Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [31]
ON NEW YEAR’S DAY 1943, my group received the Air Medal, presented by Admiral Nimitz, for our raid on Wake. Afterward, I went to a party with First Lieutenant Nichols, a pilot, and Second Lieutenant Carringer, a bombardier. The only problem we had was returning the forty miles to Kahuku from Honolulu. By the time we arrived at 4:30 A.M., the base was well underwater from a steady rain, and frankly, we were a bit underwater, too.
AFTER WAKE A newspaper reporter asked me if I’d been afraid. I think my answer must have surprised him—it certainly surprised me. “No,” I said. “I’ve been more scared before races against Cunningham and Fenske.” Yet it made sense. The Japanese didn’t hit or challenge us. I also said, “But I never had a greater thrill than when I saw my bombs hit the objective.” My comment still managed to ruffle some feathers among the brass, so from then on I kept my bravado to myself and prayed my luck would hold out as I flew countless reconnaissance and search missions and bombing runs over the Marshall and Gilbert Islands, in weather both violent and sublime.
I’d been called Lucky Louie stateside for years, and now my army buddies said it, too. Standing silently at one funeral after another, I thought maybe I did lead a charmed life, not that I could think of any reason why. To keep up the front, I maintained my devil-may-care composure on the outside, but on the inside I never stopped wondering how long my good fortune would last, how many more times I’d get back in one piece.
Lots of men didn’t, and not always because their plane went down in combat. The B-24 had a few built-in problems, like leaks in the fuel-transfer pump, which shifts gas from one tank to the other in order to keep the plane balanced. For some reason, that pump was lousy. Also, although the fuel cells were self-sealing, the wings often filled with fumes that permeated the plane. I always smelled gasoline while guys around me lit cigarettes.
An electric-motor spark could also set off an explosion. It happened to one bombardier I knew. His plane blew up at five thousand feet. Lucky for him he stood right at the end of the bomb-bay catwalk; the doors were still open and the blast pushed him out. He parachuted to earth and was the only survivor.
It’s no wonder they sometimes called B-24s “Flying Coffins.”
Afterward the bombardier refused to fly any more combat missions. He complained often of a bad back. The doctors couldn’t find any evidence of a soft-tissue injury, but who can argue with a guy with a bad back? When we talked I realized he’d just used that as an excuse to get out of the service. They finally had to send him home because he kept complaining.
Another time a bombardier from a different squadron got sick and they called me to take his place. I had some kind of flu and said, “I can’t do it. I’m in bed.” The third guy they called took the mission, and the plane flew into a mountain.
I recorded those and other unfortunate incidents in my war diary:
January 8, 1943
Reported to Operations for briefing at 8:05 A.M. Received report that Mozonett’s ship went down just after takeoff from Barking Sands on the island of Kauai. We’d gone out together on a rescue mission only a few weeks ago—his first as first pilot. This time, Major Coxwell was at the controls. Lt. Franklin, copilot. Lt. Seymore, navigator. Lt. Carringer, bombardier. Captain Hoyt, S-2 man (intelligence). The plane went into the drink just after takeoff. The rumors were that its fuel was a mixture of kerosene and the usual 100 octane gas. The plane was found submerged 20 yards offshore while we practice-bombed same area from 15,000 feet. All members of the crew dead. They took off for a mock raid on Pearl Harbor, at 25,000 feet. It was dark at the time and the other two ships in the formation—Lt. Nichols’s ship and Lt. Scholar’s ship, carrying Captain Lund—didn’t know about the fatality. Casualties: six officers and five enlisted men.
January 9, 1943
Up at 5:00 A.M. Briefing at 6:30. Took off on search mission at 7:00. Filthy weather out 700 miles and