Devil at My Heels - Louis Zamperini [47]
It’s important to be hardened to life.
Today kids cut their teeth on video games. I’d rather play real games. This generation may be ready to handle robotic equipment and fly planes with computers, but are they ready to withstand the inevitable counterattack? Are they emotionally stable? Are they callous enough to accept hardship? Can they face defeat without falling apart?
Mac was good at his job because he had lots of practice, but I shouldn’t have expected any more from him on a human level. I still can’t imagine what he was thinking as he gobbled the chocolate, knowing that the next morning we would wake up and find it gone. I only knew that I couldn’t let it throw me.
THE SECOND MORNING the skies were overcast, making us harder to find. We waited, not saying much. Phil, at least, didn’t seem any worse off than the day before. I wondered how far we’d drifted. At about noon I heard the familiar yet faraway thunder of Pratt & Whitney motors overhead. I grabbed the flare gun just as I saw a B-24’s nose break through the clouds. She was so low I could recognize her as one of our own squadron. I wanted to place a flare by the pilot but didn’t because I was afraid I might hit the plane. Instead, I aimed where the waist gunners and tail gunner would see it and fired. The bomber made a ninety-degree turn and I shouted, “She sees us!”
Even Phil managed a smile.
But she hadn’t seen us. At first I thought, “Those stinkers; they’re not at their positions!” Yet, even to someone looking from as low as one thousand feet, our raft was a speck that blended in with the whitecaps. Then the clouds closed and the plane disappeared in the distance. I figured they’d try again the next day. For now, we were alone.
Well, not exactly alone. A couple of sharks had arrived. Occasionally they nosed the raft to test its strength, hoping—as only sharks can—for material flimsy enough to soon surrender us to their relentless hunger and waiting jaws. We were hungry, too, but we had to ignore it. Better just to sleep. Mac and I scooped a few inches of water into the rafts, and once again we all huddled down for the night.
YEARS LATER I learned from a crewman on our sister B-24 that we’d been officially reported missing at 04:30 the next morning. By dawn, the plane was out searching for us and did so for a whole week, until it had to return to Oahu for maintenance. By then we were presumed dead.
On the third day we heard another plane. I spotted a B-25 flying north, just a dot in the sky at about ten thousand feet. We fired flares, tossed dye into the sea, and said a prayer. The B-25 never swerved from her path.
Being stranded was bad enough, but now we had another worry. From the B-25’s position and course I could tell that we had drifted west, beyond the usual air lanes between islands. It meant that unless another miracle occurred, we had run out not only of chocolate but of chances for a quick rescue, and perhaps for a rescue at all.
With Phil incapacitated and Mac a mental wreck, both now depended on me. I had to muster all my resources and training because without food and with only a little fresh water remaining, I had no idea how long we could last. Imprisoned by the ocean, our only choice was to accept and adapt to the situation. I knew the trade winds came in from the east and were pushing us toward the Marshall or Gilbert Islands. But those were still a couple of thousand miles and many, many days away.
For a moment anxiety clutched me; the sea could swallow us all. But rather than give in, I made myself a promise: no matter what lay ahead, I’d never think about dying, only about living. Despite our situation, I felt so fortunate to be alive that I was actually happy. Maybe it seems odd now, but it didn’t then.
6
ADRIFT
After a week, I started thinking about the chocolate, especially when Mac panicked and I had to crack him again. He’d fallen