CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SECRET MISSION
The safe return of Barry Blake and his crew to Mau River was celebratedthe following night at supper. The meal was the nearest thing to abanquet that the army cooks could turn out. There was a sort ofprogram, too, mostly humorous. It recalled the never-to-be-forgottendays at Randolph Field.
Barry himself was heralded as the “Big Dog” at the moment of hisentrance into the mess tent. Colonel Bullock, as master of ceremonies,announced:
“The Big Dog is coming in to land.... The Big Dog is rolling down hisflaps.... The Big Dog has landed.... The Big Dog is waiting to beserviced!”
Between each announcement, the second lieutenants softly chorused:“Woof, woof! Woof, woof!” When Barry lifted a large baked potato fromthe serving dish it was announced that “The Big Dog is getting bombedup.”
At this point an exuberant woofer from Texas lost control. Tilting hishead far back, he gave tongue to a genuine coyote howl that raised thehair on the necks of more than one “effete Easterner.” The bumptiousex-cowboy was penalized by being made to sing “Deep in the Heart ofTexas” with his mouth full of olives.
Following that there were speeches in praise of _Sweet Rosy O’Grady_and every member of her crew. Tony Romani and Cracker Jackson receivedtheir full share of glory, as wounded heroes. Finally _Rosy_ herselfwas described as the plane that “sighted convoy, sank same, and retiredto a desert island, where she became a sort of Empress Jones, too proudto come home and associate with her sister Fortresses.”
After the celebration, Colonel Bullock asked Lieutenant Blake and threeother pilots to report to his tent for a brief conference. Arriving amoment after the rest, Barry noted that he was the only Fortressskipper present. The others were twin-engine pilots, who had made finebombing records during the recent slaughter of the Jap convoy. Theywere Captain Rand Bartlett, Lieutenant Thurman Smith, and LieutenantBen Haskins.
The four young officers sprang to their feet and saluted as the colonelappeared. Bullock waved them to canvas-bottomed chairs.
“I’ve been asked to supply four of my best bomber crews,” he told them,“for a secret and difficult mission. What that mission is I don’t knowmyself, but you are to fly B-26 planes. The orders from headquartersstressed a high record of bombing hits. You’re to take off beforedaylight tomorrow and fly to Port Darwin. There you will doubtlesslearn more details. Have you any questions, gentlemen? You are atperfect liberty to pass up the job—in which case I’ll choose someother crew.”
Barry Blake was the first to break the ensuing silence.
“I think we all feel alike about it, sir,” he said quietly. “It’s a bighonor to be chosen by you under these circumstances. But as Fortressmen, my crew and I might not measure up to the best B-26 performance.Those Martin bombers are sweet little ships, but they handledifferently from a Boeing. We wouldn’t want to let you down, sir—”
“I know all that, Blake,” Colonel Bullock interrupted with a smile. “Ichose you and your crew after a good deal of thought, just as I pickedHaskins and Bartlett and Smith. You’ve flown twin-engined planes inAdvanced Training School and you’ll get the hang of your new B-26 onthe way to Darwin. I’ll supply you with a first-class tail gunner totake the place of Tony Romani.... Now, gentlemen, for the last time, doyou want the job?”
“Yes, sir!” chorused the four pilots.
The C.O. arose. One after the other he gripped their hands and wishedthem good hunting. In that moment he seemed more like a proud parentthan their superior officer. The four young officers knew that they hadfound a lifelong friend in Colonel Bullock.
_Rosy O’Grady’s_ crew, all except Tony and Cracker Jackson, wereoverjoyed at their new assignment. They lay awake talking it over untilBarry curtly ordered them to “drive it into the hangar and get somesleep.”
“_Rosy_ will be laid up for a couple of weeks’ repairs anyway,” Chickadded in a loud whisper, “and so will Tony and Cracker. We’ll probablybe back by that time. Nobody’s got any kick coming, so far as I cansee—unless it’s the Japs!”
Out on the runway at five o’clock Barry’s crew found their new shipwaiting, complete with tail gunner. The latter was a little bulldog ofa man with the map of Ireland jutting fiercely out of his helmet. Hewas Sergeant Mickey Rourke from South Boston. He greeted each of hisnew crew mates with an undershot smile and a brief “Pleased to meetyiz!”
Later _Rosy’s_ crew found out that Mickey was the lone survivor of aB-26 that had been sliced in two by a diving Zero fighter. Mickey hadbailed out of his severed tail section unharmed and had swum ashore.After two weeks in the New Guinea bush he had walked into the Mau Riverbase and calmly reported for duty.
The four Martin bombers took off by moonlight and promptly headedsouthwest. Barry found _The Colonel’s Lady_ as Hap had named their newcraft, strangely quick and light on the controls, compared with her bigsister _Rosy_. Flying in formation with the other three Marauders sooncured his tendency to over-control, however.
As the sun rose, tinting the peaks of New Guinea’s high backbone aheadof them, he turned over the controls to Hap Newton.
“Easy on the stick, Mister,” he warned his big co-pilot. “Those crowbarwrists of yours work swell at the wheel of a Fortress, but this littlelady won’t stand for rough handling.”
“Finger-tip control!” chuckled Hap as he took over. “I may be rough,but I can be oh, so gentle, too, Skipper! Just watch me take herupstairs.”
The bomber formation was climbing steadily, to top the 16,000-footrange ahead. A bitter chill seeped into the plane. The crew foundthemselves breathing faster to get enough air. Automatically theyreached for their oxygen masks. Those things were lifesavers when yougot up above 20,000. Even at somewhat lower altitudes they helped keepyour head clear and your stomach in place.
At 18,000 the air was bumpy. The flight leader, Captain Bartlett, tookhis bombers up to 20,000, where it was colder but smoother. Beneaththem the great range was spread out like a relief map, with patches ofwhite cloud here and there showing local rains.
An hour later the immense blue bowl of the Arafura Sea rose up toenclose them with its rim of endless horizon.
“We’re like four tiny flies buzzing across a giant’s washbowl,” Barrythought. “And yet this Arafura Sea is just a little spot on God’sFootstool. Most high school students never knew where it was before thewar. A flier certainly comes to feel his smallness in time and space!”
The four planes loafed along at about 200 m.p.h., to conserve gas. Theydodged a thunder storm just north of the Gulf of Carpenteria and swungback to the southwest. At noon they were over Port Darwin, Australia,with a heavy overcast obscuring sea and land. Barry took over thecontrols in preparation for landing.
“Ceiling one thousand feet and dropping fast,” came the airfield’sradioed report. “You arrived just in time. In another hour we’ll beclosed in.”
“This weather may postpone our mission, whatever it is,” Chick Endersremarked as they went down through the wet cloud rug. “Looks like ageneral storm coming over the coast.”
“That’s something for the brass hats to worry about, Chick,” BarryBlake replied. “We haven’t the haziest notion yet what we’ve come hereto do—There’s the field, Hap! It looks a lot better than the one weleft this morning.”
Though his B-26 was still a bit unfamiliar to the young Fortress pilot,he set her down without a bounce. The field was hard and smooth, withonly a few patches showing where Jap bombs had recently dropped. Thelowering clouds, Barry remarked, would probably keep enemy raiders at adistance for the next few days.
Reporting to the Operations Building, the Marauders’ four youngofficers were told to return immediately after mess for instructions.The general himself would be present, with other high-ranking officers.All further information would be given at that time.
Mess call sounded as they left the place. In the camouflaged mess tent,they found a number of flying officers already gathered around roughtables. Most
of these greeted the newcomers with cordial smiles, butthere was one outstanding exception. A rather handsome, sleek-hairedsecond lieutenant stared at them insultingly, then turned his back andmoved to a farther table.
“Glenn Crayle!” exclaimed Hap Newton. “The same swell-headed hot pilotthat he was at Randolph! Did you get that ‘dirt-under-my-feet’ look hegave us?”
“Hold it down, Hap!” Barry whispered. “No use in stirring up more hardfeelings. The whole room heard you. After all, Crayle’s a fellowofficer.”
“He’s just as much of a sorehead as he ever was,” muttered ChickEnders. “I’d hate to fly in formation with him, for fear he’d pull somespite trick and crash both of us.”
“You’d probably get ‘jeep jitters’ and scare the life out of him if youwere at the joy-stick,” Hap Newton laughed under his breath. “Here comethe brass hats! We’d better take places at this table, near the wall.”
They saw no more of Glenn Crayle than his neatly uniformed back untilthe meal was over and the B-26 bomber officers assembled in thebriefing room. There, after another dirty look, the sulky pilotwhispered behind his hand to a hard-eyed acquaintance. The pair of themglanced toward Barry’s group and laughed. Whatever “crack” Crayle hadmade was certainly not to the Fortress crew’s credit.
The briefing room filled quickly, until the space between the longtable and the walls was filled with the officers of four bombersquadrons. Facing them stood the general and a rear admiral of theNavy. As the former raised his hand, absolute silence fell on the group.
“Gentlemen,” the general said quietly, “this talk will be very briefand, I trust, to the point. You are to leave sometime tonight on amission of high strategical importance. Your objective is theJapanese-held harbor of Amboina. As you know, this is the enemy’sstrongest East Indian base. We cannot at this moment tell you why itsdemolition is so important to our war strategy. Your orders are simplyto destroy every plane, ship and installation that you can, cripple itsdefenses. Leave it helpless to resist the regular bombardment forcesthat will follow up your attack.”
He paused impressively. In the silence Barry could feel a rising tideof unspoken questions filling the room. How, for instance, could foursquadrons of medium bombers effect such a complete destruction as thegeneral had described? Why not use Fortresses and Liberators, such aswere even now smashing the U-boat pens at Lorient and Wilhelmshaven?
“You, gentlemen,” the officer continued, “have been picked from severalbomber commands for a task of utmost difficulty and danger. The planesyou will fly are B-26 bombers that have been altered to carry twicetheir normal bomb load, and about one fourth of their regular supply offuel. Each plane will lay a two-ton, delayed action bomb directly on anassigned target, from mast-head height. You will then go on to strafethe Jap aircraft in the seaplane anchorage at the head of Amboina Bay.By that time you will have just enough gas left to fly the six hundredthirty miles back to Port Darwin—providing you meet no interference onthe way.”
“Are there any questions, up to this point?”
Captain Bartlett was the first pilot to speak.
“You mentioned that we should carry about one fourth of our usual gassupply, sir,” he said in a puzzled tone. “But the B-26’s greatest rangewith a one-ton load is only twenty-four hundred miles. To fly sixhundred thirty miles to Amboina and back again would use up more thanhalf of it.”
For the first time a slight smile crossed the general’s face.
“You are quite correct, Captain,” he answered. “However, I didn’t saythat you were to fly from here to Amboina. That is the little surprisewe are preparing for our enemies. Your three squadrons of Martinbombers are already loaded on an aircraft carrier which you will boardtonight. Under cover of the weather front that is moving northwest wehope to approach within fifty miles of Amboina. The flight deck of thiscarrier is quite long enough for medium bombers. You’ll need a bit ofverbal instruction regarding the take-off, however. Am I right,Admiral?”
The naval officer cleared his throat.
“We’ll take care of that after we’re at sea,” he said to the assembledfliers. “You won’t have to worry about finding and landing on yourflat-top in the fog, as the Navy pilots would. Once you leave ourflight deck it’s good-by—until we see you back in port.”
“And now,” added the general, “we’ll turn to the matter of targets.Here’s a map of Amboina Harbor, with all the important installationsmarked. As you receive your assignments, please note them down,gentlemen. With a limited number of bombs, we must have no duplication.”
The target assigned to Barry’s crew was the radio station at theextreme tip of Nusanive Point. Captain Bartlett, Lieutenant Haskins,and Thurman Smith were given the heavy coastal fortifications justbeyond. Other crews received the airfields across the bay at Hatu andLata and the antiaircraft batteries mounted in the hills along shore.
Amboina City, with its piers, its big coaling station and its navalinstallations, offered the biggest group of targets. A whole squadronwas assigned to hammer it with two-ton block-busters.
At supper time the study of contour maps, targets and enemy gunpositions was still in progress. Nobody had been permitted to leave thebriefing room. So great was the secrecy with which the whole venturewas surrounded that guards had been posted several yards from thebuilding, to keep anybody without a pass from approaching it. Not untilten o’clock was the order given to dismiss; but the evening was notover.
A dozen army trucks pulled up near the door. The fliers piled in, andthe vehicles roared away toward the docks. There a number of speedy PTboats were waiting. In these the hundred-odd flying officers wererushed through the spray-filled darkness to a point offshore which thesteersmen seemed to find by instinct.
There lay the carrier, a long, dim shape that grew rapidly huger untilthe speedboat paused close to her towering side. Ship’s ladders hadbeen lowered already. Each boatload of airmen climbed hurriedly to thedark port that opened into the ship’s bowels. Behind them the PT boatsroared away into the surrounding blackness.
_The Fliers Piled into the Army Trucks_]
Young Navy fliers of the carrier’s own company came forward to greetthe Army men and conduct them to their mess. They were cordial chaps,perhaps a little more formal than the Army fliers. They stood treat forthe newcomers with soft drinks and there was a lot of pleasantsmall-talk. Finally they got around to showing the bomber group theirtemporary quarters.
The enlisted members of the B-26 crews were already on board, bunkingforward with the petty officers. In the morning they’d all get togetherand each crew would be assigned a plane. From then until the moment oftake-off they’d be responsible for its care.
Barry’s team took four bunks in a corner of the large room assigned tothe Army group. For the first time in many hours they had a chance totalk quietly together about the mission on which they had embarked.
“It’s a smarter stunt than any of the Japs have pulled off,” Hap Newtondeclared. “B-25’s and 26’s are usually considered too big to take offfrom a carrier’s deck. I still don’t see how we can do it with a doubleload, but the experts must have figured it out. Each ship will bepractically a flying bomb.”
“Flying Fortresses could do the same job from a land base and do itbetter,” Chick Enders remarked. “We’ve done skip-bombing with _RosyO’Grady_. The trouble is that she’s too big a target, and she cost aquarter of a million dollars to build.”
“Not only that,” Barry Blake put in, “but all the forts that can bespared for this job will be coming right in after us to hammer the Japgun emplacements in the hills. That’ll be high-altitude bombing, if theweather is right.”
“The weather,” agreed Curly Levitt, “is the big risk. There has to beenough fog or low-hanging cloud ceiling to hide the carrier from Jappatrol planes, right up to the last minute. But over the island itselfour forts and Liberators will need visibility unlimited. If themeteorologists have guessed wrong, it will be just too bad.”
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sp; That was true enough, Barry thought, but it didn’t worry him. The brasshats who had planned this secret attack so painstakingly must know whatsort of weather they could count on. Meteorology was almost an exactscience nowadays.
He caught sight of Glenn Crayle talking with his co-pilot at the otherside of the room. Barry could not hear what they were saying, butCrayle’s cocksure manner suggested his familiar, boastful line.Probably the sleek-haired pilot was thinking of this Amboina job asoffering a splendid chance to make the news headlines. At any rate,thought Barry, the fellow must be a first-rate pilot, or he’d neverhave been picked for such a mission.
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Barry Blake of the Flying Fortress Page 16