CHAPTER EIGHT
FLYING WRECKAGE
Barry glued his eyes to the r.p.m. indicator. He forced his nerves toignore the antiaircraft shells that burst closer and closer. This wasthe big moment of the whole raid—when the bombs were about to plummetdown.
Cold air from the open bomb-bay doors rushed into the big ship’s belly.There came the welcome whistle of a falling bomb; then another, andanother. A moment afterward the harbor of Rabaul swept beneath. It wasout of sight before Barry could spot the bomb hits.
KRANG!
An antiaircraft burst rocked the big bomber like a cradle. Her rightinboard engine sputtered and quit. Looking out at the wing, Barryglimpsed a jagged shrapnel hole in the cowling. He glanced to the left.Another Fortress had been hit. She was falling out of formation.
“Never mind, boys, _Rosy O’Grady_ can toddle home all right on threeengines,” the Old Man declared. “All you’ve got to do is to smack downevery Zero you see....”
“Here come three of ’em, straight down at us!” yelped Soapy Babbittfrom the jammed top turret. “If only I could aim these guns!”
“Maybe a Jap will cross your sights, Soapy!” the Old Man grunted, as hereefed back on the wheel. “I’ll try to give Hale a shot.”
_Rosy’s_ nose came up. Her forward guns cut loose at the trio of divingplanes. One spun away, smoking; another changed direction. The thirdkept coming, with his tracer bullets feeling for the Flying Fortress.When they touched her the Jap pilot pulled the trigger of his cannon.
A stunning blast threw Barry hard against his safety belt.Something—it felt like a hard-thrown baseball—struck his head. Hefelt himself falling into a black void.
Someone was shaking him, none too gently. A voice, Curly Levitt’s,pierced through his dulled consciousness.
“Wake up, Barry! Wake up and take over these controls before I haveto,” the navigator was repeating in his ear. “The Old Man is outcold—ripped by that shell.”
Barry made a desperate effort. It was like struggling against gravity,but he won. His eyes cleared. The plane was flying on a fairly levelkeel, thanks to Curly’s hand on the wheel, but something was verywrong. The Old Man....
One look at O’Grady’s crumpled form drove the last of the fog out ofBarry’s head. The captain’s left arm was missing below the elbow. Ahandkerchief tourniquet had stopped the worst bleeding, but there wereother wounds on his left side and leg. He was mercifully unconscious.
The bomber’s machine guns were still firing, by fits and starts, butonly two engines were still functioning. The other Fortresses werenowhere in sight. Two Zero fighters were coming head-on into SergeantHale’s fire....
These impressions took barely three seconds for Barry to absorb. Hegripped the wheel hard, setting his teeth against the pain in his head.
“Thanks, Curly,” he gritted. “You tend to the Old Man.... With two goodengines even a dumb co-pilot ought to get _Sweet Rosy O’Grady_ homeokay.”
“Good man!” Curly exclaimed, as he turned to the captain. “I’ll fix upyour scalp wound later. Just fly southwest until I get a chance tofigure our exact position.”
One of the Zeros that had been heading for _Rosy’s_ nose was nowfalling, with a trail of black smoke. The other had swooped past. Barryheard one of the side guns firing, then a burst from the belly turret.
“Got him!” came Cracker Jackson’s grunt in the radiophones.
Barry eased back on the wheel and found that his crippled Fortresscould still gain a little altitude. Cold air still poured in from theopen bomb doors; a chunk of flak must have damaged the jacks thatraised them. Barry began calling the turrets one by one to learn of anyfurther damage.
Aside from a shell hole through the rudder and countless bullet holes,there was none worth mentioning. Best of all, the sky seemed to beclear of enemy fighters.
The pain in Barry’s head was easier. His brain functioned more clearlywith each minute that passed. From the crew’s reports he made a roughcalculation of the Jap planes shot down.
About thirty fighters had attacked the bomber formation as theyapproached Rabaul. Thirteen Zeros had been shot down at the cost of oneFortress. The eleven remaining bombers had laid their eggs with perfectaccuracy on the docks and ships, and flown on. The Zeros, alreadydecimated, had hung around just out of range. When _Rosy_ fell behind,with one engine damaged by antiaircraft fire, the Japs had jumped onher like wolves.
Seventeen Zero fighters against one crippled Boeing—and the Fortresshad won out! Nine of the Japs had torched down. The others had turnedback to their home base.
Barry’s heart swelled with pride in the great ship and the fightingcrew of which he was a member. Except for that last shell hit....
A glance at the slumped figure of Tex O’Grady sobered him. Curly Levitthad finished bandaging the captain, and Fred Marmon was helping to lifthim out of his seat. The two men lugged their wounded pilot back towardthe tail and laid him down, wrapped in their coats.
“What are the Old Man’s chances?” the young co-pilot asked, as thenavigator returned.
“It’s hard to tell how deep those shell fragments in his side havegone,” Curly answered. “He’s lost a lot of blood, too. All we can donow is hope.... Hold steady, now, while I swab out that cut in yourscalp—oh-oh! I can feel something there.”
“So can I!” grunted Barry. “Take it easy, fella!”
Curly’s fingers touched the cut again, cautiously. Barry felt astabbing twinge.
“There it is, Mister!” the navigator shouted. “A bit of shrapnel as bigas my thumbnail. If your head weren’t solid bone, as I’ve alwayssuspected, we’d be minus a co-pilot.”
He held the scrap of jagged metal in front of Barry’s nose for asecond, then stuck it in his pocket.
“When you tie it up, be sure to leave the bone in,” Barry answered witha grin. “When this war is over you can get yourself a nice job in abutcher shop. It would just suit your rough-and-ready style.”
“That’s base ingratitude!” Curly retorted, applying the bandage. “Ihope Soapy Babbitt is more appreciative when I fix him up. He got asmashed shoulder when the top turret was wrecked.”
As Curly left him, the full weight of his responsibility settled uponBarry’s mind. Had the Old Man been at the controls, _Rosy O’Grady’s_crippled condition would not have worried him particularly. If it werepossible to bring a ship home on only one engine, Barry would havetrusted his captain to do it.
Now, however, both the wounded plane and her wounded crew depended onhim. With little more than training school experience, could he landthem safely? As he struggled against such fears, Fred Marmon’s voicesounded in his ears.
“I’ve got bad news for you, Lieutenant,” the engineer announced. “Thesame burst of flak that jammed the bomb doors washed out the electricalsystem. Your landing flaps won’t work and your wheels won’t come down.Looks like we’ll all have to bail out and let _Rosy_ crash.”
Barry’s first feeling was one of relief. Now, at least, he wouldn’thave to risk the lives of everybody aboard, landing a shot-up plane ona jungle field. But, wait! How about Old Man O’Grady? Even if somebodypulled the chute’s cord for him and dumped him out, the landing wouldkill him. A parachute lets you down with about the same shock you’dfeel if you jumped out of a second story window. A half-dead man couldnever survive it, even if he didn’t land in the jungle and break hisback.
“You men will bail out,” Barry said into the intercom mike. “When weget near the field, strap Captain O’Grady into his own seat, and padhim with your coats against the shock of a crackup. I’ll try to land_Rosy_ on her belly without too much of a flop. It’s the Old Man’s onlychance.”
The crew got that reasoning without any trouble.
“It makes me feel like a doggone coyote!” big Danny Hale muttered,turning to look at Barry. “My great gran’daddy didn’t leave the oldAlamo, when it was _sure_ death to stay. I reckon if he was in myplace—”
“He’d obey orders, just a
s you’re going to do, Danny,” Barry Blake shotback at him. “I’m in command of this plane, while the Old Man is out.You and every other member of the crew will bail out when we reach thefield. That’s final!”
“I agree absolutely, except on one point,” Curly’s voice chimed in.“You’re wounded, Lieutenant. It’s a miracle that you can fly a ship atall, with the beating you’ve had. It’s no reflection on your skill—oryour grit—to say that you might go dizzy at the last minute oflanding, and crack up. Now, I’ve had some flight training, enough toland belly-floppers on a soft field. Therefore it’s _my_ place and notyours—”
“Spoken like a lawyer, Curly!” laughed the young co-pilot. “You’re aswell guy to offer, but it’s no go. So don’t argue. Just tell me whenwe’re nearing our base, and then help Fred bring the Old Man back tothe cockpit.”
There was a little more discussion of the landing Barry would have toattempt, but nobody else protested. As soon as Soapy Babbitt was madeas comfortable as he could be, the thermos jug of coffee was passedaround. Barry forced himself to eat a little.
After a seemingly endless time Curly Levitt reported that he had warnedthe base by radio. The field would soon be in sight.
In the distance Barry recognized the New Guinea coastline. Now hepicked out certain mountain landmarks that gave him the exact directionof the base.
“Bring the Old Man up front, fellows,” he said. “And then hook on yourparachutes. We have about five minutes to go.”
The men worked fast. Captain O’Grady was still unconscious under thedouble effect of shock and the morphine that Curly had administered.The navigator and Fred Marmon handled him as tenderly as they could.The strapping was finished, and the men were back at the open bomb baywhen Barry spotted the field. Big Danny Hale was gripping the zipperedcase that held his precious bomb-sight.
Barry tried to judge the proper moment for the first parachute jump.Twisting in the seat, he raised his hand.
Fred Marmon saluted, grinned, and dived headfirst into space. Theothers followed in quick succession. The bomber roared on, slowlycircling the field. Far below, Barry counted six white ’chutes driftingtoward the raw, brown slash in the jungle.
“They’re safe!” he murmured. “Wish I had a parachute for _Sweet RosyO’Grady_, too!”
When the last ’chutist had landed, the young pilot nosed down and camein up-wind for his risky attempt. He cut the gun, fishtailed to killspeed. A Fortress’s wheels should touch the ground at ninety miles anhour, for a smooth landing; but _Rosy_ couldn’t let down her wheels. Abelly landing at ninety would be an ugly mess.
At a shaky sixty m.p.h. Barry brought her in. At the last moment he lether drop. The bomb-bay doors dug into the runway, before they rippedloose. The ship bounced on her belly turret, tore an engine clean outof its mounting, and came to rest.
When the crash squad entered the cockpit, _Rosy’s_ young co-pilot was“out cold.” Fortunately neither he nor the Old Man had received anyfurther hurts. A hospital-corps man jabbed a hypodermic into Barry’sarm. Sixty seconds later, both he and Captain O’Grady were being rushedon stretchers to the field’s temporary dressing station.
The next afternoon, Barry Blake woke up, feeling almost himself again.The marvelous new Army drugs had given him twenty-four hours ofrefreshing sleep. His head wound had been expertly cleansed, sewed andbandaged. His greatest discomfort was a gnawing appetite. He swung hislegs over the edge of his cot and looked around for his clothes.
“Hold it down, Lieutenant!” the medical-corps man in charge warned him.“You’re scheduled to stay right in this hangar till tomorrow.”
“Quit woofing me, Corporal,” Barry growled. “I feel fine. And I’m sohungry my belt buckle is bumping my backbone. Did the major order youto starve me, too?”
“No, sir,” chuckled the medical man. “I’ll bring you some chow rightaway. It’s almost time for mess call so the cook will have it ready.”
“Wait a second!” Barry exclaimed, as the other turned to go. “Where’sCaptain O’Grady, and Sergeant Babbitt? They ought to be here—”
The corporal paused in the doorway, shaking his head.
“Not here, Lieutenant,” he replied. “This place is only equipped as afield dressing station as yet. Captain O’Grady and Sergeant Babbittwere flown to Australia last night. The Captain will have a fightingchance in a real hospital, and they’ll probably save Babbitt’s arm,too.”
Barry lifted his legs back onto his bunk and relaxed. So the fielddoctor had given Tex O’Grady a fighting chance! That was better newsthan any of _Rosy’s_ crew had expected.
The medical-corps man returned with hot chow and five grinning Fortresscrewmen. Fred Marmon was the first to grip Barry’s hand. Curly Levittcrowded him aside, as Danny Hale and Tony Romani and Cracker Jacksonsurrounded the cot. Everybody was talking at once. Out of the barrageof wisecracks, congratulations and laughter, Barry Blake got onedefinite impression: his crew was immensely proud of him, for makingthat landing and saving the life of their Old Man.
The medical corporal found difficulty in drawing Barry’s attention backto his hot chow. He succeeded at last, but _Rosy’s_ young co-pilot wasstill too busy talking to know what he was eating. The six friendswould have discussed the raid, the fight, and the return trip forhours, if mess call had not interrupted.
After supper, Curly Levitt returned to the dressing station. Theothers, he said, were needed to help set up the new equipment which hadarrived during the past two days. There were electrical generators,searchlights, floodlights, antiaircraft guns, and the first units of abig repair shop. This last would take care of damaged planes landing onthe field. It would have crews to bring in ships that had crashed.
“When the repair plant is running, it will probably be able to rebuild_Sweet Rosy O’Grady_,” her navigator stated.
“I wish we could hope as much for her Old Man,” Barry sighed. “Butthere’s no repair shop in the world that can put a missing arm back ona pilot.”
“It will just about break his heart,” Curly agreed, rising to his feet.“I imagine that Mrs. O’Grady won’t feel too badly about having herhusband back, however.... Well, here’s the doctor, come to have a lookat you. That’s my signal to take off.”
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