Tales of the South Pacific - James A. Michener [137]
We revved old Bouncing Belch for about a minute and roared northward up The Slot. When we approached Segi I prayed that Bus wouldn't buzz the field. But of course he did. I pulled my shoulders together, tightened my stomach, and waited for the whining howl that told me we had reached the bottom of our dive. At such times I prayed that TBF's were better planes than the little blue book said.
Then we were off again, past Rendova, Munda, Kolombangara, Vella and up to the Treasuries, those minute islands lying in the mouth of Jap positions on Bougainvillea. Aloft we saw the tiny airfield on Stirling Island, the famous one at which the young pilot asked, "Do you tie her down in a heavy sea?" And ten miles away four thousand Japs studied every plane that landed. In this manner a few Americans, fighting and bombing by day, guarding the beaches in the tropic night, by-passed the Japs and left them not to wither but to whimper.
Now we were over Bougainvillea! A dark and brooding island, most difficult of all our conquests after Guadal. Its natives were the meanest; its rains the hardest, its Japs the most resourceful. We skimmed the southwestern coastline, searching for Empress Augusta Bay. Then, heading for the gaunt volcano's white clouds of steam, we put the Belch down at Piva North. It was growing dark. There was the sound of shell fire near the airstrip. It was raining. It was Bougainvillea.
We found a jeep whose driver took us to a transient camp. That night, amid the rain, we met a group of F4U pilots who were fighting daily over Rabaul. We talked till nearly morning, so next day it was useless to try to do any business. Tony and Bus arranged to go out on a bombing hop over Rabaul. They rode in a Liberator and were very silent when they got back. Rabaul was a flowery hell of flak in those days.
Early next morning at about 0930 Tony set out in a borrowed jeep. Late that day he returned with no whiskey but two ice-making machines. By some queer accident the two valuable articles had been sent to Bougainvillea in excess of need. Tony traded our radio for them.
"What will we do with them?" I asked. They filled the jeep.
"They tell me there's some whiskey at Ondonga!" he replied. "Fellow flew up here yesterday."
We decided at once to fly to Ondonga to see what trades we could make. Before we took off a long-faced lieutenant from the tower came out to see us. He carried a map.
"Got to brief all pilots. Stay clear of the Professor," he said.
"Who's the Professor?" Tony asked.
"Best Jap gunner in the islands. Hangs out on a point... Right here. Shortland Islands. Knocked down three of our planes so far."
"What's his game?"
"Has a radio beam like the one at Treasury. If the sky covers up, he goes on the air. Sucks the damn planes right over him and then lets go!"
"Any tricks in clear weather?" Bus asked. Our sky looked fine.
"If you get Treasury and Shortland mixed up, he lets you get close and then pops you down. Intelligence says he's phenomenal. Stay clear of the guy."
"Let me see that aerial view of Treasury again," Bus asked. "Yeah, I was right. Two small islands with cliffs. I got it OK."
"Brother," the sad lieutenant warned. "You keep 'er OK! We bomb the Professor once in a while, but he's death on bombers. Come back all shot up! Boy, if all Jap shooters had eyes like him, this war would be plenty tough."
"You bet!" Bus agreed. "It would be plenty tough!"
With some apprehension we stowed our ice machines and started south. We circled the volcano and watched plumes of smoke rise high into the air. Behind the jagged cone, among tall mountain ranges, lay an extinct crater filled with clear blue water. Billy Mitchell Lake it was named, a strange monument to a strange man.
Beyond the lake we saw smoke from Jap encampments. There was the jungle line on Bougainvillea,