“Northwest of Midway The Last Avenger 0716”
“He was going down. Before he hit the water, there was only one thing Bert Earnest wanted to do, and that was to sink at least one of the warships still firing at him. He could never reach the carriers now, but glancing off to the left he saw what looked like a Japanese cruiser, obviously one of their escort vessels. The ship was firing at him with its antiaircraft batteries. Kicking the rudder, he turned the crippled plane toward the warship, and punched the switches to launch his two-thousand pound torpedo. he had expected an immediate surge in speed after it was gone, but there wasn’t any. Not sure the torpedo had dropped, he pulled the emergency release lever. The riddled plane was losing altitude quickly now, down to a hundred feet, then seventy-five, fifty, twenty-five, twenty. Tightening his shoulder straps, Bert was preparing to ditch, when he did something purely reflective, something he always did when bringing an Avenger in for a landing. He reached down to adjust the trim tabs that were controlled by the little four-inch wheel next to the cockpit seat. By turning the wheel with his left hand, he could help to offset the Avenger’s nose-heavy tendencies whenever he landed. As he turned the wheel, the nose of the plane gently leaped up in front of him. When he continued to roll the tab wheel, the plane actually started to regain altitude. This meant that the trim tab cables, which were separate from the elevator control cables, were still intact. A surge of hope went through him as he realized he might still be able to fly the plane. The Japanese cruiser he had aimed his torpedo at was no longer firing at him and he quickly discovered why. The enemy warship didn’t want to hit the Zeroes that had come back to finish him off. They took turns firing short bursts into him with each pass. Keeping one hand on the stick to control direction, and the other hand on the trim tab wheel, Bert felt the Avenger slowly gain altitude as he aimed it northwest away from the Japanese fleet. Although he was now flying at full throttle, there was no way to know how fast he was going because the air speed gauge had been shot out along with the rest of his instruments. With all the holes in the wings and fuselage, maybe the bird would fly faster, he thought. He knew his neck was still bleeding, because the wind kept fogging blood around the cockpit, but so far he didn’t feel faint. While the Zeroes kept firing at him, he tried everything he knew to avoid the coup de grace, first side-slipping the plane, then jinking back and forth. He pulled back hard on the throttle to throw off their aim, and then gunned it forward again. The two Japanese pilots kept making their passes, firing into the shredded fuselage to either kill him or the engine. Perhaps another minute went by. He felt another spray of bullets thud into the armor plate behind his back. The passing seconds seemed like an eternity. Wouldn’t they ever run out of ammunition? Didn’t they have to go back at some point to protect their goddamned fleet? Couldn’t they be low on gas? And then they were gone. He was alone above the sea. There was no time to ponder why the Japanese pilots had finally granted him a reprieve. He forced himself to focus on what to do next. He hadn’t heard from Manning or Ferrier since the Zeroes had first attacked. Bert called them on the intercom. There was no response. With so many things shot out, he couldn’t be sure the intercom was even working. He tried again. Nothing. He had never felt so tired in his life. Struggling to keep his mind clear, he paused to take stock. The wound under his jaw had stopped spurting, although he could feel hot warmth continuing to flow down his neck. He decided it couldn’t be worse than a deep flesh wound or he would already be dead. More than anything he wanted to sleep. Sleep was not an option. he needed to get the Avenger all of the way back to Midway. Checking his compass, he saw that the gauge was frozen in place. Turning around to look back at the tail, he saw why. The compass wire was attached to a flux gate on the vertical fin, and it was riddled with holes. With the hydraulic system shot out, he couldn’t close the bomb bay doors. That started him wondering again whether their torpedo had actually dropped. Ferrier and Manning were the only ones who could confirm if it had by looking through a small glass plate into the bomb bay section. Bert didn’t want to think about trying to land the plane with his hydraulics out and a two-thousand pound torpedo hanging from their belly. All of the instruments were gone: the gas gauge, air speed indicator, altimeter, oil pressure gauge, everything. He continued to roll the trim tabs until the Avenger had climbed to about three thousand feet. For the first time since they had attacked the Japanese carriers, he was able to focus on how he might actually bring the plane home. He had no idea what had happened to Fieberling and the others, but he couldn’t go back looking for them. Midway had to be his ultimate destination. As far as he knew, it was the only landing place within a thousand miles. That led to the next problem. He had no firm idea where Midway was. Lieutenant Fieberling had brought them up from the southeast. The Zeroes had driven him even farther northwest. That meant the whole Japanese fleet stood between him and the tiny atoll. By the time he got there, if he got there, it was possible that they may have already taken it, but the only other alternative was to ditch in the middle of the Pacific. The chances of being picked up by a rescue plane seemed even more remote. His best guess was that he must be at least two hundred miles, maybe more, from Midway. At least the engine was running fine, even with all the punishment the plane had absorbed. He would have to get back by dead reckoning. Live reckoning sounded better. The sun had been up less than three hours. From its position off to the east, he knew which direction was south, and a southerly course would hopefully keep him away from Japanese planes. He would use the scattered clouds for cover wherever he found them. The real trick would be deciding when to turn east again. If he went too far south before turning, there would be nothing but ocean ahead of him for a thousand miles or more. He hoped his self-sealing fuel tanks hadn’t lost too much gas while swallowing all those Japanese bullets.”
Excerpted from “A Dawn Like Thunder”, author, Robert J. Mrazek. Publisher: Little, Brown and Company, Hachette Book Group. 237 Park Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10017.
To be continued: Islander.