursuers suddenly in front of you. To do that, John deploys his flaps and holds the control column forward to fight the tendency of the F-5 to balloon upward after flap extension at high speeds. He is too low to try anything else.
It works better than John could imagine. The two Japanese fighters suddenly end up in front of f-stop. In a panic, the pilots get their signals crossed and collide, their attempts at evasive maneuvering failing spectacularly. The two aircraft fall to the valley floor as one mass and disintegrate on impact.
Looking over his shoulder as he speeds away from the wreckage below, John thinks to himself, without emotion:
If the cameras were on, I could have claimed two kills.
When it is over, John feels no exhilaration, no cold-blooded thrill of victory, no heady feeling of invincibility--just the familiar relief to have survived once again. There is no satisfaction or validation in causing the death of a foe.
Maybe his flight school instructors had been right, that he did lack aggressiveness, but he no longer cared. He flew photo recon, he was damned good at it and he was proud of that fact. And Marge was right: he has done his share, maybe more.
Marge can tell right away: something has changed in John. He seems suddenly unburdened--lighter--like he is 10 feet tall. His smile comes easily for a change.
“What’s up with you?” she asks, curious and delighted.
“Nothing,” he replies, beaming back at her. “Hey, you’re off tonight! Let’s go to the movies!”
Buddy Knox had returned, too. John breathed a sigh of relief after seeing his plane on the ramp while taxiing in, the mechanics already working on the propeller governor. Knox had encountered quite a bit of ground fire between the time the Navy escorts departed and leaving the shores of Kyushu, but he and his plane were none the worse for wear.
A week later, Buddy departs on a mission and never returns. No one knows what happened to him.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The Kadena Airfield outdoor theater is just a screen made of tarps hung between poles amidst a cluster of utility tents. Tonight’s film is an old Charlie Chan mystery. You bring your own stool or just sit on the ground. Marge and John spread a blanket and share coffee from a thermos that is part of John’s flying kit. He rarely used it on missions, though; coffee makes you urinate. There are several hundred male officers and enlisted men in attendance along with a far smaller number of nurses, those without male escort clustered together in mutual defense. Consumption of smuggled alcoholic beverages is inevitable; MPs hover to discourage trouble and promptly haul off anyone who misbehaves. So far, the MPs have little to do but enjoy the movie.
As soon as the film is over, Marge and John suddenly find themselves confronted by an inebriated Harmon Mann, who is loudly urging Marge to accompany him to a “fighterboys” party. When John tells him to “get lost,” Mann throws down the gauntlet and says: “C’mon, asshole…let’s you and me go man on man!”
This seems to Mann a safe show of bravado; somebody will break it up, probably before a punch is ever thrown. As for the MPs, he is quite sure there is no trouble with the law his birthright can’t escape.
Marge, seeing John’s face contort into a mask of hate and his fists already balled up, jumps in front of John and tries to hold him back. Taking this in, Mann continues his taunt: “Let him go, Margie! C’mon, you Kodak douche bag… you and me got some business to settle!”
Other pilots from John’s squadron begin to move in and keep them separated before it escalates to fisticuffs and the MPs get involved. Nobody from Mann’s squadron bothers, though; they would love to see this strapping football player beat the soft, useless rich boy to a pulp.
It is Nancy Bergstrom who defuses the stand-off, though, sweeping in and grabbing Mann by the arm, pulling him forcefully away while saying, “C’mere, Harmon, I’ve got something to show you.”
Once she has him isolated from the others, Nancy tells Mann, “Leave them alone, you drunken jerk! She’s smart enough to have nothing to do with you and he looks about ready to kill you… probably could, too.”
Mann tries to ignore her and rush back to taunt John some more, but Nancy, blocking his path, has more to say: “And if you keep making a scene, I’ll tell everybody what a limp-dick, rotten lay you are right here, right now!”
Still ignoring her, Mann yells: “Hey, camera boy…take a picture of this!” while holding up the middle finger of his right hand. Then he tries to wrap his arms around Nancy’s waist and slurs, “I guess it’s you and me again, lover.” But she bats his arms away and snarls, “Go fuck yourself, Captain!” before storming off.
By this time, Marge and John are well on their way to his tent. As John keeps looking back over his shoulder, eager for a fight, Marge pushes him along, saying, “C’mon, sweetie, nobody’s going to the stockade tonight.”
Later, as they lay together, their passion spent, Marge breaks the contented silence: “Lacks aggressiveness…HA!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The first reports came from ships sailing near the Caroline Islands. Then more reports from ships and aircraft east of the Philippines indicated a major storm was growing in the western Pacific; it was to become Typhoon Louise.
Naval weather recon aircraft began a daily watch on this growing storm as it made its way to the northwest toward the Philippines, Formosa, and possibly Okinawa. Navy meteorologists on board the weather aircraft recorded the storm’s track and made a prediction on its future path. They said it would pass north of the Philippines into the South China Sea.
They said it would miss Okinawa completely.
Several days passed with the storm behaving as predicted. Admiral Nimitz and his staff intently watched and studied as the meteorological data streamed in. He weighed the odds: should he accept the weathermen’s report and assume this storm was not a threat or should he begin emergency preparations? A typhoon’s strike squarely on Okinawa would be devastating to the invasion planning, as hundreds of ships, over 2000 aircraft, and 70,000 soldiers, marines and airmen, living in sprawling tent cities would be exposed and vulnerable.
Forty-eight hours prior to the predicted passing of the typhoon to the south of Okinawa, Nimitz made his decision. He ordered all naval vessels to evacuate the island’s harbors. They were to sail east within 24 hours, away from the storm’s predicted path--as well as the turn he feared it might make toward Okinawa--and wait out its passing. Naval aircraft were to temporarily evacuate to the Philippines. He strongly suggested to MacArthur and his air force commander, General George Kenney, that they do the same with the planes of the 5th Air Force.
MacArthur, of course, initially rejected Nimitz’s advice as alarmist, but Kenney did the math. It just made sense to be overly cautious. There were no missions planned that couldn’t wait a few days. If they didn’t evacuate and the typhoon struck, the inevitable damage could delay the invasion for months. MacArthur relented.
Emergency preparations on Okinawa went into high gear. Every aircraft that could fly would briefly relocate to the Philippines. Airfields there would be b
ursting to the seams with parked aircraft; special plans were made to stack them deep. Logisticians worked around the clock to ensure aviation gasoline, lubricants, and maintenance facilities would be available for all the visitors as well as those normally based there, although during a sudden change of plans on a scale like this shortages would be inevitable. Emergency priorities were established to deal with these shortages.
Naval vessels prepared to weigh anchor. Damaged and disabled vessels would be towed, if necessary; only a few were not capable of putting to sea. Admirals Spruance and Halsey prepared to provide defensive cover for the evacuee flotilla in the event of Japanese air and submarine attacks, although the weather made the risk of air attacks minimal.
The biggest problems would be the airfields, encampments, and depots on Okinawa; they could not be moved, only secured against the weather as much as possible. Virtually all of the shelters were tents. They would be destroyed immediately by the typhoon’s winds of over 100 miles per hour if left erected. Virtually all of the stores of gasoline, oil, lubricants, rations, ammunition, and general supplies were in the open; sealing of storage tanks and containers against water ingress and securing against wind damage were absolutely essential.
The tentage was ordered struck and secured to the ground in place. Army engineers and Navy Seabees, using their heavy construction equipment, dug as many storm shelters and protective berms as possible in the short time available. The aircraft that could not be evacuated due to maintenance problems were faced into the expected wind and tied down to minimize damage, with lumber and sandbags tied to the tops of their wings to spoil lift and keep them from rising off the ground in winds strong enough to replicate flying airspeed. When the calm eye of the typhoon arrived, they would have to be turned 180 degrees and re-secured against the soon-to-be-reversed wind direction.
East Wind Returns Page 14
