For the first time in his life, Warren Gates didn’t know what to think. The last three months he had been in Australia, the orders of the day bringing no more excitement than a letter from home. All he ever did was fly routine patrols over the broad expanse of blue water surrounding the continent “down under,” until it got to the point where a navigator on the speedy attack bomber was excess baggage. He could have found his way back from any point a thousand miles away on the local map, he was so used to the place.
Now he stood anxiously outside the squadron bulletin board, waiting for the orders to be posted. For days, rumors of some great impending event had circulated about the airdrome, and men had been confined to the limits of the field. Whatever was in the wind was important, and every man worried lest he be left out of the proceedings.
Warren nudged a pilot companion. “Wonder what’s up?”
“You got me, pal! All I hope is that my name’s there when we read off the score.”
“Me, too,” Warren answered. “I haven’t seen a Jappo since I’ve been here, and I’m dying for a crack at the punks!”
Hardly had he spoken when Major Briggs stepped out of the office and tacked a notice on the board: All flying officers and crew report to assembly this afternoon, 3 P.M. In an instant the bulletin was surrounded by men who stood in hushed silence. This looked like the memorable day!
The appointed time came quickly enough. Men grouped about the long table, gazing avidly at the maps spread out before them. Major Briggs had the floor.
“Men, tomorrow you have an important mission to perform. You are raiding Tokyo!”
The sudden news took them flat-footed. For a moment it looked like a cheer would burst out, but the seriousness of the situation quieted the men.
“You will follow this course, and the plan that I will outline to you now.” His voice dwindled, and every eye followed his finger as it went across the map.
Dawn broke clear and warm. On the smooth runway of the field, motors thundered a song of power. Warren climbed into his attack bomber and waited for the signal to go ahead. A green light blinked into his eyes, and the throttle went forward. The raid of Tokyo had begun! With the most precise flying, the group took off and pulled into formation. High up in the blue they leveled off and made themselves comfortable for the ten hour trip.
Below them the sea was dotted with ships. Some, no doubt, were the enemy’s, but there was no time to be wasted on them. Hour after hour went by, then the squadron leader’s voice came on.
“In twenty minutes we reach our objective. Dive to the rooftops then let ’em have it, boys!”
And before they knew it … there was Tokyo, capital city of the invader! In a roaring power dive, the planes swooped down. Faster and faster they went, then pulled out of the dive and went screaming toward the factories of the city, fair military objectives.
Eyes squinted behind the sights, and bomb toggles were pulled. Thunderous blasts from below spelled perfect timing … direct hits! As Warren swept over his targets, he noticed that the sky was free of enemy planes and anti-aircraft bursts. The surprise had been so complete that there was no resistance! Ahead of him was the last plant that was to taste a bomb. He went over it … felt the plane rise a little as it lost its load of explosives … then the sky was a writhing, glaring sheet of flame!
That place was a munitions plant! The plane skidded wildly, and pitched like a leaf in the wind. Warren tugged madly at the controls, but there was no response. In front of him the curtain of smoke parted, and he saw the rest of the squadron speeding toward the horizon, and they were alone in a crippled craft! He tried the controls again, and this time the ship responded but slightly. One look at the shattered wing surfaces told the story.
Greg Holmes, the navigator, poked him and pointed to a hayfield a mile off. Warren nodded and banked that way. The plane was losing altitude fast! It hit the field, bounced, and tore through two haystacks and pulled up against the side of a barn.
Warren looked around. “Everybody okay?”
Two voices, a bit breathless, shouted back.
“Then let’s fire the plane before we have the Jappos on our necks!”
The men squeezed out. Greg drained some gas out of the tanks and scattered it over the plane. One match and the ship was a pyre of billowing flame and smoke. The Japs wouldn’t copy this design as they did others, that was a sure thing!
Bill Halsey, the bombardier, turned around and let out a choked shout. “Look, Japs! They’re coming for us. What’ll we do?”
“Take it easy, Bill. Might be they think we’re in the plane. Let’s duck onto one of these haystacks.”
The three boys dashed for the mound of yellow grass, and burrowed under it. Right on their heels the Japs, in a fleet of motor trucks, pulled up in front of the burning plane. One, evidently the leader, walked around it, then stopped. He looked into the dust at his feet and the boys’ hearts leaped. He had discovered their tracks which, in their haste, they had failed to conceal!
At once the Japs spread out. They knew the men had had no chance to flee, and the only place they could hide was either in the barn or in the haystacks. A few of them went into the barn, then a dozen men went to a haystack and stood around it. The commander gave the word and they fired round after round of ammunition into the base of the stack … and in a few minutes they would be at the one that shielded the Americans!
For some reason, Warren was smiling. “Burrow back to the middle as fast as you can!” he whispered.
Greg and Bill obeyed without a word. It was a hard task, but they made it. Then from outside came the voices of the Japs. This was it. Warren knew that if he was wrong it would be too bad. One thing was in their favor. Their footprints had been wiped out by the Japs except for the ones by the plane. Warren hoped they wouldn’t fire the hay.
They heard the commands of the leader, followed by the roar of the guns. Breathlessly, they waited for the slugs to tear into them, but none came. Once the stack shifted as part of its base was disturbed by the power of the shots, but that was all. How long they waited, they never knew. When finally they crawled outside, darkness had settled over the city. Except for the glare of the red of still-burning buildings, Tokyo was in total darkness. They wanted no more of the American made bombs! The boys had to grin a little at this.
“Where to now?” Greg asked.
Warren Gates smiled. “Since flying is all we know, the thing to do is head for a flying field and swipe a plane … and if I’m not mistaken, there’s one not far off. Spotted it coming over!”
And there was. Keeping to the shadows of the buildings, the trio crept steadily to the south side of the city. Occasional outposts and scouting parties presented a problem, but they flattened and melted into the landscape. So far, so good!
“There she is!” The boys peered into the darkness, and there, directly ahead of them, was the field. Little lights blinked in the operations office, and toward them they made their way. Suddenly motors roared on the tarmac. Planes were being warmed up.
“Looks like they’re playing right into our hands,” Bill said. “Let’s go!”
Silently, they crawled under the wire on the edge of the field. About fifty yards away a large bomber, warming up, spat flame into the night.
Warren pointed. “Now walk as if you owned the place. We’re not liable to be suspected that way.”
They stood up and walked to the ship. Men passed, but in the darkness none challenged their presence. Walking around the tail, Warren motioned for the others to stay back. A wiry little Jap guarded the ship. He crept up behind him … and the man turned! But before the Jap could utter a word, a fist caught him square on the chin and he crumpled to the ground!
Waving for the others to come on, Warren opened the door and in he went, the others in back of him. Warren poured the juice to her. Motors roared, and with a sudden lurch the plane jumped the chocks and tore down the field! Instantly the field came to life. Lights winked on, and the plane was caught in the glare of them. Rifles barked, but the shooting was too hurried to be accurate.
The plane shot into the air … they were off! But the flight was not over. On the field below pilots leaped to the cockpits and gave their ships the gun, but suddenly out of the darkness ahead of them, Warren reversed, and with machine guns spitting a lethal dose of lead, came in on the Japs. Planes of the Rising Sun faltered and crashed. One rose, only to nose dive into the sod when a burst caught the pilot in the chest!
The Americans wasted no time getting out of there. The trip back was one to make history. All the maps were in Japanese, but Greg puzzled them out. It was late morning when they arrived over the field and started to circle … then the sky was full of gunbursts. They were firing at them! But when their buddies saw that they were trying to land, the firing stopped. The plane came down … only to be surrounded by angry soldiers. However … it took only a moment to clear things up!
When the shouting finally died down, Greg and Bill came over to Warren.
“Tell us,” they said, “how did you know we wouldn’t get hit back in that haystack!”
“Well,” Greg grinned, “I used to be a ballistics expert back in the states, and I knew that a lot of little things like some rag waste, or closely packed paper could stop a shot easily enough, and firing into all that hay was like shooting at a brick wall!”
“How come they didn’t set fire to the hay?”
“Ha! Every inch of the bloomin’ island is cultivated, and they don’t dare waste a thing. Those soldiers would’ve been shot if they did!”
***