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Returning to the cockpit, he stopped and chatted with Byrnes, who was ru
“Any chance of it going off before we get there?” asked De
“Lightning strike could do it,” answered Byrnes.
De
Byrnes looked up and gri
De
“Better than anyone. He’s been on the atomic bomb project from the begi
De
Five hours into the flight and lighter by 2,000 gallons of expended fuel, De
De
Three hundred miles from Japan’s main island of Honshu, De
De
Not everyone was wallowing in good cheer. Seated at his engineer’s panel, Mosely studied the temperature gauge of engine number four. He didn’t like what he read. He routinely tapped the dial with his finger.
The needle twitched and wavered into the red.
He crawled aft through the tu
“Bad news, Major. We’re going to have to shut down number four.”
“You can’t prod her along for a few more hours?” asked De
“No, sir, she can swallow a valve and catch fire at any minute.”
Stromp looked over at De
De
He hailed Arnold, who was bent over his navigator’s board tracing the flight path. “How long before Japan?”
Arnold noted the slight drop in speed and made a swift calculation. “One hour and twenty-one minutes to the mainland.”
He nodded. “Okay, we’ll shut number four until we need it.”
Even as he spoke, Stromp closed the throttle, flicked off the ignition switch, and feathered the propeller. Next he engaged the automatic pilot.
For the next half hour everyone kept a wary eye on number four engine while Mosely called out the temperature drop.
“We have a landfall,” a
Stromp peered at it through binoculars. “Looks like a hot dog sticking out of the water.”
“Sheer rock walls,” observed Arnold. “No sign of a beach anywhere.”
“What’s it called?” asked De
“Doesn’t even show on the map.”
“Any sign of life? The Nips could be using it as an offshore warning station.”
“Looks barren and deserted,” answered Stromp.
De
The men relaxed and passed around coffee and salami sandwiches, immune to the droning engines and the tiny speck that appeared ten miles away and 7,000 feet above their port wingtip.
Unknown to the crew of De
Lieutenant Junior Grade Sato Okinaga saw the brief glint from the reflected sun below him. He banked and went into a shallow dive for a closer inspection. It was an aircraft. No question. A plane from another patrol, most likely. He reached for the switch to his radio, but hesitated. In a few seconds he’d be able to make a positive identification.
A young and inexperienced pilot, Okinaga was one of the lucky ones. Out of his recently graduated class of twenty-two, who were rushed through training during Japan’s desperate days, he and three others were ordered to perform coastal patrols. The rest went into kamikaze squadrons.
Okinaga was deeply disappointed. He would have gladly given his life for the Emperor, but he accepted boring patrol duty as a temporary assignment, hoping to be called for a more glorious mission when the Americans invaded his homeland.
As the lone aircraft grew larger, Okinaga didn’t believe what he saw. He rubbed his eyes and squinted. Soon he could clearly make out the ninety-foot polished aluminum fuselage, the huge 141-foot wings, and the three-story vertical stabilizer of an American B-29.
He stared dumfounded. The bomber was flying out of the northeast from an empty sea, 20,000 feet below its combat ceiling. Unanswerable questions flooded his mind. Where had it come from? Why was it flying toward central Japan with one engine feathered? What was its mission?
Like a shark knifing toward a bleeding whale, Okinaga closed to within a mile. Still no evasive action. The crew seemed asleep or bent on suicide.
Okinaga had no more time for guessing games. The great winged bomber was looming up before him. He jammed the throttle of his Mitsubishi A6M Zero against its stop and made a circling dive. The Zero handled like a swallow, the 1,130-horsepower Sakae engine hurtling him behind and beneath the sleek, gleaming B-29.
Too late the tail gu
A light touch of the rudder and his tracers ate their way into the wing and the B-29’s number-three engine. The cowling ripped and tore away, oil poured through holes, followed by flames. The bomber seemed to hover momentarily, and then it flipped on its side and spun toward the sea.
Only after the choked-off cry of the tail gu
A strangled cry came from Stromp. “We’re going in!”
De
The bombardier, wedged against his bombsight by the centrifugal force, yelled back. “It won’t fall free unless you straighten us out.”