Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand Page B
Authors: Laura Hillenbrand
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wearing only fundoshi undergarments, sprinting around in confusion. What neither Pil sbury nor any of the other airmen knew was that among the men under their bombers that night were the ninety-eight Americans who had been captured and enslaved.
Waist and tail gunners in the bombers fired downward, and one by one, the searchlights blew to pieces. To Pil sbury, “every gun in the world” seemed to be firing skyward. Antiaircraft guns lobbed shel s over the planes, where they erupted, sending shrapnel showering down. Tracers from the firing above and below streaked the air in yel ow, red, and green. As Pil sbury watched the clamor of colors, he thought of Christmas. Then he remembered: They had crossed the international date line and passed midnight. It was Christmas.
Phil wrestled Super Man out of its dive. As the plane leveled off, Louie spotted the tail ight of a Zero rol ing down the north-south runway. He began synchronizing on the light, hoping to hit the Zero before it took off. Below, very close, something exploded, and Super Man rocked. A shel burst by the left wing, another by the tail. Louie could see tracers cutting neat lines in the sky to the right. He loosed a bomb over the south end of the runway, counted two seconds, then dropped his five other bombs over a set of bunkers and parked planes beside the runway.
Relieved of three thousand pounds of bombs, Super Man bobbed upward. Louie yel ed “Bombs away!” and Phil rol ed the plane roughly to the left, through streams of antiaircraft fire. Louie looked down. His group of five bombs landed in splashes of fire on the bunkers and planes. He’d been a beat too late to hit the Zero. His bomb fel just behind it, lighting up the runway. Phil turned Super Man back for Midway. Wake was a sea of fire and running men.
——
The crew was jumpy, coursing with adrenaline. There were several Zeros in the air, but in the darkness, no one knew where they were. Somewhere in the galaxy of planes, a Zero fired on a bomber, which fired back. The Zero disappeared. Pil sbury looked to the side and saw yel ow dashes of tracer fire, heading directly toward them. A B-24 gunner had mistaken them for an enemy plane and was firing on them. Phil saw it just as Pil sbury did, and swung the plane away. The firing stopped.
The bomb bay doors were stuck open. The motors strained, but couldn’t budge them. Louie climbed back and looked. When Phil had wrenched the plane out of its dive, the enormous g-forces had nudged the auxiliary fuel tanks out of place, just enough to block the doors. Nothing could be done. With the bomb bay yawning open and dragging against the air, the plane was burning much more fuel than usual. Given that this mission was stretching the plane’s range to the limit, it was sobering news.
The men could do nothing but wait and hope. They passed around pineapple juice and roast beef sandwiches. Louie was drained, both from the combat and the incessant quivering of the plane. He stared out, sleepy, watching the stars through breaks in the clouds.
Seventy-five miles away from Wake, one of the men looked back. He could stil see the island burning.
——
As day broke over the Pacific, Brigadier General Howard K. Ramey stood by the Midway airstrip, looking at the clouds and waiting for his bombers. His face was furrowed. A brow of fog hung two hundred feet over the ocean, spil ing rain. In some places, visibility was down to a few yards. Finding tiny, flat Midway would be difficult, and there was the question of whether the bombers’ fuel would last long enough to bring them home.
One plane appeared, then another and another. One by one, they landed, al critical y low on fuel, one with a dead engine. Super Man wasn’t in sight.
Out in the fog, Phil must have looked at his fuel gauge and known that he was in real trouble. With his bomb bay open and wind howling through the fuselage, he had dragged away most of his fuel and was running on empty. He didn’t know
Waist and tail gunners in the bombers fired downward, and one by one, the searchlights blew to pieces. To Pil sbury, “every gun in the world” seemed to be firing skyward. Antiaircraft guns lobbed shel s over the planes, where they erupted, sending shrapnel showering down. Tracers from the firing above and below streaked the air in yel ow, red, and green. As Pil sbury watched the clamor of colors, he thought of Christmas. Then he remembered: They had crossed the international date line and passed midnight. It was Christmas.
Phil wrestled Super Man out of its dive. As the plane leveled off, Louie spotted the tail ight of a Zero rol ing down the north-south runway. He began synchronizing on the light, hoping to hit the Zero before it took off. Below, very close, something exploded, and Super Man rocked. A shel burst by the left wing, another by the tail. Louie could see tracers cutting neat lines in the sky to the right. He loosed a bomb over the south end of the runway, counted two seconds, then dropped his five other bombs over a set of bunkers and parked planes beside the runway.
Relieved of three thousand pounds of bombs, Super Man bobbed upward. Louie yel ed “Bombs away!” and Phil rol ed the plane roughly to the left, through streams of antiaircraft fire. Louie looked down. His group of five bombs landed in splashes of fire on the bunkers and planes. He’d been a beat too late to hit the Zero. His bomb fel just behind it, lighting up the runway. Phil turned Super Man back for Midway. Wake was a sea of fire and running men.
——
The crew was jumpy, coursing with adrenaline. There were several Zeros in the air, but in the darkness, no one knew where they were. Somewhere in the galaxy of planes, a Zero fired on a bomber, which fired back. The Zero disappeared. Pil sbury looked to the side and saw yel ow dashes of tracer fire, heading directly toward them. A B-24 gunner had mistaken them for an enemy plane and was firing on them. Phil saw it just as Pil sbury did, and swung the plane away. The firing stopped.
The bomb bay doors were stuck open. The motors strained, but couldn’t budge them. Louie climbed back and looked. When Phil had wrenched the plane out of its dive, the enormous g-forces had nudged the auxiliary fuel tanks out of place, just enough to block the doors. Nothing could be done. With the bomb bay yawning open and dragging against the air, the plane was burning much more fuel than usual. Given that this mission was stretching the plane’s range to the limit, it was sobering news.
The men could do nothing but wait and hope. They passed around pineapple juice and roast beef sandwiches. Louie was drained, both from the combat and the incessant quivering of the plane. He stared out, sleepy, watching the stars through breaks in the clouds.
Seventy-five miles away from Wake, one of the men looked back. He could stil see the island burning.
——
As day broke over the Pacific, Brigadier General Howard K. Ramey stood by the Midway airstrip, looking at the clouds and waiting for his bombers. His face was furrowed. A brow of fog hung two hundred feet over the ocean, spil ing rain. In some places, visibility was down to a few yards. Finding tiny, flat Midway would be difficult, and there was the question of whether the bombers’ fuel would last long enough to bring them home.
One plane appeared, then another and another. One by one, they landed, al critical y low on fuel, one with a dead engine. Super Man wasn’t in sight.
Out in the fog, Phil must have looked at his fuel gauge and known that he was in real trouble. With his bomb bay open and wind howling through the fuselage, he had dragged away most of his fuel and was running on empty. He didn’t know
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