From Earthwatch Volunteer, Ed Talbot who has written a few times in the blog and obviously has a flair for writing stories.
February 17, 1944
A fictional tale of a Japanese pilot over Truk and a plane now at rest in the lagoon:
The handsome crew cut American Hellcat pilot looked down at the smoking Japanese plane below with a puzzled expression.
“Hey Dan, it looks like that last pass on the Myrt, you really nailed him.”
Dan involuntarily shook his head at the comment by his wingman.
“Yea, what the hell are the Japanese doing sending up a recon plane like that Nakajima (Myrt) to engage us? That C6N is no match for a hellcat.”
“Yea, but you nailed him anyway. I think you may have hit the pilot when those rounds wacked the cockpit!”
There was no pity felt by Dan. It was their job to reduce Truk to a smoking ruin of sunken ships and destroyed aircraft. And he had just done his job when he had dove on the Myrt landing round after round into the old plane.
The young 20 year old Japanese pilot, his hands shaking with a combination of fear and fatigue, guided his shuttering aircraft on its slow descent toward the lagoon below. The shattering experience of engaging the swarm of American hellcat fighters had left him drained and relieved that he had escaped alive. The rays of the setting sun reflected off the darkening waves below and turned the oily smoke trailing from his sputtering engine to a surprising shade of burgundy as it caught the fading sun’s rays behind him. The shuddering impact of the massive 50 caliber machine guns of the Hellcats had torn and ripped the aluminum wings that encased him but still provided the lift that would see him home – Home with the promise he would still be with his first true love. Home.
The excruciating pain where the white hot 50 caliber slug had burrowed in his side was constant and called for attention but his first need was to find the air strip on Etten. Squinting through the torn Plexiglas of the cockpit his mind went back to visions not of the approaching waves below but of the first delicious day he had set eyes on his first true love. Her beauty of line and curve and sensuous form had gripped him – gripped him with a passion he had not known in his quick brief life. Their courtship evolved quickly and they had rolled together in an unfamiliar ecstasy – intertwined as one under the clouds of the day and the moon of the night. He had developed a trust, a confidence and sense of security that surpassed even that of his parents when he and his first true love were together. It was a love that left him disturbingly ill at ease when he was away from her. It was a love that few, other than his fellow young men in the air wing, had fallen into so deeply.
The high pierced roar of the engine grew rough and then - abruptly quit leaving only the air rushing through the holes in the canopy. Despair gripped him. Could he glide back to Etten before a fatal stall? Or would his plane stall and send him spiraling into the grey darkening waters below? Fighting the stick and its increasing shudder required reserves of strength in his weakened condition he feared he did not have. And then his despair gave way to a sad recognition. It was too far. He would not make it.
And then as if in a dream he watched his hands in slow motion give up their grip on the stick and the nose dipped toward the welcoming waves below. He would not be able to relive those days of joy with his first true love – locked in her complete embrace under the clouds they had so enjoyed before.
And with a surprising skid the shattered plane hit the water and after a series of skips settled into the waves. At first he struggled to unbuckle the seat harness but the pain was too much. It was also the wrenching pain of knowing he would not survive this day.
As the plane settled below the waves and began its drifting descent to the coral bottom 30 feet below the young Japanese pilot did not resist the insistent demand of the ocean’s grip. He gazed through his goggles at the darkening light and the pending end of his time with his first true love.
The alarmed reef fish below were the only witnesses as the Myrt settled onto the bottom. They alone saw the pilot in his last moments of conscious thought as he gently caressed the instrument panel of the old Myrt – As he gently caressed what had been for him his first love – the love of a plane that had carried him through the clouds in the ecstasy of flight and the terror of battle – his first and now last true love.
February 17, 1944
A fictional tale of a Japanese pilot over Truk and a plane now at rest in the lagoon:
The handsome crew cut American Hellcat pilot looked down at the smoking Japanese plane below with a puzzled expression.
“Hey Dan, it looks like that last pass on the Myrt, you really nailed him.”
Dan involuntarily shook his head at the comment by his wingman.
“Yea, what the hell are the Japanese doing sending up a recon plane like that Nakajima (Myrt) to engage us? That C6N is no match for a hellcat.”
“Yea, but you nailed him anyway. I think you may have hit the pilot when those rounds wacked the cockpit!”
There was no pity felt by Dan. It was their job to reduce Truk to a smoking ruin of sunken ships and destroyed aircraft. And he had just done his job when he had dove on the Myrt landing round after round into the old plane.
The young 20 year old Japanese pilot, his hands shaking with a combination of fear and fatigue, guided his shuttering aircraft on its slow descent toward the lagoon below. The shattering experience of engaging the swarm of American hellcat fighters had left him drained and relieved that he had escaped alive. The rays of the setting sun reflected off the darkening waves below and turned the oily smoke trailing from his sputtering engine to a surprising shade of burgundy as it caught the fading sun’s rays behind him. The shuddering impact of the massive 50 caliber machine guns of the Hellcats had torn and ripped the aluminum wings that encased him but still provided the lift that would see him home – Home with the promise he would still be with his first true love. Home.
The excruciating pain where the white hot 50 caliber slug had burrowed in his side was constant and called for attention but his first need was to find the air strip on Etten. Squinting through the torn Plexiglas of the cockpit his mind went back to visions not of the approaching waves below but of the first delicious day he had set eyes on his first true love. Her beauty of line and curve and sensuous form had gripped him – gripped him with a passion he had not known in his quick brief life. Their courtship evolved quickly and they had rolled together in an unfamiliar ecstasy – intertwined as one under the clouds of the day and the moon of the night. He had developed a trust, a confidence and sense of security that surpassed even that of his parents when he and his first true love were together. It was a love that left him disturbingly ill at ease when he was away from her. It was a love that few, other than his fellow young men in the air wing, had fallen into so deeply.
The high pierced roar of the engine grew rough and then - abruptly quit leaving only the air rushing through the holes in the canopy. Despair gripped him. Could he glide back to Etten before a fatal stall? Or would his plane stall and send him spiraling into the grey darkening waters below? Fighting the stick and its increasing shudder required reserves of strength in his weakened condition he feared he did not have. And then his despair gave way to a sad recognition. It was too far. He would not make it.
And then as if in a dream he watched his hands in slow motion give up their grip on the stick and the nose dipped toward the welcoming waves below. He would not be able to relive those days of joy with his first true love – locked in her complete embrace under the clouds they had so enjoyed before.
And with a surprising skid the shattered plane hit the water and after a series of skips settled into the waves. At first he struggled to unbuckle the seat harness but the pain was too much. It was also the wrenching pain of knowing he would not survive this day.
As the plane settled below the waves and began its drifting descent to the coral bottom 30 feet below the young Japanese pilot did not resist the insistent demand of the ocean’s grip. He gazed through his goggles at the darkening light and the pending end of his time with his first true love.
The alarmed reef fish below were the only witnesses as the Myrt settled onto the bottom. They alone saw the pilot in his last moments of conscious thought as he gently caressed the instrument panel of the old Myrt – As he gently caressed what had been for him his first love – the love of a plane that had carried him through the clouds in the ecstasy of flight and the terror of battle – his first and now last true love.
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