Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [39]
When General Hale put the pieces of the Nauru raid together, he didn’t present all the facts, as far as I’m concerned, and our crew, which to my mind and others’ had more than earned a Distinguished Flying Cross, was passed over. As far as the history of World War II is concerned, I am sure that there were as many discrepancies as with history in general. As Will and Ariel Durant have written, “Most history is guessing, the rest is prejudice.” Still, I got mad and sick to my stomach when I read what General Hale said: “One plane got hit.” My crew just said, “Tell him to shove it. We don’t want any medals. Not when they give them away indiscriminately to some people and then, when people really earn it, they aren’t recognized. It’s a farce. Think of all the guys who should have had medals and didn’t get them. They’re dead.”
I had to agree. In the end a medal doesn’t mean a hill of beans. We all know what we did.
BECAUSE DANGER AND death were all around, I did what I could to distract myself. A time-honored way was to needle crewmates, or get back at them for needling you.
At Kahuku we lived in a barracks with a room on each end. A crew that didn’t return left one unoccupied, so I took it. It came with an icebox that had three shelves. I gave a shelf to Phil and one to Cupernell. Whenever I’d get a ration of beer I’d put it on my shelf. But too often I’d find my beer gone. All of it. At first it was kind of funny, but we only got a small ration of beer and the joke quickly wore off. I decided to get even.
One morning we were supposed to report to our ship to swing the compass. That meant taking off and following various headings to check their accuracy with the navigator. They did not require me on the run, but I showed up before Phil and Cupernell got there. While the ground crew prepped the plane, I walked around the ship, chewing a big mouthful of gum, like I was in the midst of a preflight inspection. Working my way to the nose, I found the two small holes I wanted: drain openings for hoses in the cockpit that connected to the pilot relief tubes; in other words, funnels into which the pilot and copilot peed while flying. The urine ran down the hoses, and the wind sucked it out.
I plugged both holes with gum.
When the crew reported for duty, I got on the ship with everybody else. I went to my post in the bomb bay, and we taxied to the end of the runway for takeoff.
Procedure calls for closing the bomb-bay doors just prior to hitting the gas. Before the doors shut I dropped onto the tarmac and dashed off the runway. It’s a big ship inside and nobody missed me. Phil took off assuming I was onboard. Instead, I headed for Honolulu.
Later the engineer gave me a blow-by-blow description of all the fun I’d missed. When Phil had to urinate he used his funnel. Instead of emptying, it filled to the brim. Phil needed one hand to balance the funnel so it didn’t spill. He couldn’t figure out the problem, so he called the engineer, who decided to pour the excess into the copilot’s funnel. Cupernell didn’t mind, but first he wanted to take his leak. When his funnel filled as well, no one could believe it. Two malfunctions simultaneously?
There they were, balancing their funnels and trying to fly.
The first bit of air turbulence was the coup de grâce.
Phil and Cupernell landed, soaked. The engineer went under the ship, found the gum, and scooped it out. Then they came looking for me, but I was already gone. Phil, who called me Zamp unless he was mad, kept hollering, “Where’s Zamperini?” He figured I had to be nearby, but I stayed in Honolulu for a couple of days.
When I got back they were still uptight.